A zither’s playing, greenwood of Dragon’s Gate,
a jade flask, good wine as pure as empty space.
Urge on the strings, correct the tuning.
Drinking with you, my friend,
red looks like green, and our faces start to flush.
A Turkic singing girl, her face like a flower,
tends the wine pot, smiling at spring wind,
smiling at spring wind, dancing in her gauze dress.
If you’re not drunk yet, how will you ever find your way home?