µÁù³öScene 6

´&ý ù ìÀ¤¼;
¨ê ì
With a laugh, everything
comes to an end. Years
pass, but the story retains
its sheen.
´ùt« 4ýá·
Has there ever been such an
ending, even in ancient
tales?

ÀÀÿª³¡®
»¹½« s¡
The story began with me,
and I too shall end it.

´õ ü}µÀ³¡
¡¶ »¨ !·½®µ
At this Taoist mountain
temple, The Peach Blossom
Fan must take its
conclusion.
¿âÀû÷(}
´uø À üÁ 
Ma Shiying has been struck
by lightning on a mountain
top, while Ruan Dacheng fell
from a towering peak.
À Àöê¼ û
À¥ úª} 7
Li Zhenli has married
another, and Su Kunsheng
gathers firewood.

ÀÀýpuÀ¿
I have now exchanged my
costume for that of a Taoist
priest. In this guise,

¿´Á½¸ö³sÀ´Á
I shall attend to those led
astray by the wildness of
their passions.


¡¾ùý ù¡¿
; À %6
Desolate I wander, distant
my only beloved.

 ø}ç
ª »z
Daunting the walls between
us, these thousand, ten
thousand, mountains. Only
the faithful oriole knows my
heart.

¾¡
¾¡u
-All is madness.
-All is folly.
  û»ëë²»»+
Cannot the oriole bring
news of my love?

°¾¼ ²týê
Sorrow! I return to my lonely
abode.

û¨¦¿¿ Àrü
What girl is that, who, tender
like a bud on the branch,
reclines on the fence?


ñ~µ? ð³þý
Can it be my Xiangjun?

ºÀ
þý
-Fangyu!
-Xiangjun!

 wk²
þý
-Oh, beloved! How I have
yearned for you!
-Xiangjun!

¡¾ñ«Àôá¿
q; 
How cruel the day of our
parting!

øº  í¼
In old stories, the magpies
formed bridges to let lovers
meet for their trysts,
ý¸øü± <¸
 
But the walls which divided
us were higher than the sky,
far too high to be crossed
by letters.
¿À  Á
³öÀ´·¶ù= ö£
-Our dreams were vain, and
love was quickly fleeting.
-Oh, the winding ways we
travelled!

ºöùn
¸´ô¦µ÷
Who are you, that dares to
speak of love in this place?
»µÀ³¡
}on÷» 
The Taoist temple is pure,
and certainly no place for
sly men to woo and flirt with
women.
´û°²
´À´n ¼  ®´
Your words are unjust! It is
in the nature of men and
women to court and marry.
Àúñ¯»¶  ù
 úú¹5
The sorrow of parting, the
joy of reunion: love has its
own laws. What matter, pray
tell, is it of yours?

³s!³s
You are besotted by your
passions.

ôû³ýµ¹¹¬ ú
À³± °
Today, the walls of the
imperial city are crumbling
and overgrown with
wormwood.

;´³¤¬°
¾ :Àùúµ
The bridges are decrepit,
the courtyards heaped with
smashed bricks.
 õ´yù
»¼¸¸ö¶ù¶ö 
All that remains of your
human world is a few
hungry beggars.

õÀ¹úÀ ¼À
¾ýÀ8À
And the nation, your family,
the emperor, your parents¡ª
what, now, is left of all
these?

¡¾±±îÁ
} °²tø»¨ 
'w÷Á 5½
The mountain pines, the wild
grasses, here and there a
flower. This is the Nanjing
you returned to.
²>üÁ·À ?z¾
Heaped bodies of defeated
soldiers, emaciated horses
on the battlefields.

´yù õ
³öæµÀ
The sun has set on your
human world.

¡¾ä ý¡¿
°»µ 
»¤9³¤v0y
Fires rage uncontrolled, the
trees that shielded the
imperial graves now are
badly scorched.

}:
Á"¼8± 
Herds of goats roam the
countryside, the guards of
the imperial tombs have long
since fled.

¸ 7ú 
¿¦°¶µ±½
The crypts are covered in
feathers and the filth of bats.
Withered branches and fallen
leaves cover the imperial
steps.
í¼Àh
Á¶ù´ Áú±®ñ
Who, now, will keep them
clean? Who, now, will make
offerings? Shepherd boys
crumble pieces off the
imperial steles.

¡¾³Á¶«·
ºppøùùµ¹
¶z 0öý¸
The marble columns have
toppled, the palace walls are
fallen in the mud.
ÁÁ§¬¶
À40ù 
d/8³£³¯
The glazed tiles in fragments,
the jade latticing removed,
the palaces a roost for birds.
±l»·
¼û¼¸¸ö¶ù¶ö 
The imperial paths are
overgrown with artemisia,
and strewn with the corpses
of starved beggars.

¡¾ùÁ
 ;´¾ t°|
½í· »µ¼÷µ±³±
Perhaps you will ask after
the old riverside mansions¡ª
but the paper windows are
torn, the thresholds long
since flooded.
»5?¶û û
µ±·÷:´¦
All that remains is blinding
desolation. Where are they
now, those beautiful women;
or the music that made them
dance?

°u´¬¶ ²»
~ >Á
No more lantern boats for
the festivals, no shops
selling wine for the holidays.

°®®  î  
Only gulls still glide about,
only the river still rushes.

û»¨)µû·
º ¶¸ö 
Butterflies flit among the
tender chrysanthemums; but
no one bears witness to their
blooms.

¡¾¹ÁÀ¾¡¿
üõÿê° À
¾z0û» õ
Do you recall the bridge that
crossed the stream? Not one
plank remains.

 ùý 
Àu
The uncaring light of the sun
fades over the few remaining
inhabitants,

£» ÷Áøü
and a single weeping willow.

¡¾+½Á
5½þ :
If you walk among the old
courtyards,

º
²²»!. 
you may walk wherever you
please; not even dogs keep
watch.

· ÿ~®ó²
²»¹ý)é&ö²
Only dilapidated wells, only
mossy piles of bricks, only
steps covered in weeds.
°³º µ;¨ õÁø 
¾¡¶ù² 
And what of the flowers, the
willows that we planted with
our own hands? Anyone can
pick them as he pleases.

}
º» í¼³ø
And who can even tell from
the ruins what house this
might once have been?

³s!³s
Ah, how you are besotted by
your passions!

« µèxù
¾x û²»¶ô
All has crumbled; but your
love¡ª why have you not
dispensed with it?

¡¾À dôø*¸w¡¿
°³ø¼û½Á uz þ
At dawn, I have heard the
oriole sing by the great
houses of Nanjing,

;´îû¨¿ª
and seen the flowers in
bloom, by the riverbank
pavilions.


íªµÀñùû
Who was to know that it
could vanish so easily?

ÿ´ û ¥
ÿ´ ûñö¿
ÿ´ û¥ úÁ
I saw them build the
courtesan's quarters, saw
them feast and make merry.
But I saw, too, how the
building collapsed.

&± ö
Now moss covers those
piles of broken bricks.
°³øï·Á÷¾õ
½«®  ö¿´±¥
I, too, was once taken in by
opulence, but, over fifty
years, I have at last seen
through this rise and fall.
»õ
*³ºþ¹¹¿
The old families no longer
live in those houses; and
the ghosts' nocturnal
wailing echoes on the lake.

·û ( 
The houses of power have
become the roosts of birds.
²} ¾~³¶ªu
²»|»»¸
Broken dreams are the most
real, and sights once seen are
hard to forget. Though it may
seem hard to believe, the old
dynasty has already fallen.


»)»°
õµ! úÀ¹ÁÀ
ºö
These few words have
caused me to break into
cold sweat. It is as if I had
woken from a dream.

ÿ þµÁ
µþµ
-Do you understand?
-I do.

ÿ þµ
µ²þµÁ
-And you?
-I too comprehend.

º ¼;¶¼þµÁ
 ûû»ÁõÀ°
Very well. Now that you have
learnt the truth, exchange
your worldly clothes for
Taoist attire.

´õÀ²ª  h{
»w½;þ°
-Only now do I see how the
great way enlightens.
-How I regret my passions!
Now I perceive that all was
illusion.

¶ ú
Even people are but
figments.


» ð§½­
·q¯ ù³ªµ½À
I have written these laments
for you. Intone them sadly,
and grow old.

+¾
The End
2026Äê6ÔÂ
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