Along the canal bank, the laborers' spades clatter in disarray.
Who in the crimson lotus tent dared to propose this way?
That the canal's water be drained through a conduit's release.
To dig the conduit deep, to reach the very base.
Then haul the timber back to the yamen for fuel's need.
So that once broken, it cannot be restored with speed.
Though farmers' fields may parch, the canal stays full and wide.
The fields are private gain, the canal a public tide.
To speak this in the tent—was it not loyalty true?
Hearing this for the people, I hasten orders to pursue.
The common folk bow twice and to me thus explain:
This conduit has existed for several hundred years' span.
The larger ones cost a hundred thousand coins or more,
The smaller half that sum, yet their craft is not secure.
At first, bit by bit, the people's strength was spent,
Hoping it would be passed down, generation after generation, with intent.
Not just for drought when irrigation is a must,
But also fearing lasting floods that would the farmland rust.
In past prolonged droughts, when the river's flow did cease,
To drain Lake Lian's water brought the fear of its decrease.
The prefecture ordered the conduit to be sealed,
Though it remained, who dared to have it un-concealed?
A little rain restored the flow, the conduit still in place,
No extra labor needed in this case.
But now they dig it all out—who dares to count the cost?
I only fear the farmers' fields will hence be lost.
In years of plenty, surplus water to rivers goes,
Not a single drop for the farmers' fields it bestows.
When sudden heavy rain soaks the people's land,
With no flow through, the crops all perish, unmanned.
Especially now, with farming tasks in full array,
High fields need watering, weeds demand their fray.
All strong men are driven to break the conduit's line,
And haul the wood and stone back to the city's confine.
From Lücheng, a hundred twenty li in spread,
Who knows how many souls have been thus misled?
The governor's care for people, in ancient times unmatched,
Beneath the Incense-Gathering Tower, has this news been dispatched?
May a new order reach the folk far and near:
The conduit must be blocked, but never destroyed, hear!
Once filled, the conduit has no outlet to the sea,
Large vessels pass with water ample and free.
The conduit not destroyed brings people joy and peace,
In times of flood or drought, it hinders not the waterways' release.
I recall the Zhou Grand Historian gathering each song,
From humble men and lowly servants all along.
I'll gather these rustic words and knock at the hall's gate,
Even if axe and halberd await, I shall not hesitate.