When a mother in the Yi ethnic group is dead and is to receive cremation, she is, as a rule, be laid to rest in a sleeping position on her right side. Legend has it that she still needs to use her left hand to spin yarn in the afterlife.
—Epigraph
So let her sleep thus, on her right side, in her
Eternal rest of peace, turning into a long river
And metamorphosed into a continuous mountain ridge
Many people can see her sleeping there
The sons and daughters of the big mountain
Thus come to the banks which yield no sight of the ocean
But on the shore there is a mermaid
Where the liquefied earth sinks down
A reef rock looms large in silence behind
And then comes drifting an age-old ditty
Towing a crescent moon most pure
And thus she falls asleep in quiet peace on her right side
In the fresh breezes and the misty rain
Let everything be shrouded in the faint fog
And surrounded by clouds whiter than white
Either at the tranquil dawn
Or in the enchanting dusk
Everything is turned into a statue as cold as ice
Only her left hand keeps floating
The skin still feels warm
And the blood still flows in the veins
There is no mistake about that
Thus she falls asleep quietly on her right side
How she looks like a mermaid
How she looks like a crystal-pure crescent moon
How she looks like a silent rock of reef
She sleeps between the earth and the heaven
She sleeps at the heights over death and life
That's how, underneath her body, the water in the rivers keep flowing
How trees in forests keep growing
How rocks of the mountain keep standing upright
How the people in my tribe, caught in painful sweetness,
Keep weeping, crying and chanting songs in such a manner
Thus she falls asleep quietly on her right side
And everything in this earthly world will be gone forever
But in the boundless vault of heaven
And in the immortal memories of the tribesmen
Only her left hand keeps floating
So tender, so beautiful, and so free
