Chapter 129 The Clear Stream Flows Eastward (I)
Word Number：312
Author：一曲雨霖铃
Translator：
Release Time：2026-02-26
Poem: With autumn at the frontier the scenery’s strange, Wild geese leave Hengyang, heedless of staying. Horn calls rise on every side across the borders’ cry, A thousand ridges, long smoke, the lone city shuts against the sinking sun. A cup of turbid wine — home is ten thousand li away, Until my name is carved on Yanran I see no way to return. Qiang pipes wail across frostfilled ground, men cannot sleep; The general’s hair is white, the soldier’s tears fall. In the fourteenth year of Tianbao (AD 755), after An Lushan had returned from Chang’an to Fanyang, he spent his days and nights scrutinizing the Blade of Chaos, tasting the measure of his fate. The Blade of Chaos, likewise, worked without rest, as if a festering sore affixed to his bones, gnawing at An Lushan’s vital essence. At first An Lushan only felt increased appetite and lethargy; within a few months he found his oncehandsome bearing swelling with fat, his body growing flabby, his waist and belly round as a drum. Alarmed, he seized a mirror to examine himself. In the glass he saw a face grown bloated with excess flesh, the eyes narrowed like slits and rimmed with bloodshot veins; a thread of black qi flickered faintly across his brow. Panicked by his reflection, An Lushan flung the bronze mirror to the floor. It shattered with a clatter. Guards outside burst in with swords raised. An Lushan’s chest heaved as he batted them away and sat alone on the couch, cold sweat streaming down his face. He thought back to the “Tui Bei Tu” left by the Ninetailed Spirit Fox and spread the chart before him, pondering daily how he might ascend the throne. One day, while An Lushan was privately discussing troop movements with Yan Zhuang and Gao Shang, commotion sounded in the outer
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