I've heard of the northern mountain's sunny side,
Where cliffs and ravines hide a treasure-like cave.
In what year did primal chaos open wide,
Making a path to depths profound and brave?
The morning pilgrimage is steep and high,
An ice kettle's depth none can surmise.
Two dragons, strange and grotesque, catch the eye,
Their cliffside chamber most rugged and wise.
Though Shangxiao Cave emerged in later days,
It harbors mists and clouds on lonely peak.
Seeking the source, I climb the empty ways,
Visit immortals' temple, relics seek.
At first the path seems narrow and confined,
But further in, it turns both deep and fair.
The upper hole by ladder is aligned,
Side passages need torchlight's flaming glare.
The green rock walls are lush and densely grown,
While milky stalactites gleam pure and white.
Winding side paths in twists and turns are known,
Their hidden beauty marvellous to sight.
To probe the depths—is that not my desire?
Yet fear arises from a flickering spark.
In darkness, bats in silent flight aspire,
And stealthy weasels murmur in the dark.
Some wonder if a cave spirit appears,
Or dread a mountain demon's piercing cry.
I've also heard the villagers' ideas:
They quarry stone for lime, the rocks supply.
Suddenly finding this deep cavern's space,
The whole town comes to gaze in sheer delight.
Who wouldn't seek adventure in this place,
But block the way, obscuring what is right?
Though this cave luckily remains alone,
It's left in wilds, with weeds and thorns o'ergrown.
If moved near capital, with crowds it'd teem,
Carriages, horses, daily calls would stream.
Well knowing tales of gods are vague and dim,
Their misty lore not worth a mournful hymn.
Are there no hermits in seclusion's state,
Who dwell in rocks, their likenesses innate?
The slash-and-burn fields fertile for the plow,
The stream's clear water fit to fish and bow.
All my life I've loved springs and stones, I vow,
Believing hunger could be healed somehow.
Joyful this place lies near my own retreat,
Where coming, going, talk and laughter meet.
Who else can grasp the meaning I impart?
Walking, I meet one bearing hoe—a start.