The tip of the folding fan points the way.
In the distance humans walk a steady pace,
Our hopes spread before us.
The pleasures of life, suffering,
jarring reality are fused together,
And I become a dancing body.
I return the fan to my breast after folding it closed,
The fire of life lit by the dance warms my body,
Brings forth a fresh stream of blood,
and marks the passage of time.
The fan knows everything;
it pushes me forward and judges my heart.
The fan instructs me to raise a light
at the peak of the mountain of art.
'