The Quatrain of Seven Steps is as much a legend as a poem, and the tale is this.
Cao Zhi was a brilliant poet and the son of the (in)famous — and also brilliant — warlord Cao Cao in China's Three Kingdoms period, when the collapse of the Han dynasty resulted in a massive civil war and the ensuing societal collapse (fodder for a Fire Last Time installment at some point). When his brother Cao Pi ended up in control, he was about ready to off his poetic sibling. But one of his advisers instead recommended that he put Zhi's literary talents to the test and, if he failed, summarily execute him (they took their poetry seriously back then, dammit).
For the test, they showed him a painting of two oxen fighting, then required him to take seven steps and invent a poem that made no explicit reference to the subjects of the painting.
This is, so the story goes, what he said (original characters included):
Two butcher's victims lowing walked along,
Each head bore curving bones, a sturdy pair.
兩肉齊道行，頭上帶凸骨。 两肉齐道行，头上带凸骨。
They met just by a hillock, both were strong,
Each would avoid a pit newly-dug there.
相遇塊山下，欻起相搪突。 相遇块山下，欻起相搪突。
They fought unequal battle, for at length
One lay below a gory mess, inert.
二敵不俱剛，一肉臥土窟 二敌不俱刚，一肉卧土窟。
'Twas not that they were of unequal strength –
Though wrathful both, one did not strength exert.
非是力不如，盛氣不泄畢 非是力不如，盛气不泄毕。
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