You came from south of the river, just as our clan gathered.
At first you did not match my aspirations, yet I received you as a guest.
Often we probed and hooked each other, gradually exchanging responses.
Roots laid bare and spread wide, the locked doors lost their fastenings.
You nodded and sighed in agreement, while I feared to respect you as a crown.
Meeting often as time passed, we treated each other with mutual delight.
I first sought your friendship; you said, 'How could I be excluded?'
Then I declined, citing my lack of virtue; you ended by saying, 'I care for you.'
Later, ranking by age, you rightly bowed to me as an elder brother.
Though many scholars abound in Yangzhou, most are occupied with official robes.
Among them, Master Man stands out, towering above a million.
And with you following him, I am but chaff beside the rice.
Companions occasionally allowed me to climb, gathering daily in company.
Spring mornings artfully summoned us; moonlit evenings led to discourse.
Calligraphy wild as flying snakes, chess venomous as a scorpion's sting.
Scheming for wondrous victories, gathered mouths laughed at clumsy defeat.
Greedy for joy, unaware of years passing, winter's rhythm suddenly shifted again.
I, hungry, rushed west first, my face gaunt, leaving behind a pallor.
You, waiting to depart, also felt regret, writing to ask my plight.
Since parting, how have you been? Thinking of you, my heart is pained.
Friends part without old joy; the world's perils take new forms.
Lofty words are full of flaws; vulgar learning drags one into trivialities.
In poverty, I know the body's value; in illness, I feel my study's strength wane.
My bold heart already has little left, and moreover, each day sees it retreat.
I anticipate our later meeting—stubborn and crude, merely grown old.
Please diligently send me your letters; thinking of you, a hundred worries gather.