In the fourteenth year of the emperor, the new era is named Jiāxī.
On the first day of midwinter, at the noon hour precisely.
The north wind shakes hills and valleys, fierce gusts howl through bare branches.
Dark as a snowy Shang day, the fields lie in deepening gloom.
Cooking smoke fades at dusk, twilight veils the courtyard screens.
Roosters perch on wooden pegs, birds dart to treetops in haste.
Strange that after winter solstice, daylight should still be short.
Why does the scene hasten, swift as a fleeting steed?
Children suddenly run to report: the sun's disk is not whole.
Rushing out to gaze upward, I see a crescent like the moon.
The golden crow loses its blaze, the jade hare hides its glow.
The sky turns tortoiseshell hue, stars vie in faint glimmers.
Old and young clamor in uproar, beating drums to rouse the earth god.
What monstrous thing, they wonder, veils the pure sun's light?
I've heard from masters of yin-yang: sun and moon move by calendar.
The sun slow, the moon swift, their rhythms never match.
At new moon they must meet, with not a hair's breadth error.
When energies clash, one may obscure the other.
At full moon, sun masks moon—yang stirred, thus yin wanes.
At new moon, moon masks sun—yin strong, thus yang dims.
I also heard from Master Jade River, who wrote of lunar eclipse.
He said these sun and moon are Heaven's eyes, east and west.
Two eyes should not attack each other; mutual devouring is false.
The moon's devourer is a toad spirit—its own sorrow self-made.
I observe poets, each with their own intent.
Jade River meant allegory, using this as his vehicle.
Sun holds a toad, moon a crow—strange tales from old.
How can they eat their own light and still race across the sky?
The classics say planets misalign, celestial signs turn dim and lost.
Thus mutual eclipse, this theory should not be doubted.
Having grasped this truth, my heart aches with heavy sighs.
The sun is lord of all yang, all things follow its shadow.
Now why this ill omen? Dark essence steals the fiery blaze.
Gazing helpless at the sky, tears stream down my cheeks.
Alas, this very year, Heaven has shown its might repeatedly.
Stars display ominous changes, thunder roars out of season.
In summer's fifth month, disaster blazed in the capital.
After the sixteenth of June, a lunar eclipse foretold drought and famine.
Now this solar eclipse—how frequent these calamities!
Heaven's will is not empty show; from my well, I glimpse a pipe.
By Heaven to speak of man: sun is sovereign, moon consort.
The Ospreys mourn the fair maiden, intent on virtuous talent.
If seductive charms abound before him, desires will surely sway.
This solar eclipse now may stem from palace intrigues.
Yet our sage ruler surely does not indulge in private pleasures.
The sovereign mirrors the sun in honor, ministers the moon in humility.
Rectify hearts at court, display virtue to block error.
If state power is usurped, eyes and ears are deceived.
This solar eclipse may also come from treacherous ministers.
Yet our enlightened ruler—how could his court be blind and foolish?
A monarch inclined to bright rule must not let martial might decay.
Now enemies threaten the north, forts alarm the frontier.
Soldiers grow timid, border steeds whinny in disarray.
This solar eclipse may arise from border crises.
Yet our martial ruler would never yield to such foes.
Reflecting deeply on these three, urgent tasks truly lie here.
If any of these holds truth, it is the root of change.
To answer Heaven, not with words—mere rituals are child's play.
As a man who loses sight seeks good medicine to heal,
So my sunflower heart fears Heaven may not know.
If only I could push open heaven's gates, dash my head on jade steps!
A policy of bitter tears, detailing heart's sorrow.
First, what to present? Take 'No Ease' as the sacred guide.
In dark rooms, under leaky roofs, solemn as before gods.
Be like King Zhuang of Chu, heeding Fan Ji's admonitions.
Do not emulate Emperor Cheng of Han, softened by aging beauties.
The mind's lord must be clear, wisdom's torch brightly shining.
Like the sun at sky's zenith, blazing in glorious light.
Second, what to present? Employ worthies like Gao and Kui.
Select from many a prime minister, let state debates be fair held.
The Censorate holds white tablets, choose stern and upright men.
Do not grant power to relatives, let eunuchs bear no seals.
Cleanse the court of murky air, rid posts of greasy complacency.
Last rays rely on Han's sun, the Son of Heaven is our support.
Third, what to present? Strengthen our six armies mightily.
Oarsmen like Zu Ti, heaven's favor grants them command.
Traitors like Qin Hui, sweep them away without trace.
Train troops with clear rewards and punishments, fierce as bears and panthers.
Southern Yue's necks can be noosed, Zhonghang's backs must be whipped.
As sun melts frost and snow, annihilation is not hard.
All these three proposals, long pondered in my heart.
Clear and feasible to enact, not mere wasted words.
Turn chaos into order, reverse disaster into blessing.
Do not learn from Hou Yi shooting, nor imitate Kua Fu chasing.
Lift the wheel to Fusang, wash light from Xianchi.
All living things bask in its gaze, all lands shine in its dawn.
Five-colored signs of peace, double halos of revival.
The vault of heaven glows splendidly, all nations gaze in awe forever.