In the deep green pool, hidden dragons coil below,
A crystal palace lies where deities reside.
The water, mirror-clear, remains unstirred by woe,
Two mountains lock in strife, their rivalry their pride.
Crows cry in ancient shrine where trees in blackness grow,
Fish leap in rushing streams where crimson ripples glide.
Mist veils the temple's hair, a solemn, towering row,
Clouds drape the eaves with rain, in dimness they abide.
Sweet herbs are offered morn and night with reverence due,
Rush mats divide the winds that north and south pursue.
Old witches feast on power, their swollen bellies fed,
Travelers pray in secret, their hidden wishes sped.
No need for swift, small boats that dart like birds in flight,
No grief for lonely tracks where tumbleweeds alight.
Last autumn, Zhe's right shore was drowned in floods' embrace,
This summer, Jiangxi's heat holds all in fiery grace.
Ships, laden with vast loads, depart and ne'er return,
Granaries, thousand-fold, stand empty at each turn.
Farmers' backs crack in drought, fish pots with plenty fill,
Fields scorch to brittle husks, like tortoise cracks, they chill.
The flame god waves his flags in frantic, blazing show,
The sea god hides ashamed, his mighty powers low.
One region seeks the guard of sacred, warding might,
The world awaits the rain to set all wrongs aright.
Short oars and tiny sails bring profit fine and slight,
Libations, slaughtered beasts, can scarce reward the rite.
Ride cloud-chariots now, command the wind's domain,
Go strike the thunder drums, drive rain clouds to the plain.
A brilliant flash ignites, long lightning cleaves the air,
A roaring sweep clears space, the rainbow's end laid bare.
No need for rhino horn to banish specters' fright,
No need for ox-hoof marks to overturn the blight.
Draw down the Milky Way, pour out its full cascade,
Let human joy return, in prosperous light arrayed.
A single laugh and word can save ten thousand lives,
A moment's work restores the primal force that thrives.
The God on high rewards with honors and decree,
The True Consort receives a title, pure and free.
Jade scepters, broidered robes, in splendor softly gleam,
Shelled tribes and water kin are driven as in dream.
Mountains stand high, streams deep, for countless years to be,
Facing south, blood and feast, through all eternity.