Hangzhou

Layered lakes and stacked peaks are pristine and fair. With autumn sweet osmanthus and ten leagues of lotus blooms. Markets display jewels and pearls, households overflow with silk brocades, vying in splendor.

On the tomb of the Prince of E the grass grows thick; in the autumn sun, desolate, the stone beasts stand tottering. The ruler and ministers who crossed south made light of the state; the elders of the Central Plains watched for the banners. The hero is dead; what use is lamenting now? The realm was split in two and could no longer hold. Do not sing this song by the West Lake: the light on the water and the colours of the hills cannot bear such grief.

Where are they not gold and jade outside and rotten wadding within? Now you do not examine this, but examine my oranges!

West Lake is at its most splendid in spring and under the moon; in a single day, at morning mist and evening mountain haze. This year spring snow was heavy and plum blossoms were held back by cold, blooming together with apricot and peach in an extraordinary spectacle.

Mist and frost coalesced into boundless haze; sky, clouds, hills, and waters were pure white above and below. Shadows on the lake were merely one line of long dike, one dot of Mid-Lake Pavilion, one blade of grass for my skiff, and two or three mustard seeds for the passengers aboard.

On West Lake during the Mid-Seventh Month, there is nothing worth seeing except the crowds who come to look. Viewing these crowds, one classifies them into five types... When moonlight turned pale and the east showed white, the guests finally dispersed.

Lotus leaves reaching to the sky, an endless green; lotus blossoms catching the sun, a red like no other.

If I were to compare West Lake to Xi Shi, light make-up or heavy, either way she is lovely.

Guo the soldier signs a pledge to bring Xiuxiu to the Prince, but when he lifts the curtain the sedan chair is empty; at home Xiuxiu admits she is a ghost, seizes Cui Ning with both hands, and takes him with her into death.

On Wu Hill the wine-shop banners still flutter in the wind: twice now the dream of Jiangnan.

Guang took a stone, struck the jar and broke it; the water gushed out and the child survived.

Return our two emperors and restore our territory, and then we can spare each other.

He led out the army but died before victory, forever making heroes wet their sleeves with tears.

Wang Pi passed messages back and forth; Wang Shuwen made the decisions; Wei Zhiyi wrote the proclamations.