The Lord on High sets forth commands,
Hidden beneath the southern mountains.
Thunder erupts surely in its time,
How could it ever act in blind rage?
In spring it stirs all living things,
In summer it rouses wind and rain.
In winter it rests, unused,
Stored within the thick yellow earth.
Now I have come to Jiangnan,
The year's calendar reads Jianwu.
How, before Minor Snow,
At dawn I suspect a boiling cauldron?
Dragons, snakes, turtles, insects in distress,
Scales split, mouths spitting clods.
The toad does not devour the moon,
Stiff-legged in deep caverns.
Could Heaven's Lord deceive creatures?
Thus confounding the seasons' order.
Some say it is not Heaven's Lord,
But truly the master of dark monsters.
I once viewed paintings in ancient shrines,
Ox-heads wielding linked drums.
Black clouds mixed with wild whirlwinds,
Mutually forming heart and lungs.
If this does not come from the vast sky,
How can it follow cold and heat?
I therefore examine these events,
And again test crude reckoning.
The market cheats in weights and measures,
Surely it will not let you live.
The chief villain rebels against great order,
Yet no thunderbolt axe strikes him.
Can this be called without partiality?
Thus I do not approve.
I fear they steal Heaven's majesty,
As if scorning laws and patterns.
How care they for the Five Elements' disorder,
Or dread the myriad things' witness?
I wish to knock at the nine gates to plead,
But hate I have no bird's wings.