What day is this, the dawn of the fifth moon?
A daughter dies by force, with grievance left unknown.
Alas, as father, I too lack the might,
To let your lonely grave bury this wrongful plight.
Life, death, longevity, or early doom—none fixed by fate,
How could I thus blame others, filled with hate?
Back then, this matter shocked the crowd the most,
Passersby who heard were all in sorrow lost.
Our family, for generations, prized true learning,
Our daughter not just skilled in weaving, churning.
She read, untouched by lavish ornament,
And wrote with flowing grace, her thoughts well sent.
Poor, we dared not wed her to a wealthy line,
Fearful of mismatch, where kinship would decline.
Her mother’s brother, her own uncle dear,
Sought to bind our clans by marrying his son here.
In village weddings, the mother’s clan holds sway,
Though I was unwilling, what else could I say?
At sixteen years, she married, life begun,
Burdened daily by cares, devoid of fun.
Returning home, she saw me, wept in grief,
Told family matters beyond belief.
In-laws and siblings knew not the proper way,
Abandoned rites for pleasure, wild as clouds at play.
Many they, few we—no strength to win the fight,
She forced herself to learn, not her true light.
Yesterday I told her this had gone too far,
She turned her ear, ignored me, raised a scar.
I said, ‘This is not how a wife should be,’
‘Why not tend your own self, properly?’
Alas, your husband bore this duty’s weight,
But mad and fierce, like a crazed deer, his state.
Have you not seen the loyal Xie Ye die,
Whose remonstrance brought no blame from lords on high?
Who knew my words would prove not false in end?
Next year, you bore your first grandson, my friend.
Once ill, none cared to see or lend a hand,
This attitude—did they wish you to stand?
Anxious, your mother tried all means alone,
And I, your father, rushed in fear and moan.
Then your uncle, with his beloved maid,
Shouted at dice, played games, as if unafraid.
Wild words blamed illness on some ghostly spell,
An old crone in the village could spirits quell.
Called to inquire—what else was there to do?
Your uncle blamed my learning as untrue.
In crisis, rash moves must not be made,
Sitting firm like heaven’s king, I stayed.
He guided his own wife to work this sin,
Came to your sickbed, sought your robe and gown thin.
Dressed, you went out—again they told you lies,
Feigned extra care, with false and cunning eyes.
So much disturbance, too much to recall,
They blamed you for not joining in their thrall.
Ten days on medicine brought some relief,
Illness shifted, but not beyond belief.
Throat gasping, breath just barely drawn,
They forced you daily to eat rich food, dawn.
In-laws forbade a second chance at life,
Cunning schemes unleashed—such unkind strife.
The baby, just a foot long, could not speak,
Suddenly snatched away, with words so bleak.
Rumors said your mother-in-law raged, no visit made,
You hurried off, sick, no time to ask or aid.
In illness, fear unknowable, profound,
You sat up, silent, tears soaking your gown.
Soon the illness struck again as before,
Three days uncured—what was the cause, what more?
This was your nephew, your own daughter-in-law,
Why bear such ingratitude, without a flaw?
Alas, if I bore a daughter lacking right,
Even by your hand slain, I’d hold no spite.
Upright, courteous, gifted beyond compare,
Wise and eloquent, with talents rare.
Precisely for this, you incurred this blame,
You can press your hand to heart, feel the same.
Though law could not reach this, no decree,
Still one could lift one’s head, appeal to heaven’s decree.
High heaven, ghosts and gods—not to be trusted,
Yet later ears may hear, by time adjusted.
Now those who hear already feel it wrong,
I hate my lack of courage, to right this long.
Only old friends do not blame you, dear,
Ask of this matter, sigh with sorrow near.
Sadly they tell me, ‘Son, hold no regret,’
‘This fault lies with you—why blame others yet?’
Tigers pounce, oxen gore—no surprise there,
Plan your own escape, avoid being their fare.
Dwell deep in halls, behind locked doors, secure,
Can ox or tiger scale the wall, be sure?
Climb mountains, enter marshes—heedless of care,
How can you hope to meet a qilin rare?
Bright pearls, fine jade—priceless their worth,
Cast in ditches, gather dust, lose their birth.
Placed in wrong ground, this outcome is due,
Since so, why blame the thorns that there grew?
Alas, in this I share the guilty part,
May all the world henceforth hold marriage dear at heart.