On the night of the sixteenth day of the seventh month in the fourth year of the Yuanfeng era of Emperor Shenzong of the Northern Song Dynasty, under a bright moon, a small wooden boat drifted idly beneath Red Cliff at Huangzhou. Aboard were four men, seated together over wine. Among them, a gray-templed elder sang loudly—none other than the renowned Su Dongpo. Another man accompanied the song with a bamboo flute, and he, along with the other two, were friends Su Dongpo had recently made.
Only a few months had passed since Su Dongpo was demoted to Huangzhou as a minor military official. Arriving in disgrace, he felt utterly lost—a convicted exile, bewildered by how the literary and political elite had so easily slandered him. The desolate town offered no lodging, so he temporarily stayed in a temple. With few official duties, he found ample time to study Buddhist, Confucian, and Daoist classics, selectively adopting their wisdom. Soon, he emerged from despair, adjusting his mindset and embracing his surroundings. Though unable to achieve great deeds, he saw this as a chance for self-cultivation. Once again the open-minded optimist, he spent his free time freely roaming the mountains and rivers.
The Red Cliffs, where Su Dongpo often visited, overlook the river with magnificent scenery. In his poem "Charm of a Maiden Singer," he described this majestic view: "Rocks pierce the sky, storm-tossed waves crash on the shore, rolling up a thousand heaps of snow."
Now, Su Dongpo took three friends on a boat beneath the Red Cliffs. A gentle breeze swept across the river, the waves murmured as before, and the full moon hung in the sky, casting a silvery glow. They sang and chatted together, filled with joy. Su Dongpo felt his heart light and his spirit soaring, as if he were becoming an immortal. Lost in the moment, he tapped the boat's railing to keep time and began to sing. One of his friends, following the melody, played the xiao in harmony, and the song and flute blended perfectly.
Su Shi stopped singing and listened intently to the mournful flute sound, which seemed like resentment, like longing, like weeping, like confiding, its lingering notes so plaintive and winding that they resembled a silk thread about to break, drifting far into the night sky.
Su Dongpo, somewhat disappointed, asked his flute-playing friend, "For no reason at all, why play such a sorrowful tune?"
His friend's eyes glistened with sorrow as he replied softly, "'The moon is bright, the stars are few; magpies fly southward'—isn't that Cao Mengde's poem? Think back: Cao Cao led his mighty army, conquered Jingzhou, took Jiangling, war ships stretching a thousand li, banners blotting out the sky. He faced the great river, drinking and composing poetry—what a heroic spirit! This very Red Cliffs was where Cao Cao was trapped by Zhou Yu. Where is he now? Alas, life is so fleeting! Though we long for immortality, how can it be achieved? So I can only pour my heart into this mournful sound."
Su Shi suddenly understood and, now seeing all things with an open mind, used his own insight to enlighten his friend: "Look at this river—it flows endlessly, and all things in the world belong to each other, infinite and inexhaustible! Consider the clear breeze over the river or the bright moon among the hills—though they are not mine, I can freely enjoy them. Don't you feel that possessing the whole world is the greatest joy? With that, what is there left for you to be troubled about?"
These words lifted the friend's spirits, turning his sorrow into joy, and the group drank heartily once more, not returning until late into the night.
"The idiom 'ru qi ru su' means like weeping, like confiding, describing a mournful and desolate sound."
Source: *Former Ode to the Red Cliff*
Meaning of the Idiom: Later, the Chinese idiom "如泣如诉" came to describe how like weeping, like confiding, describing a mournful and desolate sound.