Yuzhang campaign

The northern wind blows us over the pass— soldiers and horses hardly touch the rocks. The southern army could be lost forever— their white armor disappears in the snow. Halfway over the river, half our spirit deserts us— even the general loses his determination. The old women who cried for their sons when we left will still be crying when the grass is tall. Our white horses can’t be settled— foaming, they chase each other around their paddock. White poplars fall into white snow under white moonlight in these mountains. The bandits are more cruel than we are— neither side can care for the wounded. You have a choice—white or black— fear, pity, compassion, weakness, or you die. A spirit can fly through stone— to it, danger and depravation are nothing. A cozy hut, a warm hearth here is fantasy— only whales that can’t fly can make waves. Nobody wants to hear this song— you don’t want to know how wars are won.