Three Emei peaks stretch, the Great Emei soars high,
Cliffs dash aside, leaning against half the sky.
Like crouching dragons, tigers, they rise and fall;
They gaze sidelong at rivers' morning call.
Great Yu passed by their foot from Min and Bo,
Enshrined these mountains, famed their grandeur so.
Returned in triumph, danced on steps with grace,
Si River's tribute joined the music's space.
Viewing this stone, I sigh three times with care,
As if Shu's guardian peaks all tower there.
Alas! When struck, it fell from music's stand,
Cart-borne to Huaihai, back to mountain land.
From Shang to Zhou, well-guarded, kept with awe,
No carver dared to mar its form with flaw.
Liu and Xiang fought for Lingbi, war's disgrace,
Blood stained the vales, a foul and reeking trace.
The water god, fearing it would be stained,
Wrapped it in felt, to Wu it was constrained.
Hidden in market gates a thousand years,
Dust-webbed, moss-clad, its lonely grace appears.
A rare thing's fate to hide or shine is sealed,
Yesterday's visit no summons revealed.
I once roamed west, trod Yu's historic trail,
In summer slept at Light Phase, clad in mail.
Ten years lost, dreaming by a wine jar's side,
Stroking murals, my temples turned gray, dried.
Heaven pities my love for hills, a trait,
Sets this strange gift to soothe my lonely state.
Suddenly I sit on Precious Crag, as though
Primeval snows might never melt or go.
Its rooted folds, artful and wondrously wrought,
Its peak sits proud, yet arrogance is naught.
Incense smoke like clouds spreads a silver sphere,
Sun through cracks forms a rainbow bridge, gold-clear.
Then year's end, ill, I lay in weak decline,
Rose strong, let go my cane, amazed my line.
Old, circling round, glad, I'd break clogs for cheer,
Chapped hands brush dust, cold pierces through my gear.
No time to rank Taihu with this in view,
Luofu, Tianzhu are light as feathers too.
The name 'Little Emei' by gods bestowed,
Forever with old fishermen abode.
I write to hail my stony friend so true,
And also hail this hill's encounter too.