Fresh frost descends at night, the autumn waters shallow;
A rock emerges from the cold stream's edge.
Moss-darkened, earth-eroded, pecked by birds,
It sinks and rises with the stream, autumn to spring.
An old man by the stream, who's seen it grow,
Wonders why I've come to gaze so earnestly.
I love it, move it far to a secluded vale,
Dragged by three calves, borne on two wheels.
Passing through town, the market halts to stare,
All shocked by its strangeness, none prize its worth.
Long buried in wild mist and weeds,
I wash it with clear, cold spring from a stone crevice.
Vermilion rails and green bamboos reflect each other,
Placed in a fine spot south of my veranda.
South of my veranda, a thousand peaks stand by,
Yet none possess such rugged, wondrous form.
Thus I know rare things are scarce in this world,
Thousands in gold vie to buy, but few possess.
Mountains and rivers shift, valleys transform in war,
Why did it fall to that desolate stream's brink?
Classics of mountains and lands cannot explain,
So strange theories rise in endless dispute.
Some say it's from the goddess's first forging,
Fused as one breath, condensed pure essence.
Gazing up, it mends the azure sky's gap,
Dyed deep blue-green, lustrous and warm.
Others suspect ancient Suiren's hand,
Drilled to draw fire for roasting and burning.
If not by sacred touch, a divine trace,
Then who carved these holes and hollows?
Yet others claim Han envoys held their staffs,
Westward ten thousand miles to Kunlun's end.
Passing Khotan, they obtained precious jade,
Flowing into the Middle Land with the river's source.
Ground by sand, washed by water, holes worn through,
Thus carved and chiseled without a flaw.
Alas, I have a mouth but cannot argue,
I sigh and only stroke it with both hands.
Lu Tong and Han Yu are no longer in this world,
No mighty prose to quell a hundred wonders.
Vying in marvels, each seeks victory,
Leading to baseless, wild absurdities.
Under heaven, on earth, nothing lacks,
Ugly or fair in myriad forms—what's there to judge?
I'll only sweep the snow and mat beside it,
Day by day, with noble guests, set out clear wine.