Immortal Yuzhen, 玉真仙

The Peak of Taihua

Words Written to Immortal Yuzhen, by Li Bai

There once was a spirit named Yuzhen,
Who went oft to the peak of Taihua.                                        
At dawn she would strike a heavenly drum,                                                     
Soaring and prancing on twin dragons.

Struck by lightening, she still didn’t stop,
Traveling through clouds, she left not a trace.                          
When she come to Mt. Shaoshi,
Who shall she meet but Wangmu (Queen Mother).

The Story of Yuzhen

The Princess Yuzhen was daughter to the Emperor Ruizhong, and sister to the later Emperor Xuanzhong.

In 710, Emperor Ruizong ordered Daoist convents built for the twenty-something Princess Yuzhen and her older sister, Princess ]inxian, likely at Mt. Taihua, China’s holiest peak, near the capital of Chang’an. A likely date for Li Bai’s flattering poem is 725, when the Emperor Xuanzong conducted a Feng Shan ceremony (封禪) at Taihua, offering sacrifices to heaven and earth.

The twenty-something Li Bai (李白) well knew that flattery is becoming, obsequious flattery, especially so.

In Li Bai’s embellishment, Yuzhan becomes Xian (仙人) immortal. She strikes a drum at the peak of Taihua (太華峰), summoning a pair of dragons (). Then, she soars in the sky though lightening and thunder, heading to distant Mt. Shoashi (少室), home to the Queen Mother (王母) of the West, the goddess who cares for all female Taoists (Daoists).

Coincidentally, it can be noted that Princess Yuzhen, died in the first year of the new Tang Emperor Suzong (762), the same year as the poet Li Bai.

Chinese and Pinyin




yùzhēn xiān rén cí

yùzhēn zhī xiān rén
shí wǎng tàihuá fēng。
qīng chén míng tiān
biāo chuā téng shuāng lóng

nòng diàn bù chuò shǒu,
xíng yún běn wú zōng
jǐ shí rù shàoshì
wángmǔ yīng xiāng féng。

In a Bamboo Grove, 竹裏館

Sitting alone, somewhere in a bamboo grove
Plucking on a zither, whistling along
Deep in the forest, where I can’t be found
At least, not until the bright moon shines

bamboo grove, 篁, huáng
somewhere in a bamboo grove, 篁裏 , huáng lǐ,
known only to me and the bright moon, 明月, míng yuè,
Wang Wei, 王維, 699–759

I Want to be Alone

We’re social critters who need to be strongly connected with other people. But, as every poet knows, solitude can be just as important. Space, we need space, and social distancing, but more than that sometimes we want to be alone, as Greta Garbo famously said.

Alone, Li Bai sat and watched Mt. Jiangshan. Alone, Du Fu sat in a grassy grove on a warm summer’s day. Wang Wei wrote at least two poems about being alone, one on an autumn night. And this one in a secluded bamboo grove, plucking a zither, whistling alone except for the moonlight.

Around the year 747, Wang Wei’s mother died. Wang Wei was then 48 years old. As a good son, devout Buddhist, and follower of Taoism, he retired from public life for a period of mourning at his family estate in Lantian County, Shaanxi province. He put the time to good use writing a collection of poems with Pei Di (裴迪) called Wangchuan Ji, or in English, the Wang River Collection or Wheel River Collection.

Chinese and Pinyin



Zhú Lǐ Guǎn

Dú zuò yōu huáng lǐ
Dàn qín fù chángxiào
Shēn lín rén bù zhī
Míng yuè lái xiāng zhào


Is this poem relevant today?

Think of Wang Wei as an ancient Henry David Thoreau walking the woods on Walden Pond. Or Ansel Adams taking pictures in the High Sierras. Songs – those of you looking for a 21st century connection can find many. Perhaps none better than Gilbert O’Sullivan’s Alone Again (1972). Prefer Chinese, try 王嘉爾 Jackson Wang, 一個人 Alone.

It’s a “Zenthing”

The poem is relatively straight forward, but I will give you my thoughts on translation as I differ in the last line with other translators.

From the title, Zhú Lǐ Guǎn, 竹裏館, we learn that Wang Wei has fashioned a secluded shelter in his bamboo grove. Guàn doing double-duty as a homophone for a Taoist place of worship. In line one, we find Wang sitting alone, 獨坐, Dú zuò. Where? Somewhere in a bamboo grove. 篁裏, huáng lǐ. acts here as an indistinct unit of measure, somewhere. In line two, we see and hear him plucking a zither, 琴, qín. No confusion there, a zither, the seven string Chinese Guqin. But 長嘯, chángxiào requires some explanation. Chángxiào is a Taoist transcendental whistling, a long-drawn out whistling that functions as a yogic exercise. A skillful whistler could, it is believed, summon animals or communicate with supernatural beings.

Perhaps, in Wang Wei’s case, he is whistling to his departed mother.

The real trickery is in the last line where Wang is hidden from all the world except for the all seeing bright moon. Only if one has walked in a deep dark forest does one know what Wang Wei means.

In other words, its a Zenthing.

Prior version from April 2018

Painting by Yu Zhiding 1647 – 1709

Drinking Alone under the Moon

Li Bai
s oft repeated poem inspires much thought. Were I to accompany Li Bai under the moon and the Milky Way, these would be mine to share — Alone we enter the world, alone we leave, and in the middle we have the chance to share a drink and dance. There were three there then, the moon, my shadow, and I. It was dimly lit, and two said not a word. In my pocket I found a poem, Li Bai, it was yours.

[Previously translated, December 2016]

Drinking Alone Under the Moon
Li Bai

A jug of wine among the flowers,
I drink alone, I think.
I tip my cup to the bright moon.
The moon, my shadow, and I make three.
The moon does not care to drink.
My shadow only trails along.
Fleeting friends we three, the moon, my shadow and I.
Still, let us make merry ’til the end of Spring.
The moon swaying as I sing.
My shadow dancing in step along with me.
Sober, we happily honor the hour.
Drunk, we part.
Our meeting beyond the heavens,
Until we gather again, these two and I,
Beneath the Heavenly River

Gazing at Mount Lu’s Waterfall, by Li Bai

Sunlight shines on Lushan, in a purple haze,
From afar, like a veil, a waterfall hangs.
Water cascading three thousand feet
from the sky,
Is the Celestial River falling from heaven on high?

756, Awaiting My Fate

Li Bai’s diary, had he kept one, might have gone something like this.

“In the 12th month of the 43rd year of reign of our most illustrious Emperor Xuanzong
(December of 755)

General An Lushan has declared himself emperor of Northern China.

In the 5th month of the 1st year of the reign of Emperor Suzong.
(May, 756)

Chang’an has fallen and the emperor and his imperial court have fled to Sichuan. The imperial consort Yang Guifei (楊貴妃) is dead.

Emperor Xuanzong has abdicated. I have been attached to a military expedition headed by Prince Li Lin (the 16th son of Emperor Xuanzong’s 30 sons). Events are not going well. and his son Prince Li Heng declared Emperor Suzong. Prince Li Lin has failed to establish his own kingdom. He has been executed. I too am suspected of disloyalty to the new emperor and I am imprisoned at Jiujiang. My fall from grace is as high as the waterfall of Lushan before me and my fate as clouded as its purple haze.”

Li wrote two poems about Mt. Lushan’s waterfall. This is the shorter of the two.

Metaphors and Meaning

Mt. Lushan is an obvious reference to General An Lushan who is the cause of Li Bai’s woes. The Celestial River, our Milky Way Galaxy, pours forth a river of fiery stars and unrelenting troubles. The color purple represents imperial authority. The waterfall hanging like a veil, uncertainty.

Notes on Translation

The Title

Wàng lúshān pùbù, 望庐山瀑布. Gazing at Lushan’s waterfall. wàng, meaning gazing at or viewing, has a secondary meaning of hope, which expresses Li Bai’s hope that he might be spared. shān is the character for mountain. The two Chinese characters for waterfall 瀑布, pù bù, are themselves a neat rhyme.

The Poem

Lines one, three, and four rhyme – yān, chuān, and jiŭtiān. Line three has an internal rhyme – sān qiān.

Xianglu (香炉) in line one refers to a particular peak on Mt. Lu (Lushan) that in English translates as “incense burner”. Perhaps because of this, Li Bai mentions the purple haze that emanates from the peak in sunlight.

The last line is packed with metaphors. 疑是 yí shì, literally I suspect or believe it to be; which refers to 银河 (yínhé), literally “Silver River,” or often “Celestial River” (tiānhé). And where does this river fall (落 luò) from?

九天, jiŭtiān, the ninth and highest level of heaven. “Heaven on high” is a suitable English poetic interpretation. In the midst of the haze, Li is certainly anticipating his own fall 落 luò from “heaven on high”.

Li Bai, once the darling of the Imperial Court, has fallen from a dizzying height.

Li Bai in happier times

Chinese and Pinyin



wàng lúshān pùbù

rì zhào xiānglú shēng zĭ yān
yáo kàn pù bù guà qián chuān
fēi liú zhí xià sān qiān chĭ
yí shì yínhé luò jiŭtiān

Early Autumn in Shaanxi – Li Bai

Early Autumn in (Taiyuan) Shaanxi

Year’s end, the flowers now rest
The season of the fleeting Fire Star
On the Frontier, the mighty frost is early and
Autumn’s colorful clouds have crossed the River
Dreams circle the city’s walls
In autumn my heart flies homeward
My thoughts returning south, like the Fen River
Everyday, all day long

My thoughts return homeward

Li Bai’s poem, Early Autumn in Shaanxi, might have special meaning for China’s President Xi Jinping. Xi’s father was from Shaanxi Province and one of the founding members of the Chinese Communist Government. During Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution, Xi’s father was purged from the Communist Party. Red Guards ransacked the family home, a sister died, and his mother was forced to publicly denounce her husband. Fifteen year old Xi was sent to Shaanxi to work the farms. For nearly seven years, Xi’s home was a cave, a worn quilt spread on bricks his bed, a bucket his toilet.

The stars his only companions.

Li Bai was destined to spend most of his life wandering from place to place. He also married four times. His first marriage was in 727, in Anlu, Hubei Province, to the granddaughter of a former government minister. Autumn in the year 735 finds him in northern Taiyun, the capital of Hedong Province (present day Shanxi)* wishing he was home.

*It is possible but speculative that Li Bai was visiting the politically powerful Pei Clan in hopes of an Imperial appointment.

Notes on Translation

Shaanxi, Shanxi, Taiyuan

English translations often use Shaanxi in the title for the sake of convenience. But Li Bai’s title is 太 原 早 秋 and 太 原 refers to Tàiyuán. This is in fact the capital of Shanxi province, which is today sometimes interchangeably confused with the similar contiguous province of Shaanxi. In Li Bai’s time, Shanxi was known as Hedong, meaning east of the Yellow River.

The character for Autumn, Qiu 秋, appears in the title and twice in the poem. The season is a transition from summer to winter, from joy to melancholy.

The Fire Star, my guess is that this refers to the Perseid Meteor Showers which peak in autumn. A second possibility is the red planet, Mars (Short for 火星, Huǒxīng), hence the name Fire Star. The star is fleeting because its lop-sided orbit causes the planet’s glow to wax and wane. There is also a legendary tale of the Yan Emperors from this region who used the titles “flame emperors”.

Hé 河, in line 4, refers to the Yellow River.

Fén shuǐ 汾水, seventh line. Fen River runs north to south through Shanxi Province, eventually joining the Yellow River.

Chinese and Pinyin

太 原 早 秋

岁 落 众 芳 歇
时 当 大 火 流
霜 威 出 塞 早
云 色 渡 河 秋
梦 绕 边 城 月
心 飞 故 国 秋
思 归 若 汾 水
无 日 不 悠 悠

Taiyuan Zao Qiu

Sui man zhong fang xie
Shi dang da huo liu.
Shuang wei qu sai zao
Yun se du he qiu.
Meng rao bian cheng yue
Xin fei gu guo qiu.
Si gui ruo fenshui
Wu ri bu you you.

A Summer Day in the Mountains, 夏日山中, Li Bai

Lazily waving my white feathered fan
Naked to the waist in the midst of the forest’s green trees
Hanging my cap on a rocky crag
Baring my head
To the wind that blows though the pines


li bai reclining on rocks

The poet Li Bai resting and wearing a headscarf called Fu Jin 幅巾

Must a poet always be a poet?

Yes, but the wind in the pines gets its due. Here, Li Bai tips his cap to Nature which is his muse and inspiration.

Far from the Imperial Court, Li Bai finds himself in the forest’s green trees on a summer’s day. He is hot and perspiring. He strips to the waist, then removes his his headscarf (掛石壁, guà shíbì). Removing his headscarf and hanging up his cap, “to be unrestrained” and “putting away his pen”.

Now it is Nature’s turn to poetically express itself which it does by the wind blowing through the pine trees. The “wind in the pines” (松風, sōngfēng) is a familiar phrase in Chinese and Japanese poetry that is incapable of translation. It is best understood as a Zen moment.

You know it when you hear it and feel it cooling the perspiration on your forehead.

Li Tang Wind in the Pines

Li Tang, Wind in the Pines (1050–1130)


What follows is a translation by Arthur Waley, 1919.

In the Mountains on a Summer Day, by Li Bai

Gently I stir a white feather fan,
With open shirt sitting in a green wood.
I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;
A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head.

Chinese and Pinyin


Lǎn yáo bái yǔshàn,
luǒ tǎn qīng lín zhōng.
Tuō jīn guà shíbì,
lù dǐng sǎ sōngfēng.

Li Bai, Why I live in the Green Mountains

In the mountains, you asked, I answered, most popular answer

Why do I live in the green mountains?
I laugh and answer not, my soul serene
I dwell in another paradise, where earth belongs to no man
Where peach trees blossom forever, and the rivers flow on and on

You ask, why I dwell on Green Mountain;
I smile and make no reply for my heart is at peace.
The peach-blossoms flow downstream and are gone forever,
I live in a world apart from among men.

I’m asked what the sense of living on Jade Mountain
I laugh and answer not, my heart at peace
I dwell in another heaven where no earthly man belongs
Where peach trees blossom and spring waters flow forever

green mountains

green mountains where rivers flow forever

Li Bai

Our wandering poet lived 61 years, surviving the hardship of rebellion and the vicissitudes of court intrigue. His final punishment was banishment for life. I suspect this strongly influenced his preference for the green mountains over the imperial palace or the sinecure of an imperial posting. Tongue in cheek, he might have said:

“I do not fare too well at court, too fond of wine and pretty girls, let the emperor wait, I’d rather compose a witty rhyme.”

Chinese and Pinyin

Wèn yú hé yì qī bìshān
Xiào ér bù dá xīn zì xián
Táohuā liúshuǐ yǎo rán qù
Biéyǒu tiāndì fēi rénjiān


Most popular answer

Poems may be allegorical, historical, legendary, sensual, descriptive, romantic, or a combination of some of the above. Li Bai’s poem draws from many of these genres.

I have given it two interpretations in three translations.

li bai reclining on rocks

li bai reclining on rocks

Why I live in the Green Mountains

Me or she, she the Queen Mother of the West.

Me, the wandering poet. After leaving the Imperial Court at Chang’an, Li Bai, now in his late 20s and early 30s,  wandered far and wide, before settling in Anlu, Hubei Province. He married well and formally adopted Taoism. His wife’s family had a country home at Bishan, Bi Mountain (碧山). There Li Bai found contentment, his heart at peace (心自閒, xīn zì xián). Several of his poems used the peach flower (桃花, táohuā) as a motif for immortality.

There in a world apart from man, he flourished. Compare 人间蒸发, rén jiān zhēng fā, to disappear from the earth.


She, Xiwangmu

She, Xiwangmu, Queen Mother of the West.

In Taoist’s fairy tales, Xiwangmu is the Queen Mother of the West, the supreme goddess in the heaven, as well as the wife of Yuhuang Dadi, the Jade Emperor. Her palace is described as having a garden, full of peach (tao 桃) trees, a symbol of longevity. The trees from which the peaches grow are said to only bear fruit every 3,000 years. When this happens the Queen invites all the immortals to a banquet to celebrate her birthday and the day she became immortal. The trees border a Jasper Pool filled with water that flows forever.

The Title. In the Mountain, question answered

 山中問答(答俗人), In the mountain, question answered, most popular answer. This question reminds me of the popular topic “Mountains or Ocean” in which each person, given only one choice, must choose between living in the mountains or at the beach. Me, I all for the mountains. Mountains are hard and serene and beaches are way too easy, only the weak prefer what is easy.

Li Bai – A Gift to Wang Lun

I’m on board, about to sail,
Suddenly, I hear singing on the shore.
Peach Blossom Pool may be a thousand fathoms deep,
Yet not as deep as Wang Lun’s feelings for me.

As I, Li Bai, was about to leave by boat
Alas, I heard singing on the shore
Peach Blossom Lake may be a thousand feet deep
It’s not so deep Wang Lun, as the love you gave to me

peach trees in blossom

Parting is Sweet Sorrow

On this occasion, parting was a time of singing and dancing as the residents of Taohuatan wished Li Bai a grand send-off.

During the reign of Tang Emperor Xuanzong (712-756), Wang Lun, the local magistrate of Jingxian County, Anhui Province, long been an admirer of Li Bai’s poetry, heard that Li Bai was traveling about southern China. Excited, Wang Lun wrote, asking “Are you fond of beautiful scenery, because we have ten miles of peach blossoms? And are you fond of drinking, because we have ten thousand taverns?”


Li Bai took the bait and showed up in Jingxian. Then, Wang Lun confessed the truth – “Ten miles of peach blossoms” referred to the ferry called “Ferry of Peach Blossom” (十里桃花者,桃花渡也), and “ten thousand taverns” was only one pub whose owner’s first name was “Wan”. Figuratively true since, the Chinese family name, “wan” has the same pronunciation as “ten thousand” (万 Wàn).

The good natured Li Bai had a good time, and wrote this lovely poem as he was about to leave. He also managed to get a dig in at Wang Lun with a play on words, 水深, shuǐshēn, figuratively means “shoddy dealings”. Furthermore, 我 wǒ, the me in the last line is subtly suggestive. Folk etymology considers it to be an ideograph of a hand () holding a weapon (), in other words, one should protect oneself from such friendships.

Post Note

Sensing a business opportunity, the city named the ferry the Ancient Ferry for Farewell Song and Dance (踏歌古岸), and later a pavilion by the ferry. Taohua (Peach Blossom) Pool is now a cultural and historically scenic site.

Pinyin and Chinese

lǐ bái chéng zhōu jiāng yù xíng,
hū wén ànshàng tà gēshēng.
Táohuā tán shuǐshēn qiān chǐ,
bùjí wāng lún sòng wǒ qíng.


Li Bai a Toast to Uncle Yun

We cannot wash away our worries with wine or words.

This is the short two line message Li Bai conveys in a long poem called, Farewell to Uncle Yun at Xietiao Tower in Xuanzhou. The message is remarkable for the repetition of the “chou” sound which, in line one, means withdraw 抽 Chōu, followed by the similar sounding word for water, 水 Shuǐ. The context being to withdraw one’s sword to cut the water. Line two repeats the sound with the repetition of worry 愁 Chóu. 愁更愁, chou geng chou, worry upon worry, the idea being that worries beget more worries.

Though I withdraw my sword to cut the water, it still runs
I toast to dispel worry, and create more worry…

The water still flows, though we cut it with our swords,
And sorrow returns, though we drown it with wine…

architecture China, wood roof

Li Bai in Xuanzhou with Shūyún

Xuanzhou is modern day Xuancheng, east of Wuhan, west of Shanghai,in southeastern Anhui Province. Shūyún, Li Bai’s uncle Yun, was the Imperial archivist.

The Title: 宣州谢朓楼饯别校书叔云

Xuānzhōu xiètiǎo lóu jiànbié xiào shū shūyún.

Shūyún 叔云, was Li Bai’s uncle Shū 叔. He was an archivist in the Xietao Tower (lóu 楼, storied building) in Xuānzhōu. Xiào shū 校书, literally school book, but also an archivist or librarian. The title and full poem are an oblique reference to the rhyming 5th century poet Xiè tiǎo.

Jiànbié 饯别 is a farewell or parting; broadly speaking, to give a farewell dinner.

Chinese and Pinyin


chou dao duan shui shui geng liu
ju bei xiao chou chou geng chou



Bitter Love – Li Bai

A beautiful woman, unfurls the pearly curtain
Quietly sitting, how troubled her brow
I see the tears now, glistening on her cheeks
Still I don’t know who she hates.


Love and Hate

Love, it is said, is the strongest emotion. But hate must be a close second.

Li Bai sees a beautiful woman with tear stained cheeks, but not the bitter hate she feels. A beautiful woman unfurls a pearly curtain but not her feelings. It is a great prompt for a story.

Who does she bitterly hate? Will she get revenge?

Notes on Translation

Yuàn Qíng, the title is a bit tricky in English. Grudge, if you are looking for one word, Bitter love is more popular choice, literally, one comes up with blame the passion, which doesn’t quite fit.

Měirén, a beautiful woman. Line 2, é méi moth eyebrow, a euphemism for a beauty, which originates in the shape of the eybrows which resemble those of a moth. Last line, Bùzhī, unknown, xīn hèn shuí, who she hates, or, what she feels in her heart.

Pinyin and Chinese Characters

Yuàn Qíng

měirén juàn zhū lián
shēn zuò pín é méi
dàn jiàn lèi hén shī
búzhī xīn hèn shuí