To Guo Fengxiao (Shen Jing)

Original work by Danying Can Nian The rolling Yangtze River flows eastward, washing away heroes like the waves. Right and wrong, success and failure turn to emptiness in a flash; the green mountains remain, as the sun sets red again and again. On the river islets, the white-haired fishermen and woodcutters are used to watching the autumn moon and spring breeze. A pot of turbid wine celebrates happy encounters; countless events from ancient to present are all left to jest and conversation. From Dong Zhuo entering the capital to the Three Families returning to Jin, countless heroes appeared in this roughly 100-year period, and even more strategists and generals—yet I only set my eyes on you. "Truly my lord." This one sentence of yours links your 38-year life with that of a "talented minister in times of peace, treacherous hero in times of chaos." My youthful pride mingles with an endless heart, but I only chant in honor of Fengxiao. I have called your name millions of times, yet you are still buried by history. In my ear, I recall the "Zi Qian," I recall your robe of deep green. In laughter and conversation, one hundred thousand of Yuan's soldiers turned to dust. Ten victories and ten defeats gave the weak Cao army the courage to face the Yuan army in battle. In 207 AD, weakened by illness, you wrote your final strategy at your desk. Did you ever imagine that after your death there would be a Zhuge Liang comparable to you? In the long river of history, Zhuge Liang became deified, yet no matter how much he was revered, he never had your eye for recognizing talent. Stripped of the glow of romance and legend, he becomes so ordinary, so mundane, even limited to political talent alone. "Alas, Fengxiao; sorrowful, Fengxiao;悲哀, Fengxiao." I repeatedly ask myself: is genius truly envied by heaven? Why was such a "ghostly talent" as you taken away so early? "If I go south, I shall not return alive." Yet you offered your life on the boundless Gobi? Why! Perhaps literature was not your strength. Was not your unruly and unrestrained nature a sign that you were indifferent to literature? Perhaps you disdainfully avoided writing those words, perhaps… Sunlight on the western bridge, clouds sway remembering the edges of your robe fluttering in the lotus breeze, woodcarvings glinting gold. Ripples of time, seven years ago I sealed my pen for I wield my brush in this life only for you—Guo Fengxiao. Jia, do you know? Every time I hear "My youthful pride, my endless heart," I cannot help feeling a pang of heartache. Every time I recall you laughing with Cao Mengde, I cannot help feeling a touch of comfort. The heart aches because you left before the Battle of Red Cliffs; the heart is comforted because you found a sovereign worth dedicating a lifetime to. "When the stars in the sky whirl, my fate is already set. When the ink of the final stroke dries, old enemies have come to attack. I borrow your solitude, this life may not return easily." That night, did you gaze at the sky and see the spinning galaxy full of stars.Have you already sensed that your fate is sealed, that the final plan you wrote with all your strength has just dried, and do you feel the approach of death? Mengde is still waging war, yet you are alone in Liuzhou City; do you feel a trace of loneliness? You sigh towards the sky, your hand gradually falling, close your dimming eyes, and leave with a smile.