I once beheld the Central Plains, as flat as a whetstone vast.
Spanning tens of thousands of miles, with ruts where carts have passed.
The imperial seat rests in the earth's core, the Purple Wall aligns with the Pole Star's light.
The Long River cuts off its southern reach, the farthest fortress guards its northern height.
From Eastern Sea to western sands, Heaven sets the border for barbarian lands.
For over a thousand years of Three Dynasties, though sovereigns strived for virtue's grace.
They truly relied on perilous terrain, keeping all foreign tribes in hidden place.
When Han and Tang's virtue slightly waned, did the land's advantage differ from the past?
They came briefly and swiftly left, not daring to spy on the city wall.
The Later Jin's one misstep in plan, six prefectures fell to the Hu's thrall.
Heaven and Earth had their bolts broken through, mountains and rivers lost their barrier's might.
Leaving disaster for your sons and grandsons, clearly this was no far-sighted plight.
Majestic was Later Zhou's Shizong, at thirty he succeeded Yao's reign.
In one year he broke Hedong, Liu Chong lost his soul in pain.
The next year he recovered Qin and Feng, the unruly were tamed without a strain.
In the third year he marched south on hunt, the royal army saved from fire and flood.
Fourteen prefectures north of the river, taken as easily as rolling up a mat.
The fourth year he campaigned south of the pass, not even a single arrow shot.
Three prefectures surrendered one by one, his virtuous fame spread through barbarian lot.
Li Bian begged to be a subject, Qian Liu offered tribute with care.
The emperor wished to use his army's edge, pursuing deep strikes with victory's air.
To take Youzhou city straightaway, expand the land and open frontier wide.
Recapture the strategic northern pass, and shut the gate on bandits' tide.
At that time battles were often won, the six armies' spirit could foes devour.
Conquering Wu like splitting bamboo, success seemed but a moment's hour.
Alas, his ambition was not fulfilled, a sudden illness struck at midnight's power.
The Song Dynasty received the great treasure, its fame rose shining bright and grand.
All of Shu offered up its land, Wu presented maps to the hand.
Jing, Tan, Ou, and Min, came crawling to assist the sacrificial stand.
Opened cities to accept river captives, ascended towers to receive Jin's severed head.
Within the realm, one calendar was set, yet six prefectures alone were cut and spread.
Indignant was Liu Chongyi, his talent vast as Dan and Shi of old.
He grew up in the region north of the Yellow River, his ears and eyes familiar with war's stronghold.
By day, flags and drums drilled troops, by night, wine and dishes gathered guests bold.
Grasping arms, he spoke with sincere heart, emptying pouches, he pushed gold and silk untold.
The guests, as heroes and stalwarts, meeting the marquis, were deeply stirred.
Coming and going, they conveyed his earnestness, vowing life and death to serve his word.
Wan De accepted my counsel, clearing all suspicion, utterly assured.
The matter's success had already budded, why did the marquis leave in such haste?
Heroes returned empty in the night, in the tent, sighs were often placed.
I ponder these two events, Heaven's intent remains hard to trace.
Rolling up the scroll, a wave of sorrow, from both eyes, tears silently race.