Moonlit Lotus Pond - Classics Series

Author: Zhu Ziqing
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: These days, my heart is quite restless. Tonight, sitting in the courtyard to enjoy the cool, I suddenly thought of the lotus pond I pass every day. Under the full moon, it must look quite different. The moon gradually rose higher, and the laughter of children on the street outside the wall had already faded away; my wife was gently patting Runen in the room, humming a lullaby in a drowsy voice. I quietly put on a long coat and slipped out, closing the door behind me. Along the lotus pond lies a winding small road paved with coal dust. It’s a secluded path; few people walk it even during the day, and it’s even more lonely at night. On all sides of the lotus pond, many trees grow, lush and dense. Along one side of the path are willows and some trees whose names I don’t know. On nights without moonlight, this path is eerie and a bit frightening. But tonight is different—even though the moonlight is still faint, the path is only occupied by me, walking with my hands behind my back. This piece of sky and earth seems to belong to me; I also feel as if I’ve stepped beyond my ordinary self, into another world. I love the lively and the calm, the company and solitude. Like tonight, under the vast moonlight, I can think of anything or nothing at all, and feel like a free person. The things I must do and say during the day can now be ignored. This is the beauty of solitude; I’ll savor this boundless lotus fragrance and moonlight.
The winding lotus pond is filled with lush leaves stretching as far as the eye can see. The leaves rise high above the water, like the skirts of graceful dancers. Scattered among the layers of leaves are scattered white flowers—some blooming gracefully, others shyly closed. They are like pearls scattered in the sky, like stars in the blue sky, or like beautiful women fresh from a bath. A gentle breeze passes by, carrying faint, delicate scents, as if the distant songs of a high-rise. At this moment, the leaves and flowers tremble slightly, like lightning, instantly reaching the other side of the lotus pond. The leaves were originally close together, densely packed, forming a wavy, emerald ripple. Below the leaves, the gentle stream is hidden, obscuring any colors, yet the leaves themselves seem even more elegant. The moonlight flows like water, quietly pouring over the leaves and flowers. A thin layer of mist rises from the lotus pond, making the leaves and flowers look as if they’ve been washed in milk, or like a dream shrouded in light.
Although it’s a full moon, the sky is covered with a thin layer of clouds, so it doesn’t shine brightly. But I think this is just right—not only is deep sleep necessary, but a light nap has its own charm. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting uneven, patchy black shadows from the tall, dense shrubs, as if painted on the lotus leaves. The moonlight over the pond is uneven, but the harmony between light and shadow resembles a famous melody played on a violin.
On all sides of the lotus pond, there are trees, both near and far, high and low, with willows being particularly abundant. These trees surround the pond, leaving only a few gaps along the path, as if left for the moonlight. The tree trunks are dark and shadowy at first glance, like a misty cloud. But the elegance of the willows can still be discerned even in the mist. Faintly visible at the tips of the trees is a distant mountain range, only its general outline. Through the gaps in the trees, a few scattered streetlights leak out, dull and lifeless, like the eyes of someone half-asleep.
Tonight, the liveliest sounds are the chirping of cicadas in the trees and the croaking of frogs in the water. But the liveliness belongs to them—I have nothing. Suddenly, I think of the tradition of picking lotus flowers in Jiangnan. It seems to have existed for a long time, and was particularly popular during the Six Dynasties period. From the poems, we can roughly imagine how it was. The pickers were young women who rowed small boats, singing lively songs. There were many pickers, as well as onlookers. It was a lively season, but also a romantic one. Emperor Yuan of Liang once wrote a famous passage in his "Ode to Lotus Picking":
"Thus, charming boys and girls, rowing their boats, their hearts intertwined: [Benefit birds] turn their heads slowly, passing along feathered cups; as oars move, algae cling, and as the boat stirs, lotus leaves part. With slender waists bound in white silk, they linger, turning back; in early summer, when leaves are tender and flowers just begin to bloom, they laugh lightly, fearing their skirts might get wet, and gather their skirts, fearing the boat might capsize."
This shows the joy of their frolics. It’s truly a delightful sight, but we no longer have the fortune to enjoy it today. Then, I recall a line from "The Western Pool Song":
"Picking lotus flowers in the southern pond in autumn, the lotus flowers tower over my head; bowing my head, I toy with lotus seeds, clear as water."
If there were pickers tonight, the lotus flowers here would indeed be "towering over my head." But without the reflection of flowing water, it wouldn’t be complete. This makes me deeply miss Jiangnan.
—Thinking this, I suddenly look up and realize I’m already at my own door. Gently pushing it open, there’s no sound—my wife has been asleep for a long time.