I recall my ancestor, master of immortals,
The Mystic Origin Emperor, Zhou's Archivist.
He learned from Yellow Emperor, befriended Yao and Tang,
Mingled his light, aided King Wu of Zhou.
Zhou's Son of Heaven lacked immortal air,
Cheng, Wu, Kang, Zhao were but a glance.
King Mu barely knew immortal matters,
His chariot wheels raced the eight poles to fulfill his will.
Crane hair, hidden truth, unknown to the world,
How many times have sun, moon, stars died?
Golden cauldron makes elixir, elixir turns jade,
Thirty-six thousand spirits enter the abode.
Immortal brother, receiving arts for millennia,
Already then a guest riding swans.
Sea light vast, the heavenly road long,
Spring breeze, jade maidens open palace gates.
Purple brush personally taught to write his name,
Jade Emperor's decree engraved on blue-gold slip.
Parted by cassia window for three thousand springs,
In Qin consort's mirror, moth-eyebrows anew.
Suddenly he reins a fragrant dragon, ascends to heaven,
Seaside kalpa-stone, sky-blossom dust.
Since the immortal carriage left the Middle Land,
Stubborn days, dim winds, age without master.
Nine provinces contend without cease,
Eight Steeds hang heads, avoiding jackals and tigers.
I too am a thousand-generation descendant of Mystic Origin,
Eyes strained, gazing through azure mist's root.
Floral kylin, white phoenix, end in silent gloom,
Flying spring, running moon, weary the spirit dim.
A hundred years, life brief as galloping horse,
Sorrowful guts coiled, heart crushed to peaks.
This morning I bow my head to immortal brother,
Wishing you'd bestow cinnabar to transform my autumn bones.