It's been a while. Lately I've been quite taken by a few pieces of work, and so I've decided to scratch that itch and translate them as best as I can. This song for example has been in my playlist for almost ten years now, and it gets better the more I listen to it. The lyrics especially capture that romanticism in the wuxia stories that many of us grew up on.
For the uninitiated, the word Jianghu does not have a very direct translation in English as it is so culturally specific: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jianghu. It is essentially a world of martial artists where the drama in wuxia stories takes place. Therefore, I crudely translated it to "martial world". Though I hope I managed to reflect some of the poetic language and emotions through this translation.
As mentioned in my post before, because some of the terms are full of allusions and loaded with cultural context, it is necessary for me to alter them in a way that is both aesthetically pleasing and accessible for those who are unfamiliar. At least, that's the hope.
Some examples:
"黃羅" refers to the golden parasol or canopy used by royalty. So the "fall" of the parasol likely equates to the fall of royalty, as a symbol for the vicissitudes of life.
"湯接過 " literally means "accepting the soup". I translated it to a "bowl of oblivion" as it alludes to the mythical bowl of "Mengpo's/Grandma Meng's soup", which will make souls forget what happened in their past life before they get reincarnated.
It's way past midnight as I'm typing this, but I thought I'll just leave a quick update on how things are with this blog.
Have been especially busy with IRL responsibilities. Plus things have happened in my personal life these couple of months, which thankfully have settled down. (Not the IRL work though, that's not slowing down any time soon, I'm afraid.)
I have a huge backlog of work still sitting in my folders, a few left with only the odd untranslated line here and there (those tend to be the more challenging phrases that I need time to mull over). I don't feel like compromising too much on the quality (takes the fun out of it, really), and I think many of the songs I'm working on deserves a good elaboration for context, especially the 忘川风华录 series that I'm a big fan of, but it's difficult to translate due to the frequent use of archaic language and reference to historical stories that I am not familiar with, so that demands time for research and write-up. My fickle tendency to randomly start translating any song I fancy when I get tired of IRL work, instead of consistently seeing one to the end before starting the next, doesn't help much. But hey, I'll reserve that kind of discipline for IRL obligations (which is already pity little - also I realize I have a thing with parentheses).
So I will be taking it slow for now. I love doing this and I hope I can at least get a few songs out this year, building on what I have already started.
As always, have an awesome day, and thanks for stopping by. Cheers!
演唱//Vocals：黃詩扶 (Huang Shi Fu)
作曲//Composer：黃詩扶 (Huang Shi Fu)
作詞//Lyrics：南岐 (Nan Zhi)
編曲/分軌//Arrangement：Mzf小慕 (Mzf Xiao Mu)
策劃//Planning：悠羽 (You Yu)
林黛玉（崑曲）// Opera singing：邵天帥 (Shao Tian Shuai)
崑曲指導//Opera singing advisor：張鵬 (Zhang Peng)
詩詞選段//Poem excerpt：曹雪芹《紅樓夢》("Dream of the Red Chamber" by Cao Xueqin)
混音//Mixing：么嘮 (Me Lao)
製作人//Producer：左木修 (Zuo Mu Xiu)
歌曲錄音//Recording：田躍君 (Tian Yue Jun)
崑曲錄音//Recording for opera singing：BOB後權寶@行人Studio
聯合出品//In collaboration with：觀其復 (Guan Qi Fu)
出品//Produced by：萬象凡音 (Wan Xiang Fan Yin)
*****
也作風露辭寒春
往事空照夢裡人
庭階蘚生，玉樓埋沉
醉裡問愁最相襯
To be as dewy breezes bidding farewell to chill spring
The past reflects hollow on the one in dreams
Steps overgrown with lichen, jade towers buried and sunken
Sorrows go best with inebriation
憑欄人間聞秋聲
原是垂淚不歸人
消磨光景，對影庭深
夤夜倉皇辭星辰
Leaning upon the railings, listening to autumnal sounds of the mortal world
It’s but the weeping one who will never return
A grind to pass time, facing one's shadow deep within the courtyard
The night hastily bids its stars farewell
風回小庭逐明月
隻身似飄蓬倦未歇
悵悵與暮夜
途拾杯中，漾泊一圓缺
Winds circle the courtyard and chase the bright moon
Lonesome as floating catkins, weary yet unrested
Melancholy and late nights
I merely collect my cup, within its ripples the same moon waxed and waned
【崑曲】
花謝花飛花滿天，紅消香斷有誰憐？
【Opera singing】
Flowers fall, fly, flutter across the sky; who will cherish them once their colors and fragrances fade?
也作風露辭寒春
往事空照夢裡人
庭階蘚生，玉樓埋沉
醉裡問愁最相襯
To be as dewy breezes bidding farewell to chill spring
The past reflects hollow on the one in dreams
Steps overgrown with lichen, jade towers buried and sunken
Sorrows go best with inebriation
也作遠天風裡塵
望斷當年笙歌枕
初逢花醅，醉向早春
空留醒時問離恨
To be as dust caught in a distant wind
Yearning in vain for those years pillowed by melodies
My first encounter with coarse flower wine, ushered me into a drunken spring
Leaving sober hours for the pains of separation
風回小庭逐明月
隻身似飄蓬倦未歇
悵悵與暮夜
途拾杯中，漾泊一圓缺
Winds circle the courtyard and chase the bright moon
Lonesome as floating catkins, weary yet unrested
Melancholy and late nights
I merely collect my cup, within its ripples the same moon waxed and waned
余花臨燭飄香屑
是芳菲散盡催辭別
冉冉對老雀
浮生好夢，算來多是竊
Remaining flowers met candle flames, snowing down as ashen flakes
Is when all their fragrances fade away, hastening this departure
Placidly one faces the old finch
Mortal’s sweet frivolous dreams, are perhaps mostly unearned bliss
趁這奈何天，夢裡暫相見
樓前花枝仍睡在當年
Seize this restless day, for a fleeting tryst in dreams
The flower branches before the tower sleeps still in the past
花謝花飛花滿天
紅消香斷有誰憐
游絲軟系飄春榭
落絮輕沾撲綉簾
Flowers fall, fly, flutter across the sky
Who will cherish them once their colors and fragrances fade?
Soft, swimming silk threads drift between spring pavilions
Fallen catkins catch gently upon embroidered curtain doors
試看春殘花漸落
便是紅顏老死時
一朝春盡紅顏老
花落人亡兩不知
Behold the remnants of spring when flowers fall
Is the time beauty ages and dies
Overnight, spring's ended and beauty aged
Flowers fall and the person’s passed, both into oblivion
***** Translator's notes:
This song is inspired by the "Song for the Burial of Flowers" (葬花吟; actually I'm not too sure what are the minute difference between the terminologies for poetry form, so I'll use them interchangebly), from the novel "Dream of the Red Chamber"/"Dream of the Red Mansion" (红楼梦) or "Story of the Stone" (石头记), considered one of the greatest, if not the greatest novel written in the history of Chinese literature.
Full translation of the original poem (last two stanzas in this song are word-for-word from the original poem - the one from the link translated the classical text much better than mine! I suspect this may be from one of the official translations, but I can't be sure as it does not state its source): http://www.59edu.com/novel/shici/200912/15305.html
Lin Daiyu, in-story composer of the "Song for Burial of Flowers", played by actress Chen Xiaoxu, now considered the most iconic portrayal of the character.
An excellent English video briefly introducing the novel, for those who are interested:
The last forty chapters of the book has been lost to the world, the completed version we have now is based on the continuation by another author. This leads to many speculation for the story's plot, foreshadowing, and its true ending. For instance, this poem where Lin Daiyu gives the flowers a burial, some interpret it as her lamenting her own fate, foreshadowing her own tragic end, but some speculate that it is a metaphor for the fate of all the women and girls of the Jia family, as the fall from grace of this family is foreshadowed through the original eighty chapters.
It really is too big a topic for me to delve in any detail regarding this novel, one of the biggest reason being my lack of expertise. As far as my understanding goes, the author's mastery in characterization and nuances in its themes are some of the aspects that make this novel an exceptional masterpiece. I've seen heated debates on Zhihu (something like the Chinese version of Quora) on the novel. Then there's also "Team Daiyu" vs "Team Baochai". Do you prefer the one who wears her heart on her sleeve, prideful and neurotic, petty and abrasive, yet doubtlessly true in her love and loyalty (Lin Daiyu)? Or the one who is tactful, charismatic, gracious, skilled at negotiating the politics in a large family, but you're never quite sure where her true heart lies, and whether her warmth is genuine (Xue Baochai)?
Lin Daiyu (left) and Xue Baochai (right). From the TV series (1987 version).
I think I might have gotten carried away again. So I'll leave it at that. Hope that piques some interest in this classical work (that had led me down its rabbit hole recently as well)!
EDIT (20/02/2021): The old video is no longer working, but it's available here. I've also embedded another Youtube video with the song, and it's also available on Spotify.
Also, if I recall correctly the link for the full poem translation above is indeed from an official translation, and it's the version translated by David Hawkes.
On the seventh of July, in the twenty-sixth year since the establishment of the Republic of China, following the firing of Japanese guns, the whole nation was plunged into chaos and suffering. At this point in time, still shielded from war fire, was the peaceful county of An Yuan. Upon their theater stage, songs from the play, “The Peach Blossom Fan”, were still being sung. It was a love story of Hou Fangyu, a scholar from a distinguished family, and Li Xiangjun, a courtesan of great loyalty and integrity, set in the turbulent times at the end of the Ming dynasty. The actors take their positions, coming and going from the stage, only, it wasn’t sure whose heartfelt griefs were being performed.
Those were the days when only men performed on stage, playing both male and female characters. Pei Yanzhi was one such star of his theater group. Upon that stage, his long water sleeves flowed with grace, his singing voice never failed to mesmerize. The female lead he played, Li Xiangjun, though a courtesan of low standing, was bold in love and hatred, steely in her convictions, so much so she was willing to shed blood on her lover’s parting gift to her, the fan, which gave form to the peach blossoms splattered upon it. In rounds of cheers and applause, Pei Yanzhi brought Li Xiangjun to life. However, the nation is shattering, her lands left in desolation, who can be spared of this reality?
Not long after, the battlefront reached their doorstep. The Japanese army surrounded the city, and ordered a private show from the theater to entertain their men. They specifically named Pei Yanzhi to perform. If the theater refused, they would have it burned down, with all the people within. They’d even burn the city down. Everyone would die.
Pei Yanzhi smiled, and did not decline. He turned to his dressing table and began to line his eyes. Nightfall. The city was silent, a stark contrast to the commotion and bright lighting within the theater. Enemy soldiers seated before the stage, drinking and feasting and making merry. The cymbals and drums peeled, curtains rose, it’s showtime.
On the stage, singing about deep, unfaltering love. Beneath the stage, seated rapacious wolves and monsters. The drumroll intensified, the singing rose to a crescendo of grief and rage, startling the villainous audience. Just then, “Li Xiangjun” shouted her order, “light the fire!”
Upon the enemy’s realization, the fire had already spread, and while they crammed for their escape, found out that all exits were barred, tight and secure. The entire building had been drenched in oil without their knowing.
The songs continued still. “I’ve once seen jade halls in the twitter of morning birds, and flowers by the river pavilion in early bloom, who knew it was ephemeral as melting frost. Now I see him building crimson towers, now I see him hosting guests in banquets, now I see his tower coming down. Within this moss-ridden rubble, I’ve slept upon a grand dream, spectated fifty years of glory and fall…” The building came down, but the show had not yet ended.
Though of humble standing, he never dared to forget the plight of his homeland. People say actors are heartless, who knew they, too, had a heart.
********
戲一折 水袖起落
唱悲歡唱離合 無關我
扇開合 鑼鼓響又默
戲中情戲外人 憑誰說
Act one plays, sleeves rise and fall
Singing of sorrows and joys, partings and unions, none concerns me
Fans open and close, drumrolls peal and stall
The passions within, the actor without, who’s to tell
慣將喜怒哀樂都融入粉墨
陳詞唱穿又如何 白骨青灰皆我
亂世浮萍忍看烽火燃山河
位卑未敢忘憂國 哪怕無人知我
Having used to blend all my colors in powder and paint
What matters if I sing these old worn lines, bone white or ash gray are all mine
In precarious times one endures the sight of war flames engulfing our lands
Despite humble standings I dare not forget my homeland, even if I should be understood by none
臺下人走過 不見舊顏色
臺上人唱著 心碎離別歌
情字難落墨 她唱須以血來和
戲幕起 戲幕落 誰是客
The persons down the stage walk pass, not a familiar face seen
The person upon the stage sings, songs of heartbreak and partings
Passions hard to put in words, her singing must be harmonized by blood
Curtains rise, curtains fall, who’s the guest in this
【昆曲】
李香君：濃情悔認真，回頭皆幻景，對面是何人……
【Kunqu opera singing】
Li Xiangjun: Deep passions I regret to have taken to heart, looking back it’s all but illusions, who’s there at the other end...?
戲一折 水袖起落
唱悲歡唱離合 無關我
扇開合 鑼鼓響又默
戲中情戲外人 憑誰說
Act one plays, sleeves rise and fall
Singing of sorrows and joys, partings and unions, none concerns me
Fans open and close, drumrolls peal and stall
The passions within, the actor without, who’s to tell
慣將喜怒哀樂都藏入粉墨
陳詞唱穿又如何 白骨青灰皆我
亂世浮萍忍看烽火燃山河
位卑未敢忘憂國 哪怕無人知我
Having used to hide all my colors in powder and paint
What matters if I sing these old worn lines, bone white or ash gray are all mine
In precarious times one endures the sight of war flames engulfing our lands
Despite humble standings I dare not forget my homeland, even if I should be understood by none
臺下人走過 不見舊顏色
臺上人唱著 心碎離別歌
情字難落墨 她唱須以血來和
戲幕起 戲幕落 終是客
The persons down the stage walk pass, not a familiar face seen
The person upon the stage sings, songs of heartbreak and partings
Passions hard to put in words, her singing must be harmonized by blood
Curtains rise, curtains fall, a guest at the very end
你方唱罷我登場
莫嘲風月戲 莫笑人荒唐
也曾問青黃 也曾鏗鏘唱興亡
道無情 道有情 怎思量
With one player’s curtain call, the next struts along
Jeer not at frivolous shows, laugh not at fooleries of men
I’ve once cared for rights and wrongs, I’ve once resolutely sung of glory and demise
The Path’s cruel, the Path’s kind, what’s to make of it
道無情 道有情 費思量
The Path’s cruel, the Path’s kind, no need to make anything of it
*****
Translator's note:
This story is a piece of historical fiction set during the Japanese invasion of China that began in 1937. As moving as it is, it is almost certainly not a true story. There are no historical sources for this, and to pull off the plan, the whole theater group must be in on it, which seems close to improbable. Still, I think it being fictional doesn't stop it from being enjoyable, especially given the context with theater performances and the featured play, "The Peach Blossom Fan".
In the past, performers, actors, singers do not get much respect from mainstream society in China, perhaps due to their historical association with prostitution, and the perception that their work was just for frivolous entertainment. Many may have come from disadvantaged backgrounds that resorted to these means to earn a living. The word "戏子" is a slur for show runners and entertainers. In this context, we can draw parallels from the main character, Pei Yanzi with the character Li Xiangjun, that he plays.
It's too much for me to go into the details of the story for "The Peach Blossom Fan". Essentially, the courtesan who harbors the stereotype of being vacillating and unfaithful displays the exact opposite of those traits, and puts to shame even so called respectable men. She resist being framed by her enemy to marry her off to another by running into a nearby pillar, her blood splattered onto the fan given by her lover. Another character witnessed the event and was moved by her steely resolve, so he drew branches to turn the blood splats into peach blossoms, then sent it to Hou Fangyu, her lover, as proof of her conviction and devotion. This story was performed as a Kunqu opera play. Just to get a feel of what the performances are actually like, here's a snippet from the play. We as a modern audience may not be familiar with this type of aesthetics. It's rather slowly paced, and their style of singing reflects the aesthetics of earlier times. But I think it's really cool that they incorporate elements of it into modern songs like the one above.
If you are into a version of this song with a lighter dose of opera-styled singing, here's another cover by 等什么君 (Deng Shen Me Jun):
Just a few note on language, for the phrase "Having used to blend/hide all my colors in powder and paint", the "color" here means the actor's emotions, 喜怒哀乐, literally translating to happiness, anger, sorrow, and joy.
Being a "guest", in this context, contrast with being the master of ones homeland. So once the city was invaded, their home no longer belongs to them but the enemy, hence the subject is a "guest in their own homeland".
So yeah, I think I'm going to end it here cause this is getting way too long. Hope you enjoyed it, and have a great day!
During the second year of Tian Bao, an Elder of Wu Du, Wu Meng Gui, led a failed coup against his own organisation. He then established himself separately as the cult of Tian Yi, and ordered his followers to develop a necromantic poison in Luo Dao. The city of Li Du quickly became overrun by the undead, and soon a ghost town it became.
However, there was still a lone wanderer, neither completely a living man nor an undead, known as “The Coffin Bearer”, plodding in languid footsteps.
*****
One mission accomplished. One danger dealt with. Granted, the stature of this undead was small, but it was no easy task to take him down. He used to be a living, breathing boy, perhaps harbouring dreams of becoming a martial hero when he grows up. I let out a heavy sigh and stopped myself from thinking further.
I went back to the Coffin Bearer who sought my assistance. With an odd queasiness in my guts, I presented the boy’s head as proof. One zombified eye, white and lifeless; the other a living man’s eye, equally hollow, stared ahead. I felt a lump in my throat, and slowly, noticed the features of the boy reflected on the one I was facing. I couldn’t fight this one. He had told me. Please exterminate this threat for the people’s sake. A tremor grew in my arms, the air became suffocating. My heart fought to still itself, but I was certain that my thoughts were betrayed.
Finally, with a croaking voice, the Coffin Bearer answered, “that was my son.” He then turned to the coffin on his back, his wife. “My love, now you can rest in peace.”
*****
細雨飄泊 天地一身落拓
夕陽佝僂 照著趟不過的河
楓葉走在紅塵 尾聲猶斟酌
餘暉深緘血色承諾
In drifting rains, between heaven and earth’s a world in desolation
The crippled sunset reflects upon an uncrossable river
A maple leaf trails at the end of mortal’s dust
Lingering rays of dusk seal this promise of blood
肩上棺木唏噓 周身煞氣驚行客
林海恍惚 唱一襟嗚咽舊歌
孤云亦步亦趨 幾點烏鴉飛過
挾裹不闔眼執著 淪為心頭沈痾
The coffin upon my shoulder a point of lament, the ghastly aura around me startles passerbys
The sea of forest seems to sing an old song in sobs
A lone cloud follows my pace, a few spots of crows soar by
Bringing with me this grievance I’ll hold unto death, a plague weighing upon my heart
昔時陶然村舍 空剩些鬼魅交駁
李渡朝暮 定格在萬籟靜默
共飲一彎江水 竟是陰陽相隔
螢火將歿的那瞬 可願燃骨跋涉
A merry village in the past, left only with clashes between ghosts
Night or day, the city stilled in perpetual silence
Drinking from the same bend of the river, yet separated by the realms of life and death
When comes the moment of demise, I shall willingly embark on this excruciating journey
撥開混沌人潮 怕聽得
來者踉蹌嘶啞 哭著喊爹爹
天地間麻木軀殼 半生離合
遠方百家燈火 哪盞屬於我
Jostling through the indistinct crowd, I fear most to hear
The one who comes stumbling, in a hoarse voice, with cries of “father”
Between heaven and earth, this numb shell has seen half a lifetime of partings
Hundreds of lantern lights from homes in the distance, which belongs to me?
若能牢牢攥住 你魂魄
鴉發坐肩頭唱 雲和花的歌
安然長出如我般 掌心脈絡
踏遍日月星辰 與多情山河
If only I could tightly hold on to your soul
Have you, the young one with dark hair, sit upon my shoulders, singing of the clouds and flowers
And grow out the lines on your palm, ones like mine
I’ll go as far as the bodies of heaven, and the earth with all its sentimentality
目及路邊墳塚 如千萬魂燈錯落
少年老者 白骨遍地餵禿鷲
必將以身托缽 代你手刃罪惡
喚一聲吾孩無常 予山河輕描摹
To look upon graves by the roadside, like millions of soullights strewn
Young and old, their scattered bones feed the vultures
I will offer up my body in devotion, and exterminate this evil in your place
To call upon my child’s name, giving the world but the lightest regard
是歲晨昏顛倒 乾坤洗劍殺消磨
血親路人 早晚相赴黃泉約
甘囚回憶之牢 天涯本無寄所
誓人間地獄未空 平生不得成佛
Dusk or dawn I give it no mind, my blade washed in murder to pass time
Blood relatives or passerbys, will someday fulfill the promise to meet in the afterlife
I’ll gladly be imprisoned in my memories, since there is no respite for me till the ends of the world
To vow that as long as this hell upon earth have not been emptied, I’ll never transcend to godhood
撥開混沌人潮 怕聽得
來者踉蹌嘶啞 哭著喊爹爹
天地間麻木軀殼 半生離合
遠方百家燈火 再無屬於我
Jostling through the indistinct crowd, I fear most to hear
The one who comes stumbling, in a hoarse voice, with cries of “father”
Between heaven and earth, this numb shell has seen half a lifetime of partings
Hundreds of lantern lights from homes in the distance, will never again belong to me
若能牢牢攥住 你魂魄
鴉發坐肩頭唱 雲和花的歌
安然長出如我般 掌心脈絡
而今墓前蓬草 歷歷如新也
If only I could tightly hold on to your soul
Have you, the young one with dark hair, sit upon my shoulders, singing of the clouds and flowers
And grow out the lines on your palm, ones like mine...
Yet now the grasses before the grave, seem as fresh as new
*****
Translator's note:
Been listening to this song for a while, and I hadn’t realized that it had a backstory to it. Despite all my digging, I could only piece it together what I feel is an incomplete picture, and I don’t know if I got all the details right. (Especially for the short snippet). Apparently it’s a side quest from the Chinese MMORPG Jian Wang 3 (JX3).
The Coffin Bearer’s name is Murong Zhuifeng (慕容追风), an NPC in the game. He, his wife Zhuo Wanqing (卓婉清), and their son, Murong Wuchang (慕容无常) all were victims of the necromantic poison. Zhuifeng retained part of his humanity and his senses, but his family didn’t. He sealed his wife in a coffin and carried her around to prevent her from harming the innocent. His son, unfortunately, turned into a formidable creature and became the leader of a group of undeads. Hence the story above. This also explains the phrase “and grow out the lines on your palm, ones like mine”, as it’s a convention in these stories for the absence of palm lines in the undead.
Credits to the translation and explanation by Rebecca Yiu (helped me a lot with understanding the more ambiguous lyrics), as well as the title suggestion by Gussy Wormy, both from the comment section of the embedded video. The translation for the title, trying to find a balance between its literal meaning and the mood it captures, is kinda tricky. It has a flavor of “self-imposed prison” to it, but that’s not completely right either. “Trapped”, “Imprisoned”, or “Restricted” sound a tad bit too unspecific, generic, and/or sterile. So… yeah, this is by far the best translation for this title I’ve come across.
I’ve debated with myself whether to translate “平生不得成佛” as “I’ll never transcend to godhood”, or the more accurate translation “I’ll never transcend to nirvana”. Again, it’s the accuracy vs aesthetics balance. Since I’m more partial towards aesthetics, to emphasize mood and smooth flow over literal accuracy, I’ve chosen the more native English word over the borrowed one. Just do note that the “godhood” in this context is quite different from the conventional Western notion.
No one was willing to marry the barbarian lord as a bride of peace.
Just when Emperor Yuan of Han was at a loss, a servant brought news from his harem. One of his consorts volunteered for this marriage alliance. Her name was Wang Zhaojun. The emperor ordered for a review of her portrait, as he had never seen her in person, which was no surprise, as he soon found out from her sketch. She had a homely face, and the mole under her eye especially subtracted from her beauty. With so many other women, he wouldn't call upon such a plain one. No loss there if she were to leave, so he thought, and approved her self-nomination.
Before Zhaojun's departure, the emperor paid her a customary visit. He was shocked by what he saw. A stunningly beautiful, well-spoken lady stood before him. Her presence radiated grace, her humble words could not conceal her wit, yet, there was the slightest air of melancholy about her. Perhaps it was the emptiness that afflicted so many of these women, left languishing alone, ignored and forgotten in the depths of the palace. He regretted to have allowed her departure, but an emperor could not go back on his words. With great reluctance, he let the barbarian lord lead her away into the harsh northern winter.
After the ceremony, the emperor still could not let go of this ordeal. If he had known her earlier, he would have lavished her with his affection and all the splendor of the empire. Why then, have such a gem in his very own palace, been overlooked?
The portrait. He examined it once again. The sketch did not look like her at all, and the mole under her eye was most certainly non-existent. It was deliberate.
At the corner, the inscription was signed by one of the imperial artists, Mao Yanshou.
In a fit of rage, he ordered all the imperial artists arrested and interrogated. It turned out that the practice of receiving bribes was rampant among them. If the women wished to be drawn well enough for a chance at the emperor's attention, they will have to pay up. Zhaojun had not paid Mao anything.
This was a terrible crime, a deception towards the son of heaven, and deserved the most severe of punishments. The emperor had all his artists, Mao especially, put to death.
Zhaojun spent the rest of her life out in the steppes of barbarian lands, and thus, securing peace and stability within the local territory, as well as the tribe's relation with the Han empire. She bore the ruling family a son and two daughters, before passing away from an illness at the age of thirty-five.
*****
記不起究竟哪一次
當秋光漫上了窗外花枝
你頓筆回眸一顧
熟稔得仿佛似舊日相識
I can’t remember when it was
When autumn’s light crept upon flower branches by the windows
You halted your brush and glanced back at me
with such warm familiarity, just like a friend of old
並肩長談過多少往事
恍然間黃昏已至
以為一雙知己做了一世
從來不過如此
Shoulder by shoulder, how much of our past we’ve told one another
As if in a trance dusk had settled
Believing we made a pair of soulmates for life
Yet it had never truly been so
紙上描眉目 不辯妍或媸
剎那美人成東施
就中的故事 豈止一人痴
落款誰提了名氏
Sketching those features unto paper, distinguishing not fair or homely
In an instance a beauty turned unseemly
Within this story, who said there’s but one obsessed fool
Who signed his name upon its inscription
輾轉經由他人唇齒
多少日夜聽聞你的故事
難道這情之一字
竟連拋生死亦不可探知
Passing along the lips of others
How many days and nights I’ve heard tales about you
Is it true that this word, “love”
even through forsaking one’s life, still remains unfathomable
聽說北國的那座城池
被冬雪覆了終日
等到故人長訣漸行漸遠
轉眼已隔兩世
They say that city in the northern kingdom
Is covered in an everlasting winter snow
Till farewell with the old friend stretched farther into the distance
In the blink of an eye, both were two worlds apart
誰向生而死 誰患得患失
相顧也再無多時
畫中人暗自 竟心蕩神痴
一滴淚氤氳滿紙
Who perished from one's yearning for life, who hesitated in one's gives and takes
Little time remained for our mutual company
The figure in the portrait, secretly, unexpectedly, plunged into a daze
One drop of tear permeated the entire canvas
揮墨描眉目 提筆勾鬢絲
寥寥幾筆竟如此
夜半無人處 對月展卷時
忽然看懂這相思
A splash of ink to outline one’s eyes, lifting the brush to sketch one’s hair
A measly few strokes left us with such
Deep in the night with no one by my side, while unfurling the scroll under the moon
Suddenly, I understood this longing
落款誰提了名字
Who signed his name upon its inscription
******
The setting sun dyed the palace grounds the hue of late autumn leaves.
"So you've decided?"
"I've sent in my nomination." She stood by the window and replied in a pensive tone. Yet, the spark in her eyes was unmistakable.
"It's been long since I've seen you this excited," he said. "It's a tough life out there. Is this what you want, really?"
She looked up into the sky, past the palace walls, towards the direction of the north star in the evening sky. "I guess I've finally found my purpose. Beats sitting idle all day long here." She turned back towards him. "I'll remember all those stories you shared with me. I just want to know how much I appreciate your company. You've been such a great friend."
Friend.
He fumbled for the scroll he had been carrying in his pouch and held it out for her.
"Here's a private portrait I made of you. Take this as my parting gift."
She accepted it and unfurled the scroll.
"It's the loveliest painting I've seen. Mao, your art is stunning, as always. Thank you."
That sincere smile she gave as she held up the scroll, unabashed in her generosity, would be branded by the brilliant rays of fleeting dusk in his consciousness forever.
*********
Translator's note:
Aights so this has been growing mold in my drafts since ages ago. I've been snowed under a pile of things lately as life catches up. So I'll be keeping the notes brief this time round.
In Chinese, the word for "autumn" (秋) above, combined with the word "heart" (心) below, forms the word "sorrow" (愁). So as with many of the other songs in this album, there are often layers of meaning in the title itself.
Wang Zhaojun is also known as one of the four most beautiful woman of ancient China. The story with Mao Yanshou, the imperial artist, is a well-known one, though not recorded in the official historical documents. The narrative was that Mao was a shrewd and greedy official who short changed Zhaojun because she refused to bribe him, and in the end received his comeuppance. Some later scholars argued that it may not have been fair to the artists. Who is to say that the portrait not matching up to the beauty of the actual person is a deliberate attempt to deceive the emperor? Maybe his only crime was merely the failing in his artistic skills.
The producers of the song went for something else - perhaps it was not hate (or revenge for her refusal of the bribe), but love and admiration. Anyhow, it is yet another one of those stories that leaves us with our imagination. Hope you enjoy the song and the story!
In dreams my banishment was lost to oblivion, a momentary bliss stolen
昨夜小樓又東風
四十年家國 三千里地
收入誰囊中
Last night the eastern winds once more graced my idle little tower
Forty years of the kingdom, a thousand miles of land
Fallen into whose hands
南歌子裡唱啞聲
斷了琵琶畫箏
弦上血紅 無所適從
My songs I’ve sung with a voice turned hoarse
Strings of lute and zither broken
The blood red upon these strands leaves me at a loss
一樣舞袖換唐宮
眼看他如我 江山坐擁
我卻如飛蓬
The same dancing sleeves in a changed palace
Seeing him, as I had once, seated over rivers and mountains his to belong
Yet I am like wild grass set adrift
長恨事與願難逢
偏生不擅縱橫
筆墨作劍 詞骨襟胸
A protracted grief, for things contradict one’s wish
Born without the aptitude for power plays
Only an inked brush as my sword, bare words to clothe my chest
金戈鐵馬踏碎
一場與世無爭
故人山河如夢
醒來人去階苔冷
Blades and hooves of steel have shattered
One’s yearning to be spared from worldly strife
Old friends and empire realms are like dreams
When I awake, they've all left, and the stony steps grow cold
落紙卷外萬般空
快過了林花謝春紅
豈是風花雪月
等閒傷情可相同
Beyond my fallen scrolls all’s but hollow
It’s almost past time for forest blooms to shed their rouge
How is the wistfulness
Of tepid musings on fine sceneries, comparable to this sorrow?
昨夜小樓又東風
四十年家國 三千里地
收入誰囊中
Last night the eastern winds once more graced my idle little tower
Forty years of the kingdom, a thousand miles of land
Fallen into whose hands
南歌子裡唱啞聲
斷了琵琶畫箏
弦上血紅 無所適從
My songs I’ve sung with a voice turned hoarse
Strings of lute and zither broken
The blood red upon these strands leaves me at a loss
飲宴衣裙曾連城
沉醉好偷生 銹甲忘弓
倉皇潰兵鋒
Once there had been the most exquisite banquets and robes
Indulgences make for bliss in ignorance, armours rusted, bows forgotten
In chaos my army had crumbled
最憶辭廟歎倥傯
烽火為我掌燈
無顏悲痛 羞對蒼穹
I recall most the parting with my ancestral temple, lamenting this turbulence
Signalling fires stood vigil for me
Too ignominious a sorrow, too shamed to face the heavens
金戈鐵馬踏碎
一場與世無爭
故人山河如夢
醒來人去階苔冷
Blades and hooves of steel have shattered
One’s yearning to be spared from worldly strife
Old friends and empire realms are like dreams
When I awake, they've all left, and the stony steps grow cold
落紙卷外萬般空
快過了林花謝春紅
豈是風花雪月
等閒傷情可相同
Beyond my fallen scrolls all’s but hollow
It’s almost past time for forest blooms to shed their rouge
How is the wistfulness
Of tepid musings on fine sceneries, comparable to this sorrow?
未亡剩此身何用
心早死開寶八年冬
每每憑欄望穿
淚眼洇山色幾重
What use is this undead body
When my heart has long died in the eighth winter of Kai Bao
Every time I lean and look out the balcony
How heavy are the mountains colored by teary eyes
雕欄玉砌應猶在
只是朱顏改
想得玉樓瑤殿影
空照秦淮
Carved railings and jadeite steps still remain
It’s only the faces that has changed
I reminisce upon the magnificent shadow of the jade tower
Reflected upon the Huai river of a bygone dynasty
*****
Three years. It's almost three years since the Southern Tang kingdom has been annexed by the kingdom of Song. Now the realm under heaven has acquired a new name - the Great Song dynasty. The former ruler of the Southern Tang, Li Yu (李煜), sat at his writing table in the empty room, the only place he could find meager respite from his regrets and sorrows. His 42nd birthday was just around the corner.
He hadn't wanted to walk out of his city, bare naked waist up, and hand his kingdom over to his enemies. He had once said he'd rather die than to be taken prisoner. He will not shame his ancestors. Yet here he was, held captive in the capital of his conquerors, stripped of everything he had, with only an empty title left. Even his former queen, who had stuck with him through thick and thin, had been robbed by the new emperor of Song. She came crying to him after disappearing in the imperial palace for days upon the new emperor's summoning. Powerless even to protect his loved ones, his days were left with nothing but grief and humiliation.
He didn't really want to be emperor. Him ending up on the throne was, in retrospect, an unhappy accident. He had been the fifth son, but three of his older brothers died in childhood. His surviving eldest brother, Li Hong Ji, used to be paranoid that Li Yu would snatch his place. To protect himself, Li Yu threw himself in art and religion, particularly Buddhism, signalling to his brother that he had no interest in politics. Ironically, Li Hong Ji too died young, and Li Yu was made heir to a kingdom already on its sure path to downfall.
What wrong is there for a man to indulge in the luxuries life thrust upon him? What wrong is there for him to lose himself in the poems and songs he loved so dearly?
He was hardly ever cruel to anyone, so much so even the people in the streets speak of his kind and gentle nature. Despite the weakened power of the state, he was sympathetic to the plight of his people, so he still chose to reduce taxation and labor conscription. On the other hand, he tried to placate the ambitious kingdom of Song, insisting that he had no intention of competing. But alas, all his efforts had been in vain.
He used to write about the wine, the moon, beautiful women, lovers. What beauty used to exist on earth! Now they've been reduced to a dream of the past life, from which he has awaken to this desolate world.
With these in mind, he lifted his brush and wrote his final song.
Spring Flower and Autumn Moon
(To the Tune of Yumeiren)
When will the endless cycle of the spring flower and the autumn moon come to an end? How much remembrance of the things past does a heart know? Last night, in the attic revisited by the eastern wind, it was unbearable to look toward home in the fair moonlight. The carved rails and the marble steps must remain unchanged, but not her beauty. How much sorrow do I have? It is like the spring flood of a long river flowing east!”
It is said that the emperor of Song, Zhao Guang Yi (赵光义), or Emperor Taizong of Song (宋太宗), was furious when he heard of this, especially after Li Yu's outward expression of regret for punishing his former advisers who had urged him to change his ways. Still holding so strong a sentiment to his lost kingdom, this former king was at best a nuisance whose existence added no value to the new dynasty; at worst, a threat to the stability of the empire. The emperor has had enough.
On the night of his 42nd birthday, Li Yu had been found dead in his residence. Some sources claimed that it had been the work of Emperor Taizong, using a poison that caused tetanic spasms before it killed its victims.
Many commoners mourned for his death, for he had been kind and benevolent to them. They set up altars and offerings at home to pay him their final respect. Soon after, his former queen also passed away from grief.
Had Li Yu been a commoner, perhaps he could have lived out his life in peace as a man of exceptional talent and character. Today, many of his poems are considered among the best of classical Chinese literature. Legendary Emperor of Ci (千古词帝; Ci being the poetry/lyrics to accompanying tunes to make a song), people granted him the honorary title. He could also be credited for the popularity of the Ci form, and its elevation in status during the Song dynasty. It used to be seen as low-brow to write Ci in comparison with Shi (诗). His achievement set the stage for the many literary giants that were to come during the Song Dynasty - Li Qing Zhao (famous female Ci poet), Su Shi, Xing Qi Ji, and many more.
In a way, he has achieved immortality in his art. May he rest in peace.
;
改編／翻唱 (Vocalist / cover)：黃詩扶 (Huang Shi Fu)
後期 (Post-production)：么嘮 (Me Lao)
******
Translator's note:
As this relates to an actual person in history, and given the nature of his biography, I wish to give it the gravitas it deserves.
I cannot claim ability to convey in full the depth of Li Yu's beautiful poetry (many of his lines from a variety of his poems were incorporated into this song), so I went with my gut instinct with what fitted right with the mood conveyed.
E.g the last line: 空照秦淮; may literally translate to "emptily reflect upon the Huai River of the Qin dynasty" (Qin dynasty is the first dynasty where a united China is formed, so it's roughly a thousand years ago from then.) I translated it to "a bygone dynasty", as I feel for a reader unfamiliar with the history, a literal translation without context can be confusing.
Kai Bao is the name of the year given, called Nianhao (年号）. In ancient China, emperors would issue the name of the year, e.g. first year of Kai Bao, second year of Kai Bao, etc etc. The Southern Tang kingdom ended when Li Yu surrender during the eighth year of Kai Bao, in the wintry twelfth month.
As for the title, I struggled for a long time to decide on one. At one point I thought I'd just stick with the pronunciation, with "Qing Ping Wu" as the title, but I didn't like that it informed too little for a title so rich in layers of meaning, so I simply settled for a rough one. 清平 can broadly mean peace. 误 in this context means misled, strayed, stalled; in other context it means mistake. It can be taken to mean Li Yu "lost his way in the facade of peace". "清平乐", or "Music of Peace", is the title of a popular tune at that time (just like the title of the tune to the poem above, Yumeiren*), which Li Yu had written the Ci to when he was still the ruler of his kingdom. So you can say his love for his songs and poems in the expense of his duties has led him down this tragic path.
*Yumeiren, or Beauty Yu, happens to be another name for Consort Yu, from the story of "Chess Under Heaven", during the Chu-Han contention.
