A pot of old wine, drunk under the setting sun.
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Two clear pools descend into the dim hall.
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Come, invite spectators to admire the clouds and sunset glow.
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Leaves fall on the east; the wall on the west.
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A single light spreads across heaven and earth.
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In the mortal world, how many storms rise.
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Cast a hexagram to decide where I should wander.
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How many times have I watched the winds and clouds.
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All are mocked by the great and wise.
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Immortals and mortals are all but dreams.
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Drifting through the mortal world.
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A drop of ink spreads to the north and south.
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Truth naturally resides at the center.
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The morning bell or the evening drum.
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Write a page of vanity.
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Sigh for victors and vanquished.
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And gilded once more in gold.
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In the secular world, no matter how much dust there is
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It is but a stroke of yin and yang.
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Have you ever seen the enduring moonlight?
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Anyway, the world is all like this.
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Scooping mountains and rivers.
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Paint the mortal world.
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A few plum-blossom hexagrams-the world remains perilous.
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A lamp still sways in the wind.
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Wandering the moon along the river.
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Who has not yet returned?
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Do you know who stands before you?
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Mountains and rivers often change masters.
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Stories rewrite a new chapter.
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People's hearts are all absurd.
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How many have reached the heights of the blue-cloud path.
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Looking back, only a lonely tomb is seen.
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Have you ever seen desiccated bones and the Yellow Millet dream?
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Anyway, the world has always been this way.
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Scooping mountains and rivers.
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Paint the mortal world.
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A few plum-blossom hexagrams-the world remains perilous.
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There is still a lamp swaying in the wind.
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Wandering the moon along the river.
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Who has not yet returned?
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Do you know who stands before you?
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