The term "stele" (碑) originates from "sorrow" (悲). In ancient times, wooden markers were used for burials; later, inscriptions were added to honor deeds, and people, unwilling to remove them, called them steles. From Qin and Han onwards, even the living had steles, but stone replaced wood, losing its true meaning. My stele marks a wild shrine, not for deeds or governance, but merely to lament commoners exhausting themselves for nameless idols of clay and wood!
...These idols, in form, steal our people's wine and offerings they are indeed nameless; these idols, in intellect (i.e., the officials like them), steal our sovereign's ranks and emoluments how can they be revered! Officials feast while people starve who dares call it unjust? Behold my stele and mourn the decay of this age!
Lu Luwang of the past dynasty wrote Stele for a Wild Shrine, an inscription for a village temple. Steles once honored the departed for their virtues; now they flatter the wealthy, their falsehoods despicable.
Beneath the prosperity lies ruin, a gilded shroud over decay. The court is ruled by sycophants who deceive the Emperor and oppress the people, treating lives as mere chaff. As the poem laments: With the riverlands drowned in war, how could commoners find peace? Speak not of titles and glory for every general's success, ten thousand bones bleach in the fields. Perhaps history will one day reveal the truth, honoring the righteous. But countless souls, like dust on a desolate road, remain forgotten.
Though the bones lie unmarked, they deserve remembrance. I follow the ancients not bound by nation or rank, justice or treason to erect steles for the nameless dead.
I have carved five in the stones of Mogui City: one north of the battlefield, one on the high ground of Rebel Camp, one on the hill outside Liao Troop Encampment, one beneath a dead tree in Mogui City's valley, and one atop the cliff outside this cave.
Yet fate is merciless disaster struck, the earth raged, and rocks thundered down, trapping me here. In five days, I carved three more, but now my tools are broken, my ink nearly dry, and my task unfinished. Woe! If any future traveler finds these words, I beg you carry my remaining three steles into the open. Fulfill my wish, and all the treasures upon me are yours.