South of Heng and Xiang, two thousand miles away,
A pure and gentle energy often winds its way.
Inspired by cinnabar and jade's essence fine,
It melts and forms myriad shapes, no carving line.
Its source remote, its path wild, unlike Mount Tai's glen,
Not blessed by Yu's work, lightly cast aside by men.
Moss-covered, soil-eroded, who inquires more?
It lies stiff and rugged in the marketplace floor.
The old man of Turtle Mountain sees it with delight,
Gathers men to cart it, sets it before his sight.
A lone towering peak reveals an immortal's palm,
Stands like Mount Hua's green scraping the sky with calm.
Precipitous cliffs and broken gulfs appear within view,
Lush and jade-like, mist and clouds anew.
At first I thought, before First Emperor's death day,
A floating bridge meant to span Xianchi's bay.
Gods howled, ghosts raged, driving it not ahead,
Beaten and worn, it became a beam instead.
Then I thought a giant from Dragon Country came,
Raising a pole from Kunlun's peak in fame.
Carrying turtles, merging with clouds and waves' toss,
Penglai Isles swayed, leaving a plain across.
All day I lean on railings, lost in thought,
Lifting my head, wishing to join immortals' lot.
My buttocks as wheels, spirit horse self-driven,
I feel the cool breeze under my arms given.
Wandering in Jasper Terrace, apart from worldly strife,
Drunk and proud, patting Hongya's shoulder in life.
Plants in the mountains are spiritual bait,
Eating flowers and fruits helps longevity wait.
Vast and slow breaths change past and now,
Watching the sea turn to mulberry fields somehow.