Listening to Dong Da Play the Barbarian Pipe, with a Message to Attendant Fang (Li Qi)

Cai Wenji once composed the "Barbarian Reed-Whip Song," playing it in eighteen stanzas. The barbarians' tears wet the frontier grass, and the Han envoy's heart broke for the returning exile. Ancient watchtowers loomed dimly, beacon fires cold; the vast wilderness lay heavy, snow pure white. First plucking the shang string, then the jue and yu strings, autumn leaves across the fields rustled in fright. Master Dong, your art is divine—even spirits in deep mountains steal a listen. Slow and quick strokes follow your heart's desire, winding back and forth as if brimming with feeling. In the empty mountain, a hundred birds scatter and gather; a thousand miles of clouds shift between dark and bright. Like a lost young swan crying in the night, or a barbarian child's sobbing for its mother. The river stills its waves, birds cease their song. The Wusun tribe's homeland lies so far; sorrow rises from the dust of Luosha (modern Lhasa). The mournful tune suddenly turns airy, like a long wind through the forest, rain striking roof tiles. Springs splash, rustling past treetops; wild deer bleat, running beneath the hall. The capital connects to the Eastern Palace walls; the Phoenix Pool faces the Green Carved Gate. You, sir, are talented and detached from worldly gain, waiting day and night for him to bring his lute.