Chapter 4 4

11 Come thus; don't delay in dressing. Even if your braids are loose, even if your seams aren’t straight, even if your ribbons aren’t tied properly, don’t worry about it. Come thus; don't delay in dressing. Come on, trot across the lawn. Let the dew get the pink from your feet, let the bells loose from your ankles, let the pearls fall from your chains. Come on, trot across the lawn. Did you not see the clouds and mists covering the sky? Flocks of cranes flew from the far bank, and the wind blew through the evergreen shrubs. The startled cow ran to the shed in the village. Did you not see the clouds and mists covering the sky?

In vain you lit the lamp of evening makeup - it quivered and went out in the wind. Who can tell that you haven't painted black smoke on your eyelashes?Because your eyes are blacker than rain clouds. In vain you lit the lamp of evening makeup - it went out. Come on like this, don't delay in dressing up. If the garland is not put on, who cares; if the bracelet is not fastened, let it be. The sky was clogged with cloud—it was late. Come thus; don't delay in dressing. 12 If you're going to be busy filling your pitcher, come on, come to my lake. The lake will wrap around your feet, babbling its secrets.

The sand is shaded by a coming rain cloud, and the mist hangs low on the green line of the bushes like thick hair on your brow. I am deeply familiar with the rhythm of your steps, it beats in my heart. Come, come to my lake, if you must fill your pitcher. If you want to laze around and let your water bottle float on the water, come on, come on to my lake. The grass slopes are green and there are countless wild flowers. Your thoughts will fly from your dark eyes like a bird from its nest. Your veil will fall to your feet. Come, if you will sit idle, come to my lake. If you want to leave your play and jump in the water, come, come to my lake.

Leave your blue silk cloth on the shore; the blue water will cover you and cover you. The waves will tiptoe to kiss your neck and whisper in your ear. Come on, if you want to jump in the water, come to my lake. If you want to go mad and throw yourself into death, come, come to my lake. It is cool and bottomless. It was as dark as dreamless sleep. In its depths night is day and song is silence. Come, if you want to plunge into death, come to my lake. 13 I wanted nothing but to stand behind the trees at the edge of the forest. Tiredness still lingers in dawn's eyes, and the dew is in the air.

The lazy smell of wet grass hangs in the mist of the ground. Under the banyan tree you milk the cows with creamy hands. I stood still. I didn't say a word.It was the hidden bird singing in the dense leaves. Mango trees sprinkled flowers on the tree path, and bees buzzed one by one. The door of Shiva's temple by the pond opened, and worshipers began to chant sutras. You milk the jug on your lap. I stood with the empty bucket. I didn't come near you. The sky wakes up with the sound of the gong in the temple. Street dust flies under the driven cow's hooves. With gurgling water bottles at their waists, women come from the river.

Your bracelets jingle, milk foam spills over the rim of the jug. The morning light fades away and I don't step near you. 14 I was walking on the side of the road, and I didn't know why, it was past noon, and the bamboo branches rustled in the wind. The slanting shadow stretched out its arms and dragged Liu Guang's feet. The cuckoos are tired of singing. I was walking on the side of the road and I don't know why. Shades of low-hanging trees cover the huts by the water. Someone was busy at work, and her bracelet played music in one corner. I'm standing in front of the hut, I don't know why.

The winding path leads through a field of mustard greens and layers of mango groves. It passes the village temple and the market at the ferry. I stopped in front of this hut, I don't know why. Several years ago, on a windy day in March, spring whispered lazily, and mango flowers fell to the ground. The waves jumped up and passed the copper bottle standing on the side of the ferry. I think about this windy day in March and I don't know why. The shadows get darker, and the cattle go to the stalls. The sun was pale on the desolate pasture, and the villagers were waiting to be crossed by the river.

I walked back slowly, I don't know why. 15 I run like a musk deer in the shade, mad for my scent. The night is the night in the middle of May, and the breeze is the breeze of the southern country. I was lost, I wandered, I sought what was not available, I got what I did not seek. The image of my own desire came out of me and danced. The shimmering figure flew by. I wanted to hold on to it, but it dodged and flew me down. I seek what I cannot have, and I obtain what I do not seek. 16 Hand in hand, eye in eye; thus begins the record of our hearts. It is a moonlit night in March; there is the fragrance of impatiens in the air; my flute is thrown on the ground, and your strings are not woven.

The love between you and me is as simple as a song. Your orange-yellow veil enchants my eyes. The jasmine wreath you made for me made my heart tremble like a compliment. This is a game of giving and staying, hiding and showing; some smiles, some shyness, and some sweet and useless resistance. The love between you and me is as simple as a song. There is no mystery beyond the present; no insistence on the impossible; no shadow behind the charm; no exploration of the dark depths. The love between you and me is as simple as a song: we have not stepped out of all words into eternal silence; we have not raised our hands to nothing for anything but hope.

We give, we take, and that's enough. We have not crushed joy into dust to extract the wine of pain. The love between you and me is as simple as a song. 17 The yellow bird sings in its own tree and makes my heart dance with joy. The two of us live in the same village, and this is one of our joys. Her beloved pair of lambs graze in the shade of my garden trees. If they come into my cornfield, I take them in my arms. Our village is called Kangjana, and people call our small river Anjana. Everyone in the village knows my name, but her name is Ruan Chana. There is only a field between us.

The bees that nest in our trees fly to their woods to gather honey. The fallen flowers from their ferry street floated into the pond where we bathed. Baskets of dried safflower were sent from their fields to our market. Our village is called Kangjana, and people call our small river Anjana. Everyone in the village knows my name, but her name is Ruan Chana. The winding alley leading to her house is filled with the fragrance of mango flowers in spring. The ramie is blooming in our field when their linseed is harvested. The stars that smile on their houses give us the same brilliance. The rain that overflows their gutters also brings joy to our grove of Katham. Our village is called Kangjana, and people call our small river Anjana. Everyone in the village knows my name, but her name is Ruan Chana. 18 When the two sisters went out to fetch water, they came to the spot, and they smiled. They must have noticed the man standing behind the tree every time they came out to fetch water. The sisters whispered to each other as they walked past the place. They must have guessed the secret of the man standing behind the tree whenever they came out to fetch water. Suddenly their water bottles toppled over, and the water poured out, when they came to this place. They must have noticed that the heart of the man standing behind the tree was beating whenever they came out to fetch water. The sisters glanced at each other and smiled when they came to the spot. Their quick steps, accompanied by laughter, disturbed the soul of the man who stood behind the tree whenever they came out to fetch water. 19 You walk along the riverside road with a filled water bottle around your waist. Why do you turn your head hastily, peeking at me from behind the fluttering veil? This flash that came to me from the darkness was like a cool wind passing over sparkling waves that trembled to the shaded shore. It flew towards me like a bird in the night, rushing through the open windows on either side of an unlit room, and disappearing into the night again. You are like a star hidden behind the mountain, and I am a pedestrian on the road. But why did you stand for a moment, glancing at my face through the veil, while you walked along the riverside path with a filled water bottle around your waist? 20 He comes and goes every day. Go, give him the flowers from my head, my friend. If he asks who the flower-giver is, I beg you not to tell him my name—for he comes and goes. He sat on the ground under a tree. Make him a seat of flowers and leaves, my friend. His eyes were melancholy and it brought melancholy to my heart. He didn't say what was on his mind; he just came and went.