The emperor of Han
laid weight on looks and pondered what lays countries low; though world’s pilot,
many years he sought and did not find.
Now the family Yang had a girl who’d just begun to grow, fostered in
deep chambers which people did not know.
Fine mettle born of heaven can hardly let itself be spurned: a single
morning saw the Lord King choose her for his side. She’d look askance and from
a smile birth a hundred wiles -- at which the blush and liner of Six Palaces was all made
colorless.
In spring’s chill He granted her to bathe at Fine Blue Pool: the watery
gloss of that warm spring soaked her soap-slick limbs. Up the servants propped
her tender feebleness, and thence she for the first time bore the bounty of His
grace. With cloudy hair and flower face, adornment of the gold-step shake,
beneath hibiscus canopy, the spring nights elapsed balmily. Over bitter-short
spring nights the sun sprang high; from then the Lord King held no early court.
From banquets and feasts no rest was to be had; each spring she joined
the journeys of the spring, and every night night was her devoted night. The
Rear Palace beauties tallied three thousand persons, but three thousand
adorations were heaped upon one soul. In the Golden Chamber she made herself
fair to serve at night; in the Jade Tower the banquet, set, made drunk the peace
of spring. Her sisters elder and younger, brothers junior and senior, on all
alike had holdings been conferred; an enviable luster flourished at her family’s
door. Consequently, under heaven, heart of sire and dam alike disdained to foster boys,
esteemed to nurture girls.
A high place is the
Palace Li advancing into turquoise clouds. A heavenly choir, the floating wind,
on all sides can be heard. There lolling song and lazy waltz distil in threads,
bamboo -- where the Lord King exhausts the day but doesn’t see his fill.
Now at Yuyang the war drums come to shake the earth -- a shock that breaks the
Strains of Rainbow Garments, Feathered Robes. A mist is born about the
nine-fold garrison, into which one thousand cars and myriad steeds begin their southwest march. The Emblem of the Halcyon flaps as it starts again and stops.
They proceed from the city in excess of one hundred li. But when the Six Armies won’t engage there is no help for it:
the winding brows of moth must die before the horse. The garland cast upon the
ground, no man receives -- nor feathers of the halcyon, the sparrow gold, nor
jade that clasps the head. His face our Lord King covers but recover he cannot.
Behind he sees the mingling of the blood and tears – the yellow dust is
scattered in the whistling wind.
The “cloud planks”
wind their way up Dagger Shelf – but few men descend back down from Mount Emei. Their banners are listless in the languid light falling on the blue of Shu which
laps about her mountain green. The sage host’s passions are each dawn and dusk;
on palace tours he glimpses heartache in the color of the moon – and in the
night rain’s bells he hears its sound. Heaven winds and earth twists as the
dragon car returns; come so far, he hesitates – he cannot go. By the dirt
beneath the Mawei slope unseen -- the place where her jade countenance expired
to no end. Between lord and vassal in a glance exchanged the garments all are
soaked; eastward to the city gates they trust the steeds' return. Come back to
the pools and parks, all is as before: in Deep Pool, the hibiscus – the willows
of the Endless Court. The hibiscus -- like her face -- the willow -- like her
brow; at this how could the tears but flow?
In a spring breeze
it's true that peach and pear both flower in the sun -- but autumn rain is when
the Wutong sheds its leaves. In the Southern Sanctum of the Palace of the West,
the autumn grass abounds; shed leaves brim over steps from which red cannot be
swept. The disciples of Pear Garden have newly grown white hair; the ladies of
the Pepper Room -- their youth all is now old. In the Western Hall the buzzing
flies stir sorry thoughts; the lonely lamp has used its wick and still he has
not slept. The hesitation of the bell begins the lengthy night; the stars of
the Milky Way, twinkling, herald now the dawn. The dovetailed bricks are
chilled with heavy frost -- with whom to share the quilt which, though of
eiderdown, is cold? Long winding through
the years the road that parts his life from death, nor once does her soul enter
in his dreams.
A bonze from Lingong comes to Hongdu as a guest -- his the
capacity through faith to reach the souls. As passion wrecks the Lord King's
thoughts, he asks that mage to make painstaking search. He* volleys to the sky
and riding wind like lightning flies. He ascends to heaven, penetrates to earth
-- and everywhere extends his search, above exhausting gloaming blue, and
golden springs, below -- boundlessly in every place, but nowhere is she seen. Just
then he hears that in the ocean is a mountain of divinities, upon which from
void and haze a tower rises gracefully into the rainbow clouds. In that tower live many fairies full and
fair, among whom is a person whose style is Great Truth. Her skin is not unlike the snow, and flowers
cannot far surpass her face.
At the west wing of
the Golden Watch he bows before the door of jade, and word is passed to Little
Jade to call on the the twin [maids]. On
hearing of Han's angel, behind the sumptuous canopy the dreaming soul is
roused. She grabs her clothes and throws
the cushions off; she rises and begins to pace -- the curtain of pearls and
silver screen are pushed aside. The
cloudy tresses yet are half distraught with sleep, and she comes down into the
hall with garlands all in disarray. A wind blows at her god-made dress, which
flutters in the breeze as though this were the Rainbow Garment Dance. In her
yearning, tears criss-cross her jade-like face -- just like the spring brings
rain to the branch of a blooming pear tree. Harboring deep feeling, with fixed
gaze, she thanks her Lordly King. On parting, voice and countenance alike fade
in the deep.
In the Chamber of the
Shining Sun, the matrimony’s cut; in the Palace of Immortals the sun and moon
rise up. He turns his head and casts a glance back on the mortal realm. Through
dust and mist he cannot see Changan. Only with keepsakes can he show his
sentiment – the inlaid case, the golden pins are to be sent ahead. Half a pin he leaves behind along with half a fan. The pin cleaves into gold;
the box to treasure splits. Only through the the firmness of the golden pin can
he expound his heart: “In heaven or among men we will meet [again].” Before
departing, once more and in earnest are delivered words. In the words the oath
of these two hearts makes itself known.
It is the seventh of the
seventh month in the Palace of Long Life, midnight, no one around, the time
of whispered words: “In heaven, would that we were birds of alternating wing;
on earth, would that we were branch of intertwining [trees]. Heaven is wide
and earth is old, but time is limited. But this regret endures and has no severance date."
*At this point, I am
uncertain whether “he” refers to the emperor or to the necromancer, but most
likely it is the former.
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