Zhang Shao said: 'Li Ding, we two are truly the sort who can be close through soft-hummed verse, with no need of clappers and golden goblets. But merely reciting set lyric pieces is nothing rare. Let us each link a few lines, and see how this fisher-and-woodcutter talk of ours turns out.'

微吟可相狎，不須檀板共金樽 adapts a couplet on the easy companionship of poetry — softly chanting verses together, without the clappers (檀板) and wine-cups (金樽) of formal music and feasting. 相 in 相狎 is xiāng, 'mutually'; 散 in 散道 ('to recite offhand') is read sǎn; 為 in 不為稀罕 is wéi. 聯 introduces 聯句, verse linked by turns.

Li Ding said: 'Brother Zhang has put it most finely. Please, brother, recite first.'

言之最妙 is 'has said it most aptly.' Li Ding cedes the opening to Zhang Shao, whose 排律 follows — a single long regulated poem in linked couplets, blending the imagery of both their trades.

The boat lies still within green water and misty waves; the home stands deep in the mountains, amid empty wilds.

The 排律 opens (marked by the quotation 「) by yoking both lives at once — boat and mountain hut. An 'arrayed regulated poem' extends the couplet indefinitely, every middle pair parallel; 曠野 is open country, 中 is zhōng.

Dearly I love the stream-bridge when the spring waters rise, and most I cherish the crags and peaks veiled in dawn cloud.

偏愛 and 最憐 form the couplet's parallel verbs; 漲 (zhǎng) is the swelling spring flood, 岩岫 rocky peaks, 蒙 the dim shrouding of mist.

Fresh carp from the Dragon Gate, stewed and boiled in season; worm-bored dry firewood, kindled and blazing by day.

龍門 is the gorge where, by legend, a carp that leaps the falls becomes a dragon — an apt image, and a quiet irony in a chapter whose dragon is undone. 乾 in 乾柴 ('dry firewood') is gān; the couplet pairs the fisherman's catch with the woodcutter's fuel.

Hook and net, in all their kinds, suffice to keep one in old age; carrying-pole and rope, these two things serve one to the end.

多般 is 'of many sorts,' 贍老 'to provide for one's later years,' 容終 'to see one through to the last.' 釣網 (the fisherman's gear) and 擔繩 (the woodcutter's) are weighed as equally sufficient.

In the little boat, lying face-up, I watch the wild geese fly; on the grassy path, leaning aslant, I listen to the honking swans.

仰臥 is to lie on one's back, 斜欹 to recline sidelong; 唳 is the cry of wild geese, 鴻 the great swan-goose. The couplet pairs river-repose and hill-repose.

In the arena of wagging tongues I have no part; in the sea of right-and-wrong my footprints are few.

口舌場 ('the field of mouth and tongue') and 是非海 ('the sea of right-and-wrong') are the world of dispute and slander; 分 (fēn) is one's involvement, 海內 'within the four seas.' 中 is zhōng. The couplet renounces the strife of society.

By the stream I hang out nets to dry, fine as brocade; on the rock I grind my axe anew, till its edge is keen.

重 in 重磨 ('to grind again') is chóng, 似 in 似鋒 ('like a blade's point') is sì; 繒 is the net-cloth, 如錦 'like brocade.' Net and axe, the two tools, close the couplet.

Under the bright, bright autumn moon I often fish alone; in the still, still spring hills I meet no one at all.

暉暉 is radiant, 寂寂 deep and silent; the doubled binomes set autumn water against spring mountain, each in perfect solitude. 獨釣 recalls the classic image of the solitary angler.

When fish are plenty I trade them for wine and drink with my wife; when firewood is left over I buy a jug and gather with the children.

子 in 共子 is zǐ, 'children'; 沽壺 is 'to buy a pot' of wine, 叢 to cluster. 同妻 and 共子 make the couplet's parallel of domestic pleasure.

Singing to myself, pouring for myself, I follow my own wild ease; with long songs and long sighs I give myself to the tossing wind.

自唱自斟 is unforced solitary pleasure, 放蕩 here free rather than dissolute; both 長 in 長歌長嘆 are cháng, and 顛風 is the buffeting wind.

Hailing elder brothers, calling younger, I gather my boat-mates; leading friends and bringing companions, I gather the old men of the wilds.

船夥 are boat-companions, 野翁 the rustic elders; 挈 is 'to lead by the hand.' 呼兄喚弟 and 挈友攜朋 pile up the verbs of easy sociability as the poem widens from family to fellowship.

Calling the forfeits, guessing fingers, we pass the cups round and round; breaking up tallies, calling out words, we idly pass the wine-bell.

行令 (xíng) is to run drinking-games with their forfeit-rules, 猜拳 the finger-guessing game, 遞盞 'to pass the cup'; 拆牌道字 names word- and tally-games, 傳鐘 another drinking pastime, 漫 'idly.'

Boiling shrimp and cooking crab, merry morning after morning; frying duck and stewing fowl, abundant day after day.

Both 朝 in 朝朝 ('every morning') are zhāo; 爊 (āo) is to braise over slow heat. 朝朝 and 日日 make a couplet of unbroken daily plenty.

My simple wife brews the tea, her mood loose and at ease; my mountain wife cooks the rice, her heart calm and unhurried.

散 in 散淡 ('leisurely, unhurried') is sǎn; 愚婦 and 山妻 are both humble terms for one's own wife, 從容 'composed.' The couplet pairs the two households' women in the same tranquility.

At dawn I raise my pole and rinse it in the light waves; at sunrise I shoulder my firewood and cross the great torrent.

淘 is to rinse in water, 大沖 a large mountain stream; 舉杖 and 擔柴 pair the fisherman's and woodcutter's morning labors.

After rain, cape thrown on, I seize the living carp; before the wind, plying my axe, I fell the withered pine.

披簑 is 'to don the straw cape,' 擒 'to seize,' 弄斧 'to wield the axe'; 雨後 and 風前 set weather against weather, each favoring one of the two trades.

Hiding our tracks and fleeing the world, we play the dull and foolish; hiding our names and burying them, we act the deaf and mute.

潛蹤避世 and 隱姓埋名 are the set phrases for living unknown; 妝 is 'to feign,' 作啞聾 'to play deaf and dumb.' The closing couplet names the recluse's deliberate self-concealment; the 」 ends Zhang Shao's linked verse.