In the autumn of the renxu year, on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, Su Zi and a guest were boating beneath the Red Cliffs. A gentle breeze came, and the water was calm. Raising a cup to the guest, I recited poetry about the bright moon and sang verses about the graceful. After a while, the moon rose above the eastern mountains, lingering between the constellations. The white dew spread across the river, and the water's light met the sky. Floating like a single reed, I soared over the vastness. It was as if I rode the wind through the void, unaware of where I would stop; drifting as if I were independent from the world, transcending and ascending to immortality.
Thus, we drank joyfully, tapping the boat and singing. The song went: “With osmanthus oars and orchid paddles, striking the bright emptiness and tracing the flowing light. In my heart, I feel so distant, gazing at the beauty far away in the sky.” One guest played the bamboo flute, leaning into the song. Its sound was mournful, like longing or lamentation; the lingering notes were delicate and continuous. It danced like a hidden dragon in the deep ravine, weeping for the lonely widow in the solitary boat.
Su Zi, with a solemn expression, sat upright and asked the guest, “Why is it so?” The guest replied, “‘The moon is bright and the stars are few, the crows and magpies fly south.’ Is this not the poem of Cao Mengde? Looking west towards Xiakou and east towards Wuchang, the mountains and rivers intertwine, lush and verdant. Is this not the predicament of Mengde with Zhou Lang? When he broke Jingzhou and descended upon Jiangling, flowing eastward, with thousands of boats and flags covering the sky, drinking wine by the river, composing poetry with a spear, he was indeed a hero of his time, but where is he now? Moreover, I and you fish and chop wood on the riverbank, companion to fish and shrimp and friends to deer, steering a small boat, raising a gourd cup to toast. I am but a mayfly in the universe, a mere grain in the vast sea. I lament the brevity of my life, envying the endlessness of the Yangtze. I wish to ride the flying immortals and wander, embracing the bright moon for eternity. Knowing that it cannot be hastily attained, I entrust my lingering sounds to the sorrowful wind.”
Su Zi said, “Do you also understand the water and the moon? The flow is like this, yet it never truly departs; the waxing and waning are like that, yet they never truly diminish or grow. If we observe from the perspective of change, then heaven and earth cannot last even a moment; if we observe from the perspective of permanence, then both things and I are endless, so what is there to envy! Moreover, between heaven and earth, everything has its owner; if it is not mine, even a tiny bit should not be taken. Only the clear wind by the river and the bright moon among the mountains, heard as sound and seen as color, can be taken without restriction and used without depletion. This is the endless treasure of the Creator, which we both enjoy.”
The guest was delighted and laughed, washing the cup and pouring again. The dishes were all finished, and the table was in disarray. We leaned against each other in the boat, unaware of the dawn breaking in the east.