What do the people by the sea rely on for their living?
Wives have no silkworms to tend, husbands no fields to till.
The source of food and clothing is too desolate and bare,
They boil brine in cauldrons to pay the tax they must fulfill.
Year after year, spring and summer, tides flood the shore,
When tides recede, they scrape the mud to form isles of ore.
Wind-dried and sun-baked, the saltiness grows more and more,
Then they pour in tidal waves to turn it into brine.
The brine's strength, whether strong or weak, leaves no spare time,
They go deep into endless mountains to gather wood.
They dare not avoid the tracks of leopards or tigers,
They leave at sunrise and return when sunset has stood.
By boat and shoulder-pole, they carry without rest,
And throw it into giant stoves with fiery zest.
Morning they burn, evening they blaze, the piles grow high,
Only then do the waves turn into snow-white supply.
From storing brine till frost-like salt takes flight,
They rely on loans to fill their hunger's plight.
Weighed for the state, they get a meager price,
Often one string of cash demands tenfold sacrifice.
Cycle after cycle, without cease or end,
State rent unpaid, private debts on them descend.
Driving wife and children to meet work's demand,
Though in human shape, they are sallow and unmanned.
How bitter and hard is the life by the sea!
How can the mother be rich while the child is in need?
In our dynasty, may nothing be misplaced,
May the emperor's kindness reach the coast with grace.
Let arms be cleansed, conscription and tax be undone,
Let the ruler have surplus, salt and iron burdens none.
The prime minister's task is to be the state's salt,
Transforming this age to times of Xia, Shang, and Zhou's exalt.