The mountain is looming, indelible peaks and ridges—
you took me to swim across the Yu Yuan Tan River,
my hands held on to your shoulders.
I rested by your side on the grass on summer nights,
listened to you tell the story of the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl.
I looked up at you, looked up at the stars.
The mountain seemed far away—
you were once absorbed in work, then later I was taking root in a
new land,
we missed and watched each other through the fog.
The mountain endured the thunder gusts—
when Mother was forced to the labor farm by the Anti-Right
Movement,
for love, you refused to renounce her.
The mountain kept silent,
when they targeted you, for our sake, you alone shouldered
the upside down Cultural Revolution.
The mountain spoke no words—
your heroism, your medals of honor,
how many vicissitudes of history you have witnessed.
Now I have walked into the depths of the mountain,
your calmness and firmness,
your abundance and broadness.
On our video chats, you are wise and keen
just like your favorite writers, Cao Xue Qin and Lu Xun,
you take me to the forest of art, philosophy, and life.
I linger with the mountain, listen to your heart echoing.
remember that year you walked with a cane?
Hand-in-hand we talked until dusk.
The mountain stands strong, lasts long and long—
the sun shines through the clouds and halos you,
full of morning blessings, my eyes, pearls of dew.