Value simplicity, not complexity;
The wonder lies between presence and absence.
Though the eye searches in vain to see it all,
A faint, delicate trace is glimpsed.
Value age, not youth;
The wonder lies at the border of flourish and decay.
The lovely form diminishes from its first years,
Yet within it harbors a profound, quiet meaning.
Value leanness, not plumpness;
The thinner it grows, the more pure and rare.
When leanness reaches a state of nothingness,
Then it's perfect for enjoying the bare branches.
Value the bud, not the bloom;
Its grace veils the embryonic promise.
Even wandering bees cannot disturb it,
Thus it holds the fullness of its talent.
It belongs in places secluded and deep,
Where no one comes all day.
Water winds around mountains, fold upon fold,
Through the trees, it makes one sigh.
It belongs on plains broad and wide,
Where great rivers' startling waves crash.
Splashing up, they nearly reach the sky,
Then suddenly half-leap and break free.
It suits the night, not the day,
Even more, it suits the moon's rippling glow.
The cliff clean, the stream gurgling,
A fisherman pushes the awning and sniffs the air.
It suits shade, not sunshine,
Even more, it suits the congealing of snowflakes.
Five or seven dots are not enough,
To seal the branches, a full closure is needed.
It should neighbor with bamboo,
White upon white, mingling with green upon green.
What's regrettable is the flower has no sound,
So it borrows the bamboo's voice in between.
It should accompany the pine,
Their sparse forms intertwine in disarray.
Pine fragrance may be coarse, indeed coarse,
Yet it can also lend half the charm.
Its birds should be kingfishers,
Or else companions among the green wormwood.
Mountain sparrows or mountain crows,
Quickly leave, do not linger here.
Its people should be wild monks,
Or else idle Daoist recluses.
Or perhaps distant, silk-clad guests,
Young masters and princes' sons together.
I am neither monk, nor Daoist.
My two eyes hold the five lakes,
My two shoulders bear the three isles.
I trouble your vigorous brush to sweep with the wind,
The Plum and Prince Wang become two old men.