For now let’s not speak of Guangrui or Xuanzang.
Outside of the city of Chang’an, on the shores of the Jing River, there was a fisherman1 and a woodcutter.2 One day, inside the city of Chang’an, after the woodcutter had sold his firewood and the fisherman sold his carp, they ate together in a tavern. After the meal, they strolled along the river tipsily, each still holding a bottle of wine.
“Brother,” the fisherman said. “I’ve been thinking. It’s all very well strive to be rich and curry favor, but at what cost? You might as well enjoy the mountains and waters and live a carefree life, and go where fate takes you.”
“Brother, you make a good point,” the woodcutter said. “But your waters cannot measure up to my mountains.”
“It is your mountains that can’t compare to my waters,” the fisherman said. “Let me prove it to you with these words set to the tune of The Butterfly’s Love for the Blossom,” and he sang of misty waters, the cry of gulls, the reeds and willows, and the peace of the small boat drifting among them.3
“I, too, have words to the tune of The Butterfly’s Love for the Blossom,” the woodcutter replied, “that show that your waters cannot surpass my mountains.” He sang of the clouds drifting through pine forests, the call of eagles, the turning of the seasons, and the freedom of wandering through the pines.
“Your mountains have nothing on my waters,” the fisherman replied. “The bounty that the water provides! Let me prove it with this lyric to the tune of Partridge Skies.” He sang of the way of life between the water and the clouds, of the daily routine of caring for the boat, of the pleasure of steaming fresh-caught fish and crab, the flavor of wild asparagus and caltrop with chicken’s head, and the delicate lotus root and mushrooms by the shore.4
“The bounty of the mountain is nothing to scoff at either,” the woodcutter said. “Let me also compose a verse to the tune of Partridge Skies to show you.” He sang of mountain ranges that extend to the horizon and his home among the wild grasses, the superiority of brined geese and fowl over crab and turtle, how venison and rabbit is finer than fish and prawn, and the abundance of bamboo shoots and wild tea leaves, cedar leaves and chinaberry shoots, of ripe stone fruit, of sweet pears and sour dates, and osmanthus blossoms.
“This verse to the tune of The Immortal Maiden will show that my waters are beyond compare,” the fisherman said. He sang of being together with his wife and child upon the small boat, the restful sleep under the rush-woven coat, the liquor he bought after selling fish, and the content that needed neither glory nor riches. “And I shall show that my mountains are truly superior to your waters with this verse to the tune of The Immortal Maiden,” the woodcutter said. He sang of the house below the cliff thatched in mountain grass, the beauty of the pines, bamboo, and plum trees, of traversing the rocky peaks collecting wood, the liquor he bought after selling wood, and taking liquor-fueled naps in the shade of pines while ignoring the cares of the world.
“Brother Li,” the fisherman said. “Your life in the mountains can’t possibly be as joyful as my life on the waters. This lyric to Moon over the West River will prove it.” He sang of red blossoms teeming in the light of the moon, the yellow rushes fluttering in the wind. The seam of the green horizon meeting the river, the wavering reflection of stars on the water. The crowds of fish that entered his nets, the schools of perch that bit on the line. The rich flavor of fresh fish in the pot, and the laughter of a life just fooling around.
“Brother Zhang,” the woodcutter said. “Your life on the water is still not as blissful as a living made in the mountains. Take this Moon over the West River as evidence.” He sang of fallen leaves and withered vines that covered the paths, the broken branches and old bamboos that covered the mountains, dried ivies and tendrils he bundled with rope. The willows and elms hollowed by worms, the cedars and pines snapped by the wind, these he piled to prepare for the frost, and traded for wine or coin as he wished.5
“Your life in the mountains isn’t bad,” the fisherman said, “but it can’t beat the serenity of my waters. Let me show you with lyrics to Immortal by the River.” He sang of the lonely boat drifting at low tide, singing in the evening after stowing the oar. The peace of a woven rush coat under a crescent moon, the sleeping gulls, the red clouds at dawn. Sleeping when tired and waking at noon; doing whatever his heart desires. Could even a minister at court be so at ease?
The woodcutter replied, “My mountains are more serene than your waters, and I can also show you with lyrics to Immortal by the River.” He sang of autumn mornings carrying his axe down the dusky path and returning in the cool evening with a load on his bamboo pole. Sticking wildflowers in his hair, parting the clouds to find the road, waiting on the moon to open the way. His wife and son welcome him home with joy where he can rest on the straw bed and wood pillow. Steamed pears and cooked millet are prepared as the jug of new wine ages. Truly the heart is at peace!
“We’ve only been talking about our business,” the fisherman said, ‘the work of providing for ourselves. You don’t enjoy the satisfaction of my idle time. This poem will show you.”
Stop and watch the distant cranes soar,
Let the boat drift by the shore.
Teach my son to fish while we sail,
Stow the oar and help your wife dry the nets.
A stable mind knows when the waves are still,
A man at peace feels the gentle breeze.
A green straw coat and bamboo hat,
Beats an imperial robe and purple sash.
“Your idle time doesn’t hold a light to my idle time,” the woodcutter said, “and I, too, have a poem as evidence.”
Stop and watch the wispy white clouds drift,
Sit behind the closed door of my straw hut.
When idle I teach my son to read
Or play a game of Go with my guests.
Happiness is a song along a flower-lined path
And joy climbing the green hills with lute6 in hand.
Straw shoes, hemp sash, coarse-cloth quilts
And a carefree heart beats the finest gauze.
1 named Zhang Shao ↩
2 named Li Ding ↩
3 Tang dynasty rap battle, anyone? ↩
4 I’m hungry now! ↩
5 This is the least convincing one by far. ↩
6 This is the general word for musical instrument, but Dr. Yu translated it as a lute. ↩
Etymology Adventures 