Lament on an Autumn Evening
The autumn evening descends in desolation, wind and rain sweep the darkening sky. Cradling sorrow, I drift into shallow sleep— my spirit rises and wanders upward. I point toward the void, lost in reverie, winding paths appear before me. Suddenly I ascend to heaven's vault, where the Jade Emperor's palace stands in splendor. The gates swing open in welcome— who would hesitate or retreat? Entering, I kneel and speak my heart. The Divine One's countenance grows serene. “From the dust below, a humble subject comes, my bound heart yearns for release. Since escaping my swaddling clothes, I have looked only to the ancients as my guide. Confucius taught us to shed our skin for righteousness, and Mencius echoed: the man of purpose fears not the grave. So I have guarded my sworn path— faithful to my lord, devoted to my land, steadfast, unmoved by the world's deceits. Yet how the times have turned treacherous! Flatterers bend their words to suit the moment, and scheming lips move all to their advantage. They regard me as meat upon the block, saliva on their tongues, teeth grinding. These slanderers have thrived since ancient days, bringing ruin to nations. Then let me die ten thousand times— I have no regret. My only fear is that my truth shall never shine.” Climbing high to gaze afar, I see no other refuge. By the Emperor's boundless mercy, will He not lift me from this drowning? Tears and rain mingle, pouring down, my chest tightens with emotion. The Emperor takes pity on my depths and speaks: “Come now, attend to my words. The virtue of learning lies in this: to bend with the times, to flow and transform. The sun at zenith must decline, the full moon must wane. Heaven itself knows no fixed state— why doubt that human affairs work thus? The world demands one shape—why cling to another? The age prizes white—why guard your darkness alone? I pity your affliction, yet know this: it stems from your own nature. To escape danger and find peace, must you not alter your course?” I withdraw in silence, lost in thought. The Emperor's grace knows no bounds, yet I cannot abandon my first resolve. I shall end my days in hardship. Those who came a thousand years before me, and those who shall come after, stretch into infinity. I swear my purpose shall not waver. Looking back to the ancients, I refine myself. The world, oblivious, knows me not. So I write these words to comfort my own heart.