Walking west from the small hill for about a hundred and twenty steps, separated by bamboo, I heard the sound of water, like the ringing of jade pendants, and my heart was delighted. I cut through the bamboo to find a small pool, the water particularly clear and cold. The bottom was entirely stone, near the shore, with stones rolling out to form islets, banks, and cliffs. Green trees and emerald vines intertwined and swayed gently.
In the pool, there were about a hundred fish, all seeming to swim freely without any support. The sunlight penetrated, casting shadows on the stones. They remained still, then suddenly darted away, coming and going in a flash, as if enjoying the company of the swimmers.
Looking southwest from the pool, the river twisted and turned, its brightness flickering in sight. The banks were jagged and uneven, making it impossible to know its source.
Sitting by the pool, surrounded by bamboo and trees on all sides, it was desolate and uninhabited, chilling to the spirit and cold to the bones, quiet and profoundly deep. Because the place was too clear, it was not suitable for long stays, so I made a note of it and left.
Companions on the journey: Wu Wuling, Gong Gu, and my younger brother Zong Xuan. The two students who accompanied us were from the Cui family, named Shu Ji and Feng Yi.