The governor loves guests, his affection knows no end,
Guests at the Golden Terrace, their worth is beyond compare.
In the third month of spring, the tribute tea season arrives,
All follow the red banners deep into the mountains.
At dawn in the roasting shed, the vermilion gates open,
Baskets and crates gradually fill with fresh buds.
Through mist and dew, they ceaselessly search and pick,
Official red seals and urgent documents press them on.
Who laments the hunger from dawn till dusk, crawling on the ground?
The clamor of competing deliveries, handfuls never enough.
In a single moment, a single ration, it piles up again.
Steamed and scented, its fragrance surpasses plum blossoms.
Grinding the paste, the frames shake with a thunderous roar.
The tea finished, they bow and present it to the Son of Heaven.
Ten thousand men vie to devour it, the spring mountains seem crushed.
The courier's whip cracks like a flash of lightning,
Driving men through the night—who sees them again?
Ten days for the royal journey, four thousand li of road,
They must arrive in time for the Pure Brightness feast.
Our lord may be called a ruler who accepts remonstrance,
But if censors do not censure, how will he hear?
Though within the ninefold walls he feasts on jade-like food,
At the world's edge, the toil of clerks and laborers never ends.
The governor, worried for the people, wears a pained expression,
Sits with his guests by the roasting shed to taste the tea.
How many times, bringing it to his lips, he sighs deeply again,
From what strength do these tender greens, fresh and fragrant, come?
In the mountains, there is wine and also song,
The barracks and houses of the pleasure camp are all like immortals' homes.
Ten troops of immortals, a hundred hu of wine,
Feasts with golden strings and delicacies pass by in procession.
On this day, the governor's worried thoughts are many,
The guests too are silent, no fine silks are demanded.
Earnestly circling the roasting shed, he heaves another long sigh:
The government's established routine—how can its deadline be met?
People of Wu, people of Wu, do not waste away in sorrow!
When the governor becomes chief minister, he hopes to revive you.