Moonlit Lotus Pond

Author: Zhu Ziqing
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: Lately, my heart has been quite restless. Tonight, while sitting in the courtyard to enjoy the cool breeze, I suddenly remembered the lotus pond I pass every day. Under the full moon, it must surely have a different appearance. The moon gradually climbed higher, and the laughter of children on the street outside faded away; my wife was gently patting Runchen in the room, humming a lullaby in a drowsy voice. I quietly put on a long coat and slipped out the door.
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 desolate at night. On all sides of the pond, dense trees stand tall and lush. Along one side of the path are willows and some trees whose names I don’t know. On moonless nights, the path feels eerie and somewhat frightening. But tonight, the moonlight is soft, though still faint. Only I am walking along the path, my hands clasped behind my back. This stretch of sky and earth seems to belong to me; I feel as if I’ve stepped beyond my ordinary self into another world. I love the lively and the quiet, 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. They 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 night sky, like stars in a clear 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 pond. The leaves were originally crowded together, now 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. The leaves and flowers seem to have been washed in milk; they look like dreams shrouded in light. Though it’s a full moon, the sky is covered with faint clouds, so it doesn’t shine brightly. But I think this is just right—not too bright, not too dim. The moonlight filters through the trees, casting uneven, patchy 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, tall and short, mostly willows. 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 somber at first glance, like a misty haze. But the posture of the willows is unmistakable even through the haze. The tips of the trees hint at distant mountains, but only vaguely. Through the gaps in the trees, a few flickering streetlights shine, 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 is theirs—not mine. Suddenly, I remember 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. From the poems, we can roughly imagine it. 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 in his "Ode to Lotus Picking":
"Thus, charming boys and girls, rowing their boats, their hearts intertwined: [Benefit birds] turn their heads slowly, passing feathered cups; as oars shift, weeds cling, and as the boat moves, lotus leaves part. With slender waists bound in white silk, they linger, glancing back; summer begins in spring, with tender leaves and blossoms just starting. They fear their skirts will get wet, so they smile faintly, and fear the boat will capsize, so they gather their skirts."
This shows the joy of their frolics. It’s truly interesting, but we no longer have the fortune to experience it now. Then I remember the lines from "The Western":
"Picking lotus in the southern pond in autumn, the lotus flowers tower over my head; bowing my head, I play with lotus seeds, clear as water."
If there were pickers tonight, these lotus flowers here would indeed be "towering over my head." But without the shadows of flowing water, it wouldn’t be right. This makes me think of Jiangnan after all.
—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.