Elegy for the Hibiscus Maiden

In the first year of the era of Unchanging Peace, in the month when cassia and lotus compete in fragrance, on a day of helpless sorrow—the Turbid Jade of Happy Red Court, with clusters of flower stamens, ice-mermaid gauze, Seeping Fragrance spring water, and maple-dew tea, though these four offerings are humble, presents them in sincerity and faith, offering this sacrifice before the Hibiscus Maiden who presides over autumn beauty in the White Emperor's Palace: I humbly reflect that since the Maiden first entered this turbid world, some sixteen years have passed. Her former homeland, family name, and origins have long been lost beyond tracing. And I, Jade, shared her intimacy in pillow and bath, in rest and feast and wandering, for barely five years and eight months. Recalling the Maiden's former life: her substance—gold and jade could not express its worth; her nature—ice and snow could not capture its purity; her spirit—stars and sun could not match its brilliance; her beauty—flowers and moon could not rival its radiance. All her sisters admired her grace; all the matrons revered her virtue. Who could have foreseen that the dove and poisoner would hate her eminence, and the hawk and falcon would be snared instead? That thorns and thistles would envy her fragrance, and the lotus would be cut down? Flowers are naturally delicate—how can they withstand wild gales? Willows are born for sorrow—how can they endure sudden storms? By chance she suffered venomous slander, and thereupon contracted a mortal illness. Bearing endless hidden grief, harboring boundless wrongful suffering. Her lofty standards drew jealousy; behind the curtains, her resentment exceeded that of the exile at Changsha. Her forthright character met peril; among women, her fate was crueler than Yu's punishment at Yuyè. She nursed her bitterness in silence—who pitied her untimely death? The immortal clouds have scattered; her fragrant traces cannot be found. The isle is lost in mist—where can one find the death-defying incense? The sea has lost its magic raft—one cannot obtain the life-restoring elixir. Her dark brows like misty blue—who painted them in days past? Her jade ring cold—where is it now? When she washed her hands, I held the basin; when she sat at her dressing table, I offered the towel. The rouge and powder from her former toilette I could not bear to discard upon the ground. A windowful of overnight rain, the pear blossoms have fallen; empty dreams have no proof—let the flute summon them. Beneath the yellow earth, how ill-fated you were, my lady! By the blue lamp in the wind, I alone am lost and bewildered! Within the red silk curtains, the young lord was full of feeling; beneath the yellow earth, the maiden's life was bitter-brief. Alas! If ghosts and goblins bring such disaster, can even the gods be jealous too? Seal the slanderous slave's mouth—punishment should not be light! Cut open the cruel woman's heart—my fury is not yet spent! Though your earthly bond was shallow, my sincerity remains firm. Alas, alas!