First Month I returned to Cizhou.
Surveying the world above and below, I found that only invincibility breeds a loneliness beyond words. I sheathed my sword and cast off the dust of fame, no longer asking after the quarrels of the martial realm, and set out to roam the ends of mountains and seas.
Second Month A feast at the post station.
I still remembered the taste of that river fish enough to stir the mouth with longing and went gladly. Alas, my purse was thin. With no silver to spare, I pawned my coarse cloak to settle the bill. Rage, rage, rage! Why could rough cloth not turn to cloth-of-gold?
Third Month The rapeseed blooms.
I rested at a mountain inn: sky clear, air bright, the land unchanged. Soft yellow stretched before my eyes, gentle and pleasing. I loosed my belt and reclined upon a stone, heaven for my blanket, earth for my bed, drinking in the essence of sun and moon even stubborn rock might grow spirit beneath such grace.
Fourth Month Crimson clouds like fire.
The green hills burned red into the sky. Drunk on color, I knew not where I stood. She appeared as if from dream; I broke a blossom and offered it. We walked together to a waterfall, found a hidden cave fragrance thick as clouds and rain, spring overflowing. When I woke, no one remained. Falling petals, fading dream, unease within the heart. I left my ring there, carved words in stone, and wait for our meeting again.
Fifth Month Rivers in flood.
Long had I heard of the Sheng clan's famed pickles rarer than treasure yet I was granted but a spoonful. Tasting closely, I found nothing remarkable, only strange stories hidden beneath the brine. After more than a decade crossing blades, I felt my strength falter. Enough, enough I shut my ears to worldly clamor and wander only mountains and seas.
Sixth Month Heat descends.
I returned to the island at the lake's heart to escape the sun. There stood a curious tree, split at the base, twisting upward a perfect refuge for stealing idle days from life.
Seventh Month Utter boredom.
Half a year in retreat and my body has grown indulgent. I met a foolish youth obsessed with swordcraft; in jest I taught him the "Nine Ethereal Swords." He believed every word. Unable to break his heart, I gave him what I carried. Should fate allow, and he bathe one day beneath the encounters of the world, perhaps he will emerge transformed.
Eighth Month A melancholy mountain walk.
Parched on the road, I drank at a wayside inn. There I saw a wild boar chewing azaleas. Furious, I cried, "A brute devouring blossoms what ignorance, what waste!" I fought it. To my shame, the beast was fierce: it rammed me and shattered my guard. I hurled my ring to strike it down. A humiliation beyond bearing let this disaster be my warning.
Ninth Month Celestial music.
Pearls large and small rang out ping, clang, chime weaving the five tones. Breathing with the rhythm, I felt heaven and earth tilt within me. As insight dawned, I turned rain striking blue porcelain.
Tenth Month Cold autumn rain.
The Master may teach ten thousand things, yet not a single heart. Withering maples fall; bitterness fills the cup. I drink alone, lifting wine to question the rites of spring and autumn beneath the moon.
Winter Month First snow.
Though I have roamed the world, emptiness remains unconquered. I fell into an abandoned well and sat there three days. When the snow melted, the well brimmed again. Between life and death I saw that wealth and glory are but a sheet of white oblivion.
Twelfth Month The heart clears like a mirror.
Though unmatched upon this mountain, who can say the same of others? Across the four seas and eight wastes, even the supreme path of arms has its limits. I go, I go to drink, to wander, to leave dust behind. Other mountains are greener still.