Become one with the mountains and rivers

 　　When the footsteps of time bring everything to stillness, who will be buried on that solitary grave in the wilderness? A gentle breeze sweeps across the withered grass beside the grave, adding another layer of sorrow to its already desolate state.

　　No one knows who lies beneath this grave, nameless and unclaimed, standing blankly in this wasteland. In the stillness of the night, a mournful sigh echoes from somewhere, and who will offer you wine to ease your sorrow? How many years have you slept here, witnessing countless years? Perhaps this was once a battlefield, where you wielded your sword to kill your enemies, only to die far from home, and you and your warriors now rest in this wilderness. Perhaps this was once a picturesque and beautiful place, where you were a hermit who finally became one with the mountains and rivers. Perhaps this was once a village, and you were a native farmer, growing up with children and grandchildren, finally enjoying a peaceful old age…

　　No one will understand what secrets lie beneath this grave; perhaps those who did know have been buried in the annals of history with the passage of time. Countless people have passed by you, but who will leave anything behind? In the end, only loneliness drinks this bitter cup with you. Your broken tombstone bears the marks of time; a thousand years of wind and a hundred years of rain have passed, and only the old tree and withered grass beside the grave can hear your story from a thousand years ago. A day, a month, a season, a year, from sunrise to sunset, from moonrise to dawn, you can only stare blankly at the horizon. Spring goes and summer comes, autumn winds sweep by, winter snow covers your face—such an ordinary year.

　　How long has loneliness lasted? Who will ask about your thousand years of sorrow? How many winters and summers have you grieved? Who will pray for the changes in the coming year? Time has smoothed the prosperity of this earth, leaving a lonely grave for future generations to explore! Perhaps in a thousand years, this place will flourish again, but besides time and history, probably no one else will remember it. Who can understand the sorrow and lament? Where can the worries be expressed? Burial is the only solution.

　　Past events fade, years pass, time marches on relentlessly. Where should history's platform be built? Each dawn and dusk adds a touch of mystery to this solitary grave. Perhaps all of this is merely a person's fantasy; in the next moment, who knows where these thoughts will be? Sighing at the brevity of time, drinking in the changes of a thousand years.

　　A smile makes the paused steps rise again; where does the next stop lie ahead? The setting sun makes this solitary grave even more beautiful, yet also imbued with another kind of mystery. A crow, from who knows where, flies in and lands on an old tree, its mournful melody heartbreaking.

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