The Great Song's domain is vast and wide,
Its influence stretches to the four sides.
Long have no rebels dared to rise,
People and things bask in spring's gentle tide.
Old and young enjoy what they adore,
Swimming in this era's brilliant light.
Suddenly, in the year of Sheti's lore,
Southern raiders plundered the border's plight.
I asked a village elder, old and wise,
How could such events before us rise?
At first he seemed to shun my quest,
Tears fell before words could be expressed.
Wiping tears, he thanked my questioning tone,
And for this guest laid bare the cornerstone.
The Fu River has an upper source,
Where waters are shallow, mountains coarse.
Three thousand households make their home,
Gathered at the world's edge, alone.
Fierce and reckless, light and rash,
Their nature like the deer that dash.
Men neither plow nor delve the mine,
But follow armed conflict line by line.
On Yirong's borders, two lands meet,
They kill for loot, their gain complete.
Thus, through ages long and deep,
This foe was easy bounds to keep.
Like rats that steal or ants that swarm,
They dared not near the inner norm.
Their force could never long endure,
At official troops' approach, they'd flee for sure.
After Jingde and Xiangfu's reign,
Times changed, and matters did the same.
Four assistants, wise and good,
The Son of Heaven, kind as he stood.
Generals called for pacification,
But troops were not imperial station.
A Longjiang official, clumsy and slow,
Patrol riders' skills were also low.
Neither awe nor grace combined,
They merely used official power, unrefined.
Wisdom and strategy still fell short,
From then on, control was naught.
Leading troops to Xiejia Ridge,
Their battle array was a ragged bridge.
Before blades and arrows clashed in fight,
The soldiers' hearts had taken flight.
Six officers died in frantic race,
Well knowing the state's loss of face.
From then, the bandits' fame spread wide,
Straight to Rongzhou's riverside.
County halls and people's homes,
Were first destroyed, leaving bare domes.
Poisoned arrowheads, sharp and keen,
Pierced the skin, no cure to be seen.
Long blades severed human thighs,
Corpses filled the roads 'neath the skies.
Women and their children dear,
Driven off, laden with fear.
Boldly past the city's guard they'd go,
Who was there to face the foe?
Reports were trimmed in memorials sent,
Each one to the imperial tent was lent.
Then Heaven's wrath, majestic, grand,
Chose generals to command the royal band.
Over twenty thousand armored men,
Valiant as tigers in their den.
Swords and halberds, autumn frost,
Banners gleaming with morning's cost.
Eight camps and seven elite corps,
Could there be any more than these in store?
Three routes advanced from outer lands,
How could a minor foe withstand?
The vanguard already pressed the border line,
The rear army yet did not divine.
Winding their way to the barbarian sphere,
They saw only empty rice fields, clear.
Searching for over a month in vain,
The army withdrew without a campaign.
Bearing spears, speak not of pain,
Carrying rations, deep sorrow's stain.
Alas, the postal commissioner, good and true,
Innocent, slaughtered through and through.
No plan emerged from clamorous debate,
Again, pacification words they'd state.
Half surrendered, half sat in defiance,
The barbarians' minds still held reliance.
Rich gifts of silk and brocade sent,
Their cunning hearts feigned humble intent.
Military tents were hastily raised,
Bandit spears on backs were braised.
I listened to the elder's tale,
Unconsciously, my brows turned pale.
Sucking brush, piling slips with care,
I compose this Southern Raiders' prayer.
May a ballad-collecting official appear,
To present it at the crimson tier.