[Instrumental] In autumn of Renxu, after the seventh month's full moon, Master Su and a guest sailed beneath Red Cliff. A gentle breeze came; no ripple rose. He raised wine to his guest, recited the Moon-bright poem, and sang the graceful chapter. Soon the moon rose above the eastern hills, wandering between the Dipper and the Ox. White mist crossed the river; water-light met the sky. We let our reed-light boat go where it willed, over the boundless vast. Vast, as riding the wind through empty air, not knowing where to stop; floating, as if we left the world alone, grew wings and climbed among immortals. [Instrumental] Then joy ran deep in wine; we struck the boat and sang. The song said: “Cassia oars, orchid paddles, beat the moonlit void, upstream through flowing light. Far, far wanders my heart; I gaze for the beloved at one edge of the sky.” The guest played a bamboo xiao, leaning on the song and answering it. Its sound was low and mournful, like grievance, yearning, weeping, pleading; aftertones wound on, an unbroken thread. It made the hidden dragon dance in deep ravines, and the widow in the lonely boat weep. [Instrumental] Master Su grew solemn, straightened his robe, sat upright, and asked, “Why does it sound so?” The guest said, “The moon is bright, the stars are few; crows and magpies fly south. Is this not the verse of Cao Mengde? West lies Xiakou, east lies Wuchang. Mountains and rivers twine, green and deep. Was this not where Mengde was trapped by Zhou Yu? [Instrumental] When he broke Jingzhou and took Jiangling, and followed the current east, his ships stretched a thousand li, his banners veiled the sky. He poured wine above the river, held his lance and sang. A hero of his age indeed— where is he now? You and I fish and gather wood on river isles, companions to fish and shrimp, friends to deer. We ride a skiff no larger than a leaf, and raise gourd cups to one another. Mayflies lodged between earth and heaven, a single grain within the boundless sea. We mourn how brief our lives are, and envy the endless Yangtze. We long to roam with flying immortals, and embrace the bright moon forever. Knowing this cannot be swiftly won, I entrust the lingering notes to the mournful wind.” [Instrumental] Master Su said, “Do you know the water and the moon? What passes is like this, yet it never has gone. What waxes and wanes is like that, yet in the end it neither grows nor fades. Seen from the side of change, earth and heaven cannot hold one instant. Seen from the side of what does not change, all things and we are without end. What then is there to envy? Between earth and heaven, each thing has its master. If it is not mine, I take not even a hair. Only the clear breeze upon the river and the bright moon among the hills: the ear receives them and they become sound; the eye meets them and they become color. No ban upon taking, no end to their use. They are the Creator's inexhaustible treasure, which you and I may share.” [Instrumental] The guest rejoiced and laughed, washed the cups, poured again. Food and fruit were gone; cups and plates lay scattered. We pillowed one another in the boat, unaware the eastern sky had turned white. [Instrumental]
