By the Fish-Fu River spring affairs arise,
Ten thousand crimson banners flutter in clear ripples.
The host is none other than Liu Mengde,
Carrying wine to entertain guests amidst the water's gleam.
When wine is done, we stroll on the sandy shore,
Fine stones line up, winding in a meandering row.
The Sleeping Dragon rose to aid the Red Dragon's son,
Heaven, earth, wind, and clouds entered his whip and flail.
Snakes coil, tigers flank, and soaring birds take flight,
Four fronts, four wings—all piled by the Duke's own hand.
Back then, two hundred forty thousand troops,
Opened and closed gates, moved as if by his arm's command.
How many times did he scare Sima Yi to death?
Often fleeing by night, riding pigs in stealth.
Immortal from the sea with feet twelve spans long,
Came and went with him, treading jade-like steps.
Laughing, he said, 'This Duke has a belly vast,
Dragons seize, tigers pounce—all piled within his chest.'
Winds and waves by the river churn and roar,
Broken banks and rushing peaks all crumble in defeat.
The River Earl raged in battle, Three Gorges furious,
Yet these fine stones remain, unmoved by the blast.
Great Marshal Xuanwu of Jin, Duke of Might,
Like the Changshan snake, strikes head and tail alike.
In the tent, what guest sits firm and steadfast?
Not one among them could unravel this design.
A thousand years, only the old eccentric remained,
Seeing it, he straightened his sleeves and heaved three sighs.
Well knowing this method came from the Dark Maiden,
He detailed for all the lords its roots and core.
Have you not heard? Feng Hou's cunning plans were wondrous,
Quelling Chi You as easily as crushing ants.
The Han Great General personally reviewed and tested,
All tribes heard the wind and lost their fighting spirit.
Ma Long's three thousand troops locked horns in strife,
The Western Qiang, lush and thick, lost fang and claw.
And here the Duke brought forth a novel thought,
Unrivaled merit and fame, second to none.
Who knows where to place both hands?
His establishment rivals heaven and earth.
The River Chart and Luo Writ are just the same,
The majestic Kongming—he is not dead today.
We, the living, are like the dead,
Growing old without accomplishing a single deed.
Yet the macaque sits upon the royal throne,
Who sees the Heavenly King exiled to Si?
Unable to wear out shoes and bare knees before the Qin court,
Wailing loud for seven days without cease.
Nor can we sever necks and burst bellies for the state,
Brains and marrow streaming, drenching the ground.
I envy An Jin's Wen Taizhen,
And admire the hegemon of Yue, Guiji Li.
Eight years clinging to wife and children, well-fed,
Tears shed in the east wind, flesh growing on thighs.
Bright spots still shine on Gao Qing's hair,
Scattered, yet not fallen, are Zhang Xun's teeth.
Cherishing this slight frame—what use is it?
With such subjects as these, hard to match their will.
Though patriotic hearts still linger here,
Left horn, right horn—well versed in deployment.
Two flanks, two squares, and the central force,
Recorded in Spring and Autumn, chronicled by Jin.
Moreover, the east wing and central block,
And the Green Dragon with the Jun Star's might.
Intricate formations such as these abound,
The wise embrace them, the foolish are blind.
This diagram—a straw dog of ancient men,
Blended with old methods, executed by oneself.
Deviating to form the forward pincers, the Di laughed,
But victory here—how could Liang doubt its worth?
Er Zhu's hundred thousand broke a million strong,
It only depends on strategy and plan.
Alas, I left my country, years have aged,
My fervent heart speeds toward the jade screen far.
Pitiful A Pi, merely a woman,
While I have yet to cleanse the nation's shame.
Lately, I bought a boat at Lu River county,
Knocked on its side, wishing to sail on Wu's stream.
Before Red Armor Mountain, spring snow lies deep,
Below White Emperor City, a skiff moors still.
Why linger here so long?
Fine rain drums the awning, sorrow keeps me awake.
News comes: rebel whelps invade Huai and Si,
His Majesty himself leads to crush Chen Xi.
Six armies like dragons, bandits like rats,
Slaughter turns roof tiles into flying debris.
Bowshots strike true from six hundred paces,
Enemy corpses clog the river for a thousand miles.
Alas, the macaque is too foolish and stubborn,
Dying, still clutching Emperor Yu's dagger.
How could he know Guangwu would restore the realm,
Determined to scrub clean the Central Plain?
Have you not seen? His Majesty's divine might rivals Taizong,
Perfect plans to pacify the Rong are set.
Leaning, I hear captives offered at Pingjiang Palace,
Sitting to see the world open to spring's grace.
Six steeds return from east of the river,
Recovering the old capital like rolling tumbleweed.
Shu flowers, a thousand, ten thousand branches red,
Pray, do not lightly follow the east wind.
The eccentric's eyes and mind drunk with winter's stupor,
Facing east, he dances to honor the aged sire.
Sober or drunk, I'll make a Bamboo Branch song,
Begging the boatmen's chant for Ba's children.