Dark haze obscures the Purple Palace, a great rainbow looms bright.
Demonic might gathers in Ji, foul deeds find shelter inside.
Treacherous blades grow sharper daily, who dares to touch and die?
Arrogance roots deeper still, planted in feeble gloom.
Those flattering ministers all, hide like rats in their room.
Even sidelong glance they dare not, let alone voice a sigh.
The Grand Marshal, a Hanzhong man, his spirit reaches beyond.
Towering at the mountain's base, his fame throughout the land.
Since the饼祸 began, the rebels' will was not pleased.
He sent letters pouring out wrath, words sharp, anger increased.
Thus he fell into冤屈, fate with six-nine cycles met.
From this沉酷 he suffered, spared by heaven's grace at last.
His lofty loyalty shines through ages, cosmos can't contain.
Crystal clear in records bright, he sees广戒 as dirt vain.
Returned to bury in barren soil, his shrine stands solemn here.
Wide walls open deep and vast, giant trees cast shade unclear.
Divine spirit bright as sun, passers-by know to bow twice.
I, unworthy, govern this commandery, within your home's bounds.
My heart yearns to honor your image, but official duty confounds.
With sincere soul and clear wine offered, I raise cup eastward, profound.