On Handan road, the third month of spring,
At dusk I met a woman traveling.
She said her homeland was Yan and Zhao,
In youth she followed west to Qin's domain.
Mother and brother doted, no companion had,
At five, she was called 'A'jiao', a darling maid.
At seven, lush and lovely, fair of face,
At eight, clever and eloquent with grace.
At thirteen, brothers taught her books and verse,
At fifteen, in the green tower, learned song and dance.
My green tower stood beside the road,
Gauze windows, silk drapes, faint scent bestowed.
At sunset, music made you halt your steed,
In spring, my toilet brought heartbreak indeed.
I sought no governor's son south of the town,
But a young palace officer of renown.
Who knew the Han emperor loved beauty so,
By jade carriage to Jianzhang Palace I'd go.
Jianzhang's halls, countless, vast and deep,
A thousand gates in shadows long they keep.
Walls peppered, linked to carven doors so fine,
Nine-floored walkways to inner chambers twine.
Crystal blinds, mica fans, a brilliant sight,
Glass windows, tortoiseshell bed, gleaming bright.
Year after year in joyous feasts I played,
My pampered glory made all envy swayed.
His favor surpassed Empress Chen's old case,
His love outshone Zhao Feiyan's fleeting grace.
In jade rooms serving him, the world knew naught,
In golden chamber changing robes, unseen I wrought.
Who says day follows day in steady line?
The king died, court and market changed design.
The funeral coach to Maoling's field passed by,
I, lowly concubine, in Changxin Palace lie.
Then the crown prince rose to sovereign might,
Palace affairs flipped over like a hand in flight.
Fellow maids faced slander, brought to ground,
Newcomers later dared not make a sound.
My brothers' seals and ribbons were all seized,
Past gifts and honors nevermore retrieved.
Once sent back to my old hometown's gate,
In carriage, tears fell as I entered late.
My parents pitied my past wealth and state,
Married me to a rich neighbor's mate.
Thinking of these reversals, what to say?
Who can ensure a hundred years' decay?
I recall yesterday, a spring flower bright,
Now grieve, like autumn grass, in waning light.
Young men, go on, don't stop your whip's command,
All human matters lie in heaven's hand.
Not I alone today such fortune bear,
Since ancient times, such fickleness we share.