Fushan's height rivals the azure sky's decree,
Its roots coil eight li, majestic, firming earth's matrix.
Clouds rise softly, becoming wind and rain,
Blessing the whole region, no famine or distress remains.
Tiered towers and repeated halls cling to the mountain's core,
Winding, grasping, guarding — the spirit's might they store.
Awe-inspiring presence, as if present, startles hearing and sight;
Even now, the elders can recount its might.
A broken stele, worn and incomplete, still can be read,
Buried by years, unknown to men, its story spread.
A single peak stands high, uniquely fair,
Where a cicada-shed immortal made his lair.
I've heard he once served as magistrate of Shidai,
Transforming, virtue spreading, a true people's guide.
Holding a rod, he playfully cast bait for the white dragon;
Hiding in mist, he veiled the dark leopard's guise, deep-drawn.
With hands, he opened mystic texts, checked cinnabar scripts;
With feet, he trod ascension, to the Purple Tenuity he trips.
Meeting by chance, a bright smile they exchange,
True friendship, heart-to-heart, beyond all range.
Henceforth, their comings and goings knew no seam;
Traces left behind can still be traced, it seems.
The songs of strings still mark his native place;
Wangxian's recorded name uniquely holds its grace.
Seeking truth, he once halted his carriage here;
On the summit, a cinnabar furnace base remains clear.
Nearby, dry wells number full nine,
Stone linings firm and deep, indeed a telling sign.
The spirit, receiving temple offerings, returned to old seclusion;
The immortal, too, sits occasionally, answering prayers in profusion.
The hall shares offerings, diverse meats and greens;
Pleading for divine aid, reverence from the township streams.
Emperor Zhenghe carefully observed sacrifice and rite;
County and prefecture requests, none did he slight.
Once a flying memorial reached the imperial screen,
Often, in one night, the emperor perused it, keen.
The approving word was granted, on mushroom-simple bestowed;
Grand honors, glorious names, in classics' light they showed.
Spirit and immortal accept the sovereign's grace,
Sheltering these people, blessings without cease in time and space.
The immortal sets to roam, the spirit speeds away;
Rainbow banners, crimson standards follow in array.
The spirit returns, the immortal arrives to stay;
Dragon robes, feather mantles, their glorious display.
As for me, I've bowed in homage many times,
With dripping drunken ink, I casually pen these rhymes.
Though words are rough, the facts are gathered true,
Hoping to spread belief and dispel doubts for you.