The way is difficult

1. Some people pay more for a bottle of wine than I can spend for a year on rice. Such is the life of the traveling poet, plenty of freedom, but not much means. I’d like to cross the Yellow River, but it’s frozen and not one will take me. If I turn the other way, all the crossroads lead to dirty roads through boring fields. So I wait and dream of distant islands; I dream my sail is blown full by the wind. 2. It’s hard to make this journey alone. There are no mileposts in the blue sky. They chased me away because it’s hard for me to put up with bravado, with people stealing to bet on cock fights, with anger and stupidity combined. People belittle whoever’s better than them. Where is the emperor now who bowed low and swept the terrace to welcome wise and talented advisors? He is buried and there’s nobody like him now. Now there’s no wisdom, no strategy, so the journey is hard, and nobody helps. 3. If I’m looking for a village that accepts wisdom and virtue, I better keep moving. One can risk giardia from water in Yingchuan and being poisoned from eating ferns in Shjou, but the perils of travel pale in comparison to facing hypocrisy and narrow mindlessness. What good does it do to achieve success? A glass of wine is worth more than fame.