Poem Inscribed upon a Window, A Ghost Standing in the Window

Classics Scholar Wang Shao was reading a book deep at night when a person stood in his window and asked to borrow a writing brush. Shao loaned him one, and he inscribed a poem upon the window. When he was done, all was still and noiseless, and thus (Shao) knew he hadn’t been human.

What person reads his books aloud beneath a window?
South Dipper is aslant, Big Dipper’s horizontal.
A thousand li—I think of home—I can’t return:
The spring wind is a slash in the gut, Shitou Town.

题窗上诗
作者：隔窗鬼
〈明经王绍，夜深读书，有人隔窗借笔，绍借之，于窗上题诗，题讫，寂然无声，乃知非人也。〉
何人窗下读书声，
南斗阑干北斗横。
千里思家归不得，
春风肠断石头城。

Onward to ghost poems of chapter 866, which don’t have historical dates—though some, like this one, are tied to people in the historical record. This is btw the fourth in the chapter, as I’ve already translated the first three. In general, I’ve found the overall quality of this chapter’s ghost stories better than the previous.

Wang Shao lived 743-814 and had a distinguished career as a scholar—his title literally means “proficient at the classics.” Upon the window could mean on either the shutter or the paper panes. The Southern Dipper is a Chinese constellation roughly corresponding to Sagittarius, often mentioned in conjunction with the Northern aka Big Dipper of Ursa Major; their orientation implies it’s autumn, and the ghost’s snark might be because it’s open despite getting chilly. There’s a couple possible ancient cities named Shitou (“stone-top”), all long gone, but the best fit is the one within the modern borders of Nanjing in the south.

How’s that for cryptic and evocative?