鐔津文集 12.23

12.23

When I was in my native place, my deceased friend, the Daoist Ma Zhizhang, brought out a Duanxi inkstone to present to me as a gift. When I traveled through the four quarters, the inkstone went with me; it has been fourteen years now. Zhizhang unfortunately died young. Alas! Zhizhang as a person was trustworthy and righteous, fond of learning, upright and pure, dedicated to upholding lofty integrity. Before his aspirations were realized, Heaven robbed him of his lifespan. Looking at the inkstone, I often seem to see the man; therefore I have kept it and never discarded it. This is the final month of winter in the first year of the Kangding reign [early 1041]. I compose an inscription for it, saying: