Miss Chan, Courtesy Demands Reciprocity -- I'm Challenging You!

Miss Chan wrote on the 14th "Tangfen, your interpretation of Marx's labor theory of value has serious problems." I haven't had a chance to rebut until now. We Chinese believe in reciprocity, especially us Chinese men -- not responding would break protocol. Regarding Marx's value theory, Miss Chan dismissed it from on high with a single "the production category determines the exchange category," and I have nothing more to say about that, so I'll change the topic to challenge Miss Chan.

Recently there was a non-forum-member writing about Buddhist dharma, and I replied a few times. He insisted I write a post and even sent me text messages. So, since the weather has been hot these past couple of days, I'll use the hot weather as my theme to answer the non-member's question while casually challenging Miss Chan. I know Miss Chan's classical poetry skills are formidable, but I shall advance despite the difficulty, using classical poetic form to express my views. As for whether the non-member can understand -- I don't care, as long as I believe Miss Chan can understand. The challenge topic for Miss Chan is this: regarding Buddhism, Miss Chan must reply with a poem matching my rhyme scheme. Otherwise Miss Chan loses.

I'm a man's man. Even if Miss Chan loses, I won't make her admit fault -- unlike Miss Chan, who made me admit fault. Enough idle talk. Here comes my poem about Buddhist dharma through the topic of hot weather. Miss Chan, be ready to receive it:

The summer heat, when did it ever torment?
It is only people who are deluded and bent.
Water and fire, their natures like illusion,
Fish and shrimp enter the pot of their own volition.
All things take form between void and being,
Round or square -- what can bind their freeing?
Glass and mud are one in body,
Eternally reflecting, shining embody.
The blind do not blame their eyes,
Not a matter of light strong or otherwise.
Trees dense or sparse in their array,
The cicada's tune finds no branch to stay.
Dusty thoughts chase after the cart,
How can they preserve the wheel's impart?
Prosperity flourishes then decays,
Love and joy were always thin in their ways.
A great furnace between heaven and earth,
Birth and death -- who can seize their worth?
Departing thoughts ride the wind afar,
Passing over mountains and ravines ajar.
No-self, no no-self in the end,
If you don't understand, don't pretend.