Peak of Chuan Yan, lofty and azure-hued,
Nineteen ridges scrape the sky's bright solitude.
Dawn's fierce glow bursts from the mountain's breast,
Below, the vast sea stretches without rest.
One peak crouches like a goose's beak, they say—
Where Ren Gong fished in legends far away.
Mooring holes and carved stones still remain,
Seas turned to mulberry fields through time's long reign.
Si Zhou sits solemn in the midst, serene,
To the right, Incense Burner Peak, a steamed cake seen.
Samantabhadra's lion emerges from the cloud,
Brush-rack and bell-capped peaks in harmony endowed.
A flat stone like a mat crowns the peak high,
Where immortals played chess—their traces lie.
Clouds part, warm tents reveal Manjusri's grace,
The bride's arched brows touch the empty azure space.
Like a general returning, victory won,
Flags spread, swords raised, his mighty prowess shown.
Or like Su Wu holding the Han envoy's rod,
High-turbaned, standing firm on palace sod.
Or like a steed galloping to the heavenly gate,
Nostrils flaring, linking sun and moon's fate.
Here a divine recluse once made his home,
Old ink of poems not yet lost in foam.
A sheer cliff, green and blue, hangs by a thread,
A rugged path ascends as if to heaven led.
Pine gates and bamboo groves blend autumn hues,
Rice fields and wheat ridges hold spring's misty views.
Towering pavilions, halls where temples stand,
Rock-cave monks, founders of this sacred land.
For eight years cross-legged, never leaving the hill,
Cold-eyed to life and death, as dusk and dawn are still.
Travelers here feel as if to paradise they've climbed,
Leaning on rails, they startle ghosts, amazed, beguiled.
The waterfall that once poured from Heaven's Pool,
Still sounds an ordinary cascade, calm and cool.
Mountain apes cry thin beneath the moon at night,
Sleeping in clouds, listening to snow, unaware of light.
Five hundred saints should all return together,
Heavenly cassia seeds fall like fragrant feather.
Most dwellers live before this mountain's face,
In Xuanhe years, fierce bandits brought disgrace.
Poison spread through prefectures, people suffered sore,
Old and young climbed the mount, safety to restore.
Who knew heroes would rise from grass and weed,
Leading villagers, willing to die for the deed.
The mountain split to southwest boundary line,
A hundred thousand demon troops still cast a sidelong eyne.
Scholars talked and laughed, seeking noble rank,
Their hearts filled with strategies, spear and plank.
Deep into rebel dens they preached grace and trust,
Chieftains surrendered like captives, in the dust.
Merits reported to the court, to the Son of Heaven,
Military honors won, scarlet and purple given.
The people spared the shame of sheep or hound,
To this day, the blessings they have found.
Grateful hearts remember, never to forget,
Hence they built a shrine on the mountain's crest.
For millennia, sacrifices they'll maintain,
Praying the people's joy and peace remain.