Clatter of hooves echoed in the bamboo forest.
Moonlight shone over the swordsmen’s world.
Clouds brushed upon the back of an eagle,
and she looked down at the chaotic world coldly.
I sung a song as I marched to the frontier,
like the sea burst into a roar, silencing all.
When the gale blew, the Sun set and the tide receded,
the Great Ultimate arose between heaven and earth.
Star falling and rain pouring, I held my sword,
galloping alone for miles.
Vast was the sky, boundless the wilds.
My shadow was not engulfed by the desert.
Numberless men were sent to the battlefield,
but few were written into history.
They died one by one,
with merits and achievements buried.
Starting from grass, the wind
travels across miles of waters and beacon-fire.
In a crisp autumn day, with a jug of wine aside,
I pull out my sword and examine it under the lamp,which brings me back ups and downs.
I will once again set sail and sing with the times.