The water of the Yang-Zi River rolls eastwards, and waves draw off heroes. Right or wrong, success or failure turns out to emptiness. Still stand green mountains, and many evenings still shine red.
White haired boatman sat on the bank of the river, and was accustomed to see the fall moon and spring winds. A bowl of coarse wine; friends happy meeting again. So many stories, far past and present, were chatted with a chuckle.