Literature Reference: The temple towers soar high, sitting to bid the flying birds farewell. A midnight cup of wine, half the moon breaks over the peaks. In the misty courtyard, pines sway and rustle, in the windy corridor, bamboos clatter. Walking southwest of the city, the winding path is covered with round moss. The good birds chirp, the small stream sparkles. In the fence, a graceful figure appears, the loom hums softly. The mist dampens the trees' charm, the rain leaves the mountain lively. Mid-autumn to Liyang, resting together at Niuji. The great river swallows the sky, a strip horizontally wipes the earth. A thousand sails full of wind, the morning sun like fresh blood. The prefect of Liyang, Pei, his spirit struggles to transcend. The drum painted with a qilin, watch you beat the wild rhythm. The departing sleeves flutter, the mournful powder weeps and chokes. Next year, I will serve as a remonstrance official, the green trees of Qinchuan vast. You wield a strong brush, like Kuafu thirsting. The streets filled with horses, a thousand doors with wheel tracks. Qin's platform breaks the heart, the tattooed formation startles the hair. You have made a cry, I should be thrice mutilated. Lazy and worried, the elder comes, sick and fearful of the long street's call. In the monk's stove on a snowy night, we sleep together in a coarse robe. Warm ashes embrace the bottle, morning porridge is shared. The green clouds, the horse grows horns, Huangzhou holds the festival. Looking at Fanchuan from Qinling, only to turn back and part. At the shrine of the Four Elders of Shangshan, the heart speaks with the gambling game. The wind in the great marsh's reeds, the lonely city's fox and rabbit dens. And again, studying the books, no way to see the official's hat. The ancient teachings stand like a mountain, the ancient style chills the bone. The Zhou tripods line the bottles, the jade of Chu is thrown. Strength exhausted, untouchable, suddenly the mad song bursts. Three years is not suffering, two counties are not unreachable. Autumn Pu leans on the Wu River, the departing oars fly the blue falcon. The hills and streams are good for painting, the caves and valleys deep like boudoirs. The bamboo ridge dense like the imperial forest, the flower garden wrapped in palace silk. The scenery is not bad, sitting alone like a tethered hawk. The red magpie flies from the east, murmuring a letter for you. Calling the child to bring clothes, walking out the door barefoot. Holding a branch, the osmanthus fragrant with snow. Joy to the extreme, wordless, laughing, I turn displeased. Life is but a hundred years old, yet it is a moment in eternity. I want to summon the Dragon Elder from the east, to the heavens to take the handle of the Big Dipper. On the top of Penglai, I will stir the sea, till the water is gone, to see the empty sea. Where does the moon go, where does the sun come from? The jumping balls chase each other without stopping, Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, Wu, Zhou, and Confucius all turn to ashes. Pour this cup of wine, and sing wildly with you. Parting is not worth more concern, aging follows, what can be done? —— 'Chizhou Farewell to Meng Chi the Elder'