Through myriad hills and vales,
we've come to Jing Men
Where Zhaojun's native village
still stands as a historic site.
Gone was she from the Imperial Palace
to the northern desert:
Only a green tomb is left to face the twilight.
Her pretty face is seen only in paintings;
Her soul returns in vain with the
tingling of girdle-gems in a moonlit night.
For a thousand years, her pi-pa
accompanies barbarian songs:
Its tunes certainly reveal her rueful plight.