Why the god of fate destines
That not let my chop- and- change lute
Only sing the brilliant heroic glories
The old and gray days’ friendship and
Love unknown by the world?
The god of Death and Cupid
Cross at the gap between blood and fire
The chilly air masses
moving from Siberia towards begun to converge
On windy-snow of the Nangnim Mountains
Then over it beat down pitilessly
The naked frozen chest of North Korea.
The winter waters of the Imjin River
Kissed the dense snowy-haze good-bye, which hung over
The Funchilin Pass then run down towards the north,
Twisting and curving through the foothills
Of the Yudam-Ni and a split-open of the steep hills
Of Xia TuJu-RI, finally, her stretched torrents
Poured in the Chosin Reservoir.
The great battle of the Chosin Reservoir
With thousands killed and victory winged death
Has shocked and made the West world awake since then.
Now rumbles of cannons fires echoed in the distance
And the battle went on deep into the south.
US warplanes freely flew over the winter blue skies
Their bombs dropped as rain-drops over the war-fields,
Around the Sudong Gorge,
The dying still kept the paces.
Deep in a rocky valley, there dotted a few houses,
Burned down Its walls
Of the earth with thatched roofs.
Beneath the unmasked sky only one house
In that pine trees left, behind it, there was
A group of bunkers,
Now they turned to be a war-zone hospital where
The military surgeons working together
To rescuer wounded lives.
Still could not forget that grey dusk when the voices
Of the two white-dressed angels in the war-fields
Waked the death-dreaming Cao Mu-yun who
Lay on a trench, where the darken blood
Spattered dirty snows among piles of dead comrades,
Then dimly saw the dear tearing eyes and
Wet young faces through the dancing snowflakes.
Now the military assistant surgeon Jiang Hui
Had cleaned up the wounds of Cao Mu-yun
And stitched it and waited the chance
Of transferring him
Back to the hospital in our motherland.
Beneath the dim night sky, Yang Yi-ping
Was feeding him with a soup of wheat flour;
Cao swallowed down one spoon of the soup smelling
Of wheat, His half-open eyes for
A glimpse of sorrow in a thing that mattered;
As to say：“see am I so bad luck just
Step on the battlefield
And then down quickly be wounded.”
Yang, sympathy-hearted, as
One of the fully experienced soldiers
Was softly patting the hand of the soldier, her eyes
Flashing a glimpse of tenderness, there
Was a sparkle of love in it, somehow?
There were days of Shanghai in The west suburb
Where there was one CA-camp,
When they had been drinking the same water
Of Huang-Pu River,
On their caps shinning the same red star.
Yang was, as a famous actress, Rich-experienced
Revolutionary of one of the old liberated states,
And Cao was one of the correspondents,
A newcomer just from university
Now worked as a newsman, for the Army-Press.
Say some kind of lovers' ores
Buried in soul-mountains;
Like a natural magnet, they attracted each other.
One day when there was a show of drama named as
“The White - Haired Girl”, in it
Yang played the role of Xi'er,
And, her performing had won over all of the audiences.
That was the first time for Cao
Dealing with a revolution-drama, and he was
So deep in emotion that even a few days later,
With tears in his eyes
Yet he could write down an essay
That soon was published on the army-newspaper
“Battle Standard”, it sooner had made
Many fellow soldiers moved...
”That day when Yang Yi-ping went to shopping,
She'd occasionally met with Cao in the River-Bay town
Around; while on the way back to their camp, pacing
Across the rice-fields stretched the countryside on,
Willows its’ overhanging branches along the levees,
Dangled the ripples of the still-water; and her eyes
Indulged in the pools of bright-yellow rape-flowers.
She admired the rich fields:
“So beautiful of South of the Yangzi-River
Like heaven in the earth; living here
People are happy to be seen for sure.
And not like my home-mountaineers being so poor.”
Seemingly a showing of His elemental of God of
Fortune,the girl's soul was so honest and plain,
Her words of the telling like the life of
The earth deeply touched of his heart the strings,
Making him ask more about her origins,
But that was straight as a bomber hit her nerves.
Flew out from her deep-thoughts her words
as a valley river slowly flowing in a copse：
“My hometown is in Yi-Meng Mountain—
Mother said people drink the Yi-river water
Growing up with since born, her children even thin
But meek in young kindhearted.
like a little sheep from a mad-dream,I run out,
On miles of the mountain seasons, the bloody-burnt.
“Mother said—that year
When hot winds dried up the river
Locusts ate up the wheat-ear in the night,
Gone with the hunger wind the harvest
From farmers’ finger-tips.
I wandered along with many mountain-girls
And hardly a day went by when I didn’t
Find a tree branch some leaves,
The could-be-mouth-watered food
To eat as in dreams.
Who in the early war-age had been lighting up
A warm pinpoint of light, radiant on quaint houses
Mud-cotes along of Yi-river the levees in valleys，
Then The rich or the poor, sons and daughters,
The well-educated or Broad-shouldered mountaineers
All gathered together
Rushing against the invaded Japan as
The waves break loud on the rocky seashore.
At dawn they lined on the mountain- tops
And at starry-night, run as the verdant valleys
Full of rivers. Being the creators of the republic as
Well as the diggers who would bury
“Believing the sun shines always ahead,
Yet following father's step,
We, three sisters and I together, entered
The “Ru-Zhong army-camp”;
Playing red dramas, sang red -songs
Or passed some secret pieces
Of information to “the right hand”;
As a happy childhood of sincere words
And of colored dreams—we saw ourselves
As others saw us.
“There were blood-cleaning wars fatal approached,
Among it, the lightning hit my father like
Hit a tall lone plant;
Like desolate clouds suddenly meet
An avalanche on mountains snowy-caped,
shocked, scattered by wind；—my sisters
Had parted away, each without a trace left.
“That year autumn was very chilly cold,
On the vast dull sky floated a dark cloud.
our art troupe of the Eighth Column in hasty，
On the way to the Ru-Southwest，
Letting the roaring sounds
Of Yellow-River leave far behind.
A political Instructor had called
My younger sister and me together, informed us
That our father died By himself as
A shielding isolator, betrayed our people.
But the party has believed his daughters
Because of you growing up in the revolutionary- style;
Party believes you both
Should stand in the right side with
The consciousness-raising self-examinations.
“My young sister cried out loudly and fallen down
On the ground; the while in tears I began
To tremble over as had a cold hand had gripped us
Threw into Yellow-river,
The dirty test of the fathomless sin
Since then, never be washed away!
How this could happen?
I never understand it until now.”
With the nature of humility,
With the fear of human history,
Yang Yi-ping, with a thought
To think of indistinctly，
Why telling all the things to him; and then
The sunshine of honesty in her large eye
Bright and trusty, like a window thrown open；
Her senses were still whole,
She watched closely to Cao Mu-yun
As if saying to him:
“I beg your pardon，being all at
Sea for a moment, for telling the life of mine;
Please keep the words in secret
And do not tell it to anyone.”
Cao Mu-yun, a young soul deeply moved,
Had filled with sympathy and the dearest trust
And then the hot emotion exuberant rooted
In his heart.When burning fires of the war-land
Refract on the unique blend
Of strength and femininity，
It is a reborn of a love- deity.
A few verses of George Gordon Byron
Waved into the core of his heart：
“She walks in beauty, like a night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes,
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace…”
The sympathetic responses as the heart-beatings
Had been pulsing in his green chest,that in turn
softly giving to his life-story place：
“I hope I could tell you about my hometown
And about my family and even more：
“Being a one
Of a self-styled something off the common,
A guy-smart in the things that mattered,
Aspiring a little name,
Writing good essays, I am well educated，
Whose father a shop accountant and
The mother from an ancient and
So good with needle-work knowing a little poem;
I am the only, get used to being proud of my family
Whose ancestors used to have scholars good fame
Of the Zhong-Zhou's history,
But some period of history
Had shifted to the Jing-Ling city
While a series of disasters happened.
I was born in the countryside as
A bunch of reed-blooms
Along of Qi-Huai the river levee,
Whiten by the autumn wind;
Through daily in half-working and then in the study
I got a chance to entering Fudan University
As a year-one student of Journalism,
Soon with the calls
Of the new era, be a revolutionary. I have become
A soldier of Chinese Army-Organ, now it is
What kind of luck to know you, be destined!”
That was the details of their connecting in Shanghai
And getting to know each other; that well
Showed the hint of Cupid's bow
Of a white reed-bloom of a boy and a mountain-girl.
Moments when blew and spun the snowflakes
Through distant rumbles
Of somewhere gunfire in the hills,
They had paced together across
Ya-Lu River's freezing surfaces.
Rumbles of gunfire sped the ticks
Of clock, the war changed everything now was
What people engaged merely to seize
a victory and，all for the fronts.
Yang Yi-ping with several comrades
Went to a field hospital and strictly after
A doctor Jiang- Hui as one of the urgent-helpers
Of taking care of the wounded- soldier.
Days and nights，nursing Cao Mu-Yun very well
In her considerations of a willow-pretty picture of
A young doctor, she born to the Dong-Ting East-hill
Of Su Zhou, An ancient town surrounded by a series of
Rich hills, in contrast of brightest sun glare
Lake- Tai of white-tipped waves; a line of
Maidenhair trees ofThe front of her village and,
Quite an extensive forest of
Bamboos and a belt of rolling tea-trees behind
Her aged house; on her family-tree,
There are branches of its Generations as
Local famous doctor golden-hearted.
Following her grandfather’s teaching since
Her childhood, at age 18, Jiang Hui entered
Shanghai Medical College.
And then the patriotic huge waves of war pushed
Jiang Hui to the battle-field hospital.