Moonlight over the Lotus Pond
By Zhu Ziqing

I have felt quite upset recently, Tonight, when I was sitting inthe yard enjoying the cool, it occurred to me that the Lotus Pond, which I passby everyday, must assume quite a different look in such moonlit night. A fullmoon was rising high in the sky; the laughter of children playing outside haddied away; in the room, my wife was patting the son, Run-er, sleepily humming acradle song. Shrugging on an overcoat, quietly, I made my way out, closing thedoor behind me.

Alongside the Lotus Pond runs a small cinder footpath. It ispeaceful and secluded here, a place not frequented by pedestrians even in thedaytime; now at night, it looks more solitary, in a lush, shady ambience oftrees all around the pond. On the side where the path is, there are willows,interlaced with some others whose names I do not know. The foliage, which, in amoon less night, would loom somewhat frighteningly dark, looks very nicetonight, although the moonlight is not more than a thin, greyish veil.

I am on my own, strolling, hands behind my back. This bit of theuniverse seems in my possession now; and I myself seem to have been upliftedfrom my ordinary self into another world, I like a serene and peaceful life, asmuch as a busy and active one; I like being in solitude, as much as in company.As it is tonight, basking in a misty moonshine all by myself. I feel I am afree man, free to think of anything, or of nothing. All that one is obliged todo, or to say, in the daytime, can be very well cast a side now. That is thebeauty of being alone. For the moment, just let me indulge in this profusion ofmoonlight and lotus fragrance.

All over this winding stretch of water, what meets the eye is asilken field of leaves, reaching rather high above the surface, like the skirtsof dancing girls in all their grace. Here and there, layers of leaves aredotted with white lotus blossoms, some in demure bloom, others in shy bud, likescattering pearls, or twinkling stars, our beauties just out of the bath. Abreeze stirs, sending over breaths of fragrance, like faint singing driftingfrom a distant building. At this moment, a tiny thrill shoots through theleaves and flowers, like a streak of lightning, straight across the forest oflotuses. The leaves, which have been standing shoulder to shoulder, are caughttrembling in an emerald heave of the pond. Underneath, the exquisite water iscovered from view, and none can tell its colour; yet the leaves on top projectthemselves all the more attractively.

The moon sheds her liquid light silently over the leaves andflowers, which, in the floating transparency of a bluish haze from the pond,look as if they had just been bathed in milk, or like a dream wrapped in agauzy hood. Although it is a full moon, shining through a film of clouds, thelight is not at its brightest; it is, however, just right for me — a profoundsleep is indispensable, yet a snatched doze also has a savour of its own. Themoonlight is streaming down through the foliage, casting bushy shadows on theground from high above, dark and checkered, like an army of ghosts; whereas thebenign figures of the drooping willows, here and there, look like paintings onthe lotus leaves. The moonlight is not spread evenly over the pond, but ratherin a harmonious rhythm of light and shade, like a famous melody played on aviolin.

Around the pond, far and near, high and Iow, are trees. Most ofthem are willows. Only on the path side can two or three gaps be seen throughthe heavy fringe, as if specially reserved for the moon. The shadowy shapes ofthe leafage at first sight seem diffused into a mass of mist, against which,however, the charm of those willow trees is still discernible. Over the treesappear some distant mountains, but merely in sketchy silhouette. Through thebranches are also a couple of lamps, as listless as sleepy eyes. The mostlively creatures here, for the moment, must be the cicadas in the trees and thefrogs in the pond. But the liveliness is theirs, I have nothing.

Suddenly, something like lotus-gathering crosses my mind. It usedto be celebrated as a folk festival in the South, probably dating very far backin history, most popular in the period of Six Dynasties. We can pick up someoutlines of this activity in the poetry. It was young girls who went gatheringlotuses, in sampans and singing love songs. Needless to say, there were a greatnumber of them doing the gathering, apart from those who were watching. It wasa lively season, brimming with vitality, and romance. A brilliant descriptioncan be found in Lotus Gathering writtenby the Yuan Emperor of the Liang Dynasty:

So those charmingyoungsters row their sampans, heart buoyant with tacit love, pass on to eachother cups of wine while their bird-shaped prows drift around. From time totime their oars are caught in dangling algae, and duckweed float apart themoment their boats are about to move on. Their slender figures, girdled withplain silk, tread watchfully on board. This is the time when spring is growinginto summer, the leaves a tender green and the flowers blooming,— among whichthe girls are giggling when evading an outreaching stem, their shirts tucked infor fear that the sampan might tilt.

That is a glimpse of those merrymaking scenes. It must have beenfascinating; but unfortunately we have long been denied such a delight.

Then I recall those lines in Ballad of Xizhou Island:

Gathering thelotus, I am in the South Pond, /The lilies, in autumn, reach over my head;/Lowering my head I toy with the lotus seed, /Look, they are as fresh as thewater underneath.

If there were somebody gathering lotuses tonight, she could tellthat the lilies here are high enough to reach over her head; but, one wouldcertainly miss the sight of the water. So my memories drift back to the Southafter all.

Deep in my thoughts, I looked up, just to find myself at the doorof my own house. Gently I pushed the door open and walked in. Not a soundinside, my wife had been asleep for quite a while.