Tales of Tianheng

A collection of idle doggerel by the ancient fangshi Pingshan Juren. The pieces vary wildly in quality, yet young Liyue poets—and young poetry-lovers who fancy themselves poets—often pass them around for reference.

I

I idly watch villagers play a foul game of go; charges without plans leave them powerless.

Black and white flung at random—I only play the fool, and never worry.

II

All kinds of strange stones grow odd herbs; natural penjing needs no planting.

Cor Lapis, fine jade, silk-flower trees—bewitch the old fools of the harbor city.

III

In Jueyun Karst another sky lies; it was never told to common folk.

A thousand scenes, strange tidings—it turns out birds and beasts are adepti too.

IV

White as woven brocade, fine as salt—the finest antique is white sand.

Wealthy halls are all swept clean; my house is covered in it—I boast of that.

V

River-sound shakes the ears; pine-wind is chaos. Below the cliff I fish; on the cliff I sleep.

The neighboring nation's Anemo Archon has no manners—red leaves fly wild and spoil my ease.

VI

Qingce spring flowers have no father or mother—left smells sweet, right smells sweet too.

When autumn comes the reed-grass feathers sigh; gather them to weave into clothes.

VII

In those years the Geo Lord made this mountain—and kindly opened a great bay as well.

Giant cliffs and stone bridges, layer upon layer of marvels—the market streets within repay close play.

VIII

In summer woods I take the cool as I please; wind for coverlet, leaves for bed.

Pity the mosquitoes spare me not—I flee home in sorry shape, like one escaping famine.

IX

At dusk, full from dinner, I linger by the shoal; I stroke my beard and gaze at the sky.

The river of stars over the sea is like a great tent—and will not let the bright moon inside.

X

At night the famous stones are moored in ranks; on Feiyun Slope prices climb high.

What makes a basket of blue stone precious? Better to sit and drink at Yujing Terrace.