In Nanchong County of Guozhou,
A poor girl named Xie Ziran.
Ignorant in childhood,
She only heard of immortals.
She lightly gave up life to learn their arts,
Atop the Golden Spring Mountain.
Renouncing worldly glory and parents' love,
She severed all familial ties.
Concentrating her mind, she sensed demons,
In a trance, hard to describe.
One day, sitting in an empty room,
Clouds and mist arose within.
As if hearing pipes and reeds,
Sounds from the unseen heavens.
Bright day turned dark and gloomy,
The bleak scenery grew cold.
Eaves and pillars flickered briefly,
Linked by five-colored lights.
Onlookers were merely shocked,
Hesitating, none dared approach.
In a moment, she rose lightly,
Drifting like smoke in the wind.
Vast are the eight directions,
No trace or cause to be found.
The village officer reported this,
The governor was amazed and sighed.
He rode his carriage, leading officials,
Common folk vied to go first.
Entering, they saw nothing,
Only her cap and shoes, shed like a cicada's skin.
All said it was an immortal's deed,
Glorious and surely credible.
I've heard in ancient Xia times,
Images revealed gods and evils.
People could enter the mountains,
No demons were encountered.
That way declined and never revived,
Later ages indulged in deceit.
The realms of dark and light grew chaotic,
Humans and ghosts harmed each other.
Though Emperor Qin was fervently devoted,
Emperor Han greatly expanded this source.
Since these two rulers came,
This calamity has continued unbroken.
Wood and stone spawn strange changes,
Foxes unleash monstrous plagues.
Unable to fulfill their nature,
How can they prolong life?
Among all living things,
Knowledge and wisdom are supreme.
Why not trust oneself,
Instead seeking change from external things?
The past cannot be regretted,
Lone souls harbor deep grievances.
The future can still be warned,
Are my words then empty?
Human life has constant principles,
Men and women each have their roles.
Warm clothes and sufficient food,
Come from weaving and plowing.
Below, to protect descendants,
Above, to serve ruler and parents.
If one diverges from this path,
All is self-abandonment.
Alas, that poor girl,
Forever entrusted to alien beings.
Moved to sorrow, I wrote this poem,
The unenlightened should inscribe it on their girdles.