Explore Chapter 75 of 'Spring Ming Outer History' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
It is told that from the day he parted with Li Yun, Yang Xingyuan had been sunk in despondency. Each day found him only burying his head in his books, seeking diversion in writing.
One day, He Jianchen came to visit. Seeing his haggard appearance, He advised, "Xingyuan, why must you torment yourself so? The world holds many women. Why cling to this single one?" Yang Xingyuan sighed, "Where true affection lies, it is with the likes of us. Though Li Yun comes from the world of dust and wind, she possesses a heart of pure innocence. How could I ever forget her?" Knowing his stubbornness, He Jianchen said no more, merely inviting him for a stroll in the gardens to clear his mind.
Walking to a quiet spot, they saw an old man burning his lute as if to cook a crane-a wanton act of destruction that stirred something deep within Yang Xingyuan, and he stood watching for a long time. The old man, noticing him, asked, "Sir, are you also an appreciator of music?" Yang shook his head. "The harmony of strings is now but mist and cloud. To see this lute burned only adds to my melancholy." The old man laughed. "The lute is the voice of the heart. If the heart is dead, what purpose does the lute serve? This instrument was a gift from a beloved of my youth. Now that she is gone, what use is keeping it? Better to burn it and sever all lingering attachments." Hearing this, Yang Xingyuan felt a deeper desolation. Returning home, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, and finally took up his brush to compose a lyric poem to give voice to his hidden sorrows.
The lyric read: "To shift the stars, replace the moon, laboring to mend love's fractured sky. With unflagging zeal, I write out every line of longing. Clapping hands, I burn the lute-to whom can I confess this remnant of regret?"
The next day, he suddenly received a letter from Li Yun. It stated that she had left the house of pleasure to become a merchant's wife and wished him to take good care of himself. After reading it, Yang Xingyuan fell into a wordless silence. He took the draft of his poem from the previous day and consigned it to the flames. From that day on, he shut his door to visitors and devoted himself wholly to his writings.
He Jianchen, hearing the news, came to see him. Observing the ashes still present, he sighed, "The sky of love is hard to mend, the sea of regret impossible to fill. Xingyuan, why must your folly go to such lengths?" Yang Xingyuan replied with perfect composure, "This is my fate. I bear no grievance, no regret."
Thereafter, Yang Xingyuan gradually found a measure of peace. Only in the deep quiet of night, occasionally facing the waning moon, would he still recall Li Yun's gentle smile. Yet in the end, it had all become a thing of the past, never to be pursued again.