When I'm old, I'll find a small courtyard to grow flowers and vegetables, and live out my twilight years just like that.

When we grow old, you bring the flowers and I'll bring the tea, and we'll leave this troublesome world behind.

We'll live in an ordinary small town, where there aren't many people but they're all lovely and kind.

We'll find a little white-walled courtyard to be our dwelling place for the rest of our lives.

In front of the house and in the yard, we'll plant the flowers you love and raise a few pretty chickens and ducks.

We'll dig a pond and fill it with lotus plants and fry.

Behind the house we'll plant a few vegetables and melons, put up a trellis, and let grapes cover the wall.

If the yard feels too small, we'll rent another 1 mu and 3 fen of land and sow in spring and harvest in autumn.

The two of us might get lonely, so we'll keep a big dog and a plump cat for company.

A bowl of porridge, a dish of vegetables, a cat, a dog, and one person by your side - this is probably the eternal love that people the world over long for!

In the early morning, push open the courtyard gate and gaze at the sun still at the foot of the mountain.

You push the cart to town to buy vinegar and oil, while I sweep the leaves and split firewood at home, waiting for you to return.

In idle moments, you tend the flowers and plants, while I drink tea and paint.

In the evening we keep watch under the tree by the gate, setting out sunflower seeds and green tea.

The night sky over the small town is pitch black and cloudless, and every star blinks its eyes.

Spring, summer, autumn and winter come and go in the small town, and we too grow older year by year.

As soon as the spring breeze turns warm, the roses all burst into bloom, and the yard is full of their fragrance.

The pear tree by the gate is covered in white blossoms; standing beneath it, a sudden breeze blows, and pear blossoms cling all over your hair bun.

In the scorching summer, with cicadas chirping in waves, the lotus flowers in the pond bloom at their fullest under the bright sun.

Holding a book and sitting idly indoors, sipping a cup of tea you've brewed, while a few frog calls drift in through the window now and then.

Autumn arrives, cool winds rise on all sides, our lotus pond has withered, and the pear tree by the gate has turned yellow too.

After a night of pattering autumn rain, with dark clouds still hanging at the horizon, I might as well go back to bed - who cares about the world's troubles!

In winter the cold wind bites, snow falls thick outside the window, and the yard has lost the vitality of spring.

You and I hold each other by the fire, chatting about the village gossip, while the cat and dog beside us doze off.

Life is so short - I don't seek glory or wealth,

and the world's mundane affairs have nothing to do with me,

I only ask for a plain remainder of my years, with firewood, rice, oil and salt,

to find a place to live, and to grow old hand in hand with you!

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