"I have been dreaming every night that my parents have sent a boat to fetch me," said Yün. "When I shut my eyes it feels as if I'm floating, as if I were walking in the mist. Is my spirit leaving me, while only my body remains?"
"That is only because you are upset," I said. "If you will relax, drink some medicine, and take care of yourself, you will get better."
Yün only sobbed again and said, "If I thought I had the slightest thread of life left in me I would never dare alarm you by talking to you like this. But the road to the next world is near, and if I do not speak to you now there will never be a day when I can.
"It is because of me that you have lost the affection of your parents and drifted apart from them. Do not worry, for after I die you will be able to regain their hearts. Your parents' springs and autumns are many, and when I die you should return to them quickly...I also want you to find someone who is attractive and capable, to serve our parents and bring up my children. If you will do this for me, I can die in peace."
When she had said this a great sad moan forced itself from her, as if she was in an agony of heartbreak.
"If you part from me half way I would never want to take another wife," I said. "You know the saying, 'One who has seen the ocean cannot desire a stream, and compared with Wu Mountain there are no clouds anywhere.'"
Yün then took my hand and it seemed there was something else she wanted to say, 
but she could only brokenly repeat the two words "next life." Suddenly she fell silent and began to pant, her eyes staring into the distance. I called her name a thousand times, but she could not speak. Two streams of agonized tears flowed from her eyes in torrents, until finally her panting grew shallow and her tears dried up. Her spirit vanished in the mist and she began her long journey. This was on the 30th day of the third month in the 7th year of the reign of the Emperor Chia Ching. When it happened there was a solitary lamp burning in the room. I looked up but saw nothing, there was nothing for my two hands to hold, and my heart felt as if it would shatter. How can there be anything greater than my everlasting grief?
My friend Hu Ken-tang loaned me ten golds, and by selling every single thing remaining in the house I put together enough money to give my beloved a proper burial.
Alas! Yün came to this world a woman, but she had the feelings and abilities of a man. After she entered the gate of my home in marriage, I had to rush about daily to earn our clothing and food, there was never enough, but she never once complained. When I was living at home, all we had for entertainment was talk about literature. What a pity that she should have died in poverty and after long illness. And whose fault was it that she did? It was my fault, what else can I say? I would advise all the husbands and wives in the world not to hate one another, certainly, but also not to love too deeply. As it is said, "An affectionate couple cannot grow old together." My example should serve as a warning to others.
--Shen Fu 沈复 (1763-after 1809), Records of a Floating Life (浮生六記), translated by Leonard Pratt and Chiang Su-hui (1983)
芸曰：“连日梦我父母放舟来接，闭目即飘然上下，如行云雾中，殆魂离而躯壳存乎？”余
曰：“此神不收舍，服以补剂，静心调养，自能安痊。”芸又唏嘘曰：“妾若稍有生机—
线，断不敢惊君听闻。今冥路已近，苟再不言，言无日矣．君之不得亲心，流离颠沛，皆由
妾故，妾死则亲心自可挽回，君亦可免牵挂。堂上春秋高矣，妾死，君宜早归。如无力携妾
骸骨归，不妨暂居于此，待君将来可耳。愿君另续德容兼备者，以奉双亲，抚我遗子，妾亦
瞑目矣。”言至此，痛肠欲裂，不觉惨然大恸。余曰：“卿果中道相舍，断无再续之理，况
‘曾经沧海难为水，除却巫山不是云’耳。”芸乃执余手而更欲有言，仅断续叠言“来世”
二宇，忽发喘口噤，两目瞪视，千呼万唤已不能言。痛泪两行，涔涔流溢．既而喘沥微，泪
渐干，一灵缥缈，竟尔长逝！时嘉庆癸亥三月三十日也。当是时，孤灯一盏，举目无亲，两
手空拳，寸心欲碎。绵绵此恨，曷其有极！
承吾友胡省堂以十金为助，余尽室中所有，变卖一空，亲为成殓。呜呼！芸一女流，具
男子之襟怀才识。归吾门后，余日奔走衣食，中馈缺乏，芸能纤悉不介意。及余家居，惟以
文字相辩析而已。卒之疾病颠连，赍恨以没，谁致之耶？余有负闺中良友，又何可胜道
哉？ｎ劝世间夫妇，固不可彼此相仇，亦不可过于情笃。话云“恩爱夫妻不到头”，如余
者，可作前车之鉴也。
How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow! she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is she become tributary!
