In peaceful days, I'm lost in idle ease, letting all matters pass before my eyes.
A year sees snow both south and north, yet not a single verse I've penned.
At dawn, I watch the vast, obscure scene; at night, I ponder mysteries deep in thought.
In dreams, I ride the void to visit the Emperor's hall, where jade pillars bear ornate beams.
Whitewashed walls on smooth paths reflect each other; crane-feather fans hide fox-fur curtains.
Beside the Emperor, countless maidens dance, in silken robes, elegant and fair.
Strings of pearls and jade form intricate pendants; they cast off rouge, leaving brows pale.
They tease the Queen Mother, playing with her grey hair; bare the shoulders of Goddess Gu She, vying in fair skin.
They toss earrings and pendants in mutual exchange, then glance at my dusty self with mocking smiles.
By their side, countless ghosts stand solemnly, favored by the Emperor, they speak with borrowed grace.
Whispering softly, they're granted fur robes and shoes; their smiling teeth show, chillingly exposed.
All other gods withdraw, not daring to look; their spittle falls, turning into pearls and gems.
Morning joy discards mist and haze; evening sighs breathe out into clouds and fog.
They steal heaven's treasury to buy allies, scattering countless jades and tablets.
Silks and gauzes beyond count are taken recklessly, dragged and draped in chaos.
They whip the giant spirit to rob Kua Fu, wield axes to untie the celestial mechanism.
The eastern watchtower crumbles at the corner; the southern view loses the Dipper and Winnowing Basket.
Other clutter is indistinguishable, seen only as a messy sieve.
The Thunder God steps forth, weeping before the Emperor: "Can you remain unaware of this?"
I wish to lead celestial guards in a punitive campaign, aided by hailstorms covering all mountains.
The Metal God blocks the path, pressing forward; behind, a carriage drawn by myriad jade serpents.
Precious blades flip alongside iron shields; jade halberds and hooks cross pearl banners.
The bleak wind blows through white mourning robes; shell-armored formations encircle the sky.
Sharpened arrows with feathered shafts are nocked; strong crossbows fire in relentless volleys.
When deceit reaches its limit, they cannot hold, binding themselves with ropes, surrendering in chains.
Captives are paraded in triumph through heaven's court; pheasants plucked of feathers perform a dance of submission.
The Emperor calls Zhu Rong to burn and discard them, scattering ashes to earth, leaving no trace.
Summoning allies, he weighs their crimes, beheading Ping Yi and imprisoning the Wind Master.
The Fusang tree glows, revealing the dawn; the Sun Chariot returns to race across the sky.
Awakening, I gaze around, shocked by the white expanse; my heart contends with confusion over right and wrong.
No winter thunder sounds, no lightning flashes; I suspect ghosts still exploit their private schemes.
Heaven's height and earth's depth are not my charge; let me just hold wine, without sighing.