Through flocks of mountains, myriad valleys, br I arrive in Jingmen, br where Ming-fei was born and bred-- br the village is still there. br br Once she left the crimson terraces, br there was nothing but endless desert; br only her evergreen grave is left br to face the twilight. br br Portraits have recorded br her spring-fresh face; br the tinkle of girdle pendants heralds br her soul's vain return by moonlight. br br For a thousand years the pipa br has wailed in its alien tongue, br as if its strings bemoan in song br her tragic tale of grief.