Wiping the Dust at the Five-Hundred-Stone Grotto Heaven, Vol. 5

My fellow student Lin Zenong, a government student, sent me four scrolls of his own ink-plum blossoms to my desk in Singapore. It happened that Zhang Yaoqiu Hanxiang from Jiaying was there with his scroll, so we each extracted phrases from their collections to provide inscriptions for the blank spaces. The inscription for the un-opened buds says: "The frozen calyx has long contained the spring's brewing; the fragrant heart alone embraces a bone-cleansing strangeness." For the buds just opening: "Slanted, leaning against the bamboo fence, smoke protects the shadow; cold strikes the riverside shop, snow forms the fragrance." For the half-open buds: "The flute plays at midnight, spring is lightly passing; the crane alarms at the third watch, the frost is about to vanish." For the fully bloomed ones: "The cold presses the fragrant soul, confusing the paper curtains; warmth supports the clear dream, reaching the Jade Terrace." Mailing this to Zenong, he should also be surprised by this ten-thousand-mile good affinity.

Li Yunchao Wei, a military officer from Jiaying, wrote four "Bamboo Branch Songs" of Chaozhou. One of them says: "Fennel-scented hair coils clustered like palace crows; holding the pipa, half-covering the face. At midnight, the moon is high, the strings are rushed; atop the head, white jasmine flowers bloom." It is rich in style and tone.

The Guangxu Renchen 1892 year was my nineteenth year. Tracing back to the spring of the Wuzi 1888 year, when I returned to Fujian following my late father, Mr. Qin-Zhi, I have sat for the preliminary examination three times since then. In the first two exams, I was once recommended and once failed. Those who loved me deeply pitied my madness, saying I should restrain myself a little. Although I could not accept their words at the time, my heart was not without a sense of gratitude.