Moored by night south of Luxi county,
Hearing Qiang and Rong songs from both shores.
The moon was dark, monkeys chattered,
A light rain soaked my clothes, bringing sorrow.
A banished man climbed a high tower,
Wordless, sleepless, he played the konghou.
He played of autumn at Jimen's mulberry leaves,
Wind and sand hissing over green grave mounds.
The general's iron steed sweated blood,
Deep into Xiongnu lands, battle unceasing.
A yellow flag signaled troops to withdraw,
Slaughtering barbarians piled like hills.
The wounded and sick driven to border posts,
Still clad in lambskin coats of the northern desert.
Faces gaunt with hunger, hiding in shame,
Tears dripping deep from both eyes.
Longing for home to eat yak meat,
Wishing to speak but pointing to a choked throat.
Some strong ones could still groan,
Meaning they were wronged by frontier generals.
For five generations vassals, kept by the Han ruler,
Roaming the river bends in blue-felt tents.
Fifty thousand camels, tribes dense,
Granted by decree golden phoenix helmets.
For the lord, a hundred battles like counting tallies,
Quietly sweeping Yin Mountain, no bird dares land.
At home, an iron charter specially bestowed,
A thousand catties of gold not enough to ask.
Nine clans separated, made prisoners of Chu,
Deep valleys lonely, the strings bitter and faint.
Plants and trees mourn, the sound soughing,
I, from Dongshan, ever worried for the state.
Before the Mingguang Hall, discoursed on the Nine Categories,
Pored over military books, searching all mysteries.
For the lord, on his palm, I devised strategies,
Knew mountains and rivers like none other.
The purple palace issued edicts for distant appeasement,
Wielding the brush, frost flying like seizing a hook.
Even ghosts and gods cannot know the reason,
Pitying the common people, likened to ants.
Troops stationed by the northern river must be gradually withdrawn,
All surrendered sent to bow at the Imperial Moat.