The bright stars bring forth brilliant writings, and the body follows idle clouds away from the Imperial Land.

One pill is refined beyond the mortal world, while a hundred poems are written in drunken madness.

The pot of heaven holds a land of eternal spring, and the island knows not a single nightless hall.

Crushing the path through the blue sky and beyond the clouds, one stands proud in the Nine Heavens above Fuxi the Emperor.

Dreams break with the yellow millet, and all matters end; the misty waves hide the city of clouds.

Lead and mercury are cooked for three thousand days, leaping out of Yin and Yang for eight hundred autumns.

The sword hangs south of the Big Dipper while the qi stretches beyond the sky to the moon’s peak.

When I arrived, I held a flawless mirror, sticking high to the blue sky, refusing to take it down.

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