《梓潼帝君化书》

“Hua” has two meanings: the transformation of things through their own changes, and the moral transformation of people through instruction. When the formless becomes formed, the past becomes the present, childhood turns to adulthood, and adulthood proceeds to old age and death—then, after death, one is born again as an infant—this is transformation through change. The Three Bonds and Five Constant Virtues (traditional ethical principles and moral standards), along with right and wrong, deviation and integrity, belong to transformation through instruction: those in authority shape the people through example and teaching, while those below can also speak upward and correct errors and injustices.

I have now descended into the world and manifested myself ninety-seven times. Each manifestation has its own purpose. “Primordial Mandate” describes the beginning of all things; “Flowing Forms” investigates the nature of things; “Birth of the People” explains how human nature is affected by habit; “Changing Customs” concerns reforming customs that violate ritual and righteousness; “Examining Antiquity” helps later generations understand events of the past; “Serving the True” concerns following the Dao and its methods; “Honoring Parents” concerns repaying parents for their care; “Hidden Marriage” warns against entering a union carelessly; “Deep Pool and Stone” emphasizes the importance of descendants; “Taming the Pheasant” shows that sincerity can bring a response; “Returning Waters” concerns protecting the ancestral tombs; and “Bringing Down the Plague” demonstrates the efficacy of Fulu (talismans and registers).

“Cherishing Life” urges people to study medicine; “Celestial Office” tells of achieving mastery in medicine; “Recommending the Worthy” concerns putting justice into practice; “Conforming to the Right” concerns aligning oneself with the sages and worthies; “Returning in Glory” concerns knowing contentment and when to stop; “Honoring the Clan” concerns remembering one’s roots; “Returning to Stillness” concerns encountering the Buddhist teachings; “Mount Jun” praises quiet seclusion and serenity; “Moved by Life” says that people find it difficult to forget their feelings; “Serving the Ancestors” concerns remembering and carrying on the aims of one’s forebears; “Filial Piety and Fraternal Affection” concerns continuing the family line; “The Mian River” warns against slander and wickedness; “The White Colt” expresses the wish to retain worthy people; “Recommending an Adversary” concerns setting aside personal grievances when recommending someone for service; “Caring for Orphans” concerns treating friends generously and supporting the vulnerable; “Compassionate Instruction” teaches methods of inner observation and cultivation; “Complete Loyalty” concerns upholding a minister’s integrity; “Dwelling with the True” concerns reaching the Snow Mountains to cultivate the Dao; and “Lord of the Mountains” concerns beginning to protect the land of Shu.

“Punishments and Rewards” concerns punishing sexual misconduct and praising filial conduct; “Preserving Praise” expresses compassion for the innocent; “Returning Wind” disciplines the arrogant; “Making Injustice Clear” shows care for those with no recourse; “Ju District” concerns increasing the population and raising descendants; “Rescuing the Drowning” praises a worthy local official; “Rain of Grain” concerns abhorring selfishness; “Gentle Rain” concerns bestowing kindness on the people; “The Bandit’s Death” commends a filial woman; “Northern Suburb” teaches people to pray for descendants; “Turning Back the Fire” concerns thwarting the schemes of the wicked; “Pacifying Ju” reveals protection that works unseen; “Fei Ding” teaches that brute force is of little account; “Stone Ox” warns against greed for wealth; “Five Women” cautions against becoming enslaved to desire for women; and “Manifesting Divine Power” expresses sorrow at the prospect of Shu’s destruction.

“Great Elixir” concerns encountering a sage master; “Ba Capital” abhors corruption and sordidness; “Basuō” illuminates innate nature; “Warning the Dragon” concerns living in harmony with neighboring deities; “Phoenix Mountain” honors one’s birth parents; “Fish Belly” shows compassion for the hardships of old age; “Karmic Consequences of Speech” reveals that evil words bring evil consequences; “Eastern Suburb” disciplines cunning and hypocrisy; “Ox Mountain” distinguishes good from evil; “Celestial Authority” warns women against defiance; “Esteeming Righteousness” values the bonds between brothers; “Honoring the Hidden” promotes the spirit of the scholar; “Protecting the Upright” praises chaste and steadfast women; “Killing Life” urges people to avoid killing and eat less meat; “Cruelty” warns against harming living beings; “Compassion for the World” expresses concern for the people; “Xianyang” concerns carrying out the emperor’s command; “Qiong Lake” concerns repaying one’s parents; “Liberation” explains that one should not allow enmities to take root; “Benevolent Governance” clarifies past failings; “The Hidden and the Manifest” warns that one must not deceive even when unseen; “Planning in the Tent” concerns repaying karmic debts from a former life; “As One Wishes” concerns accomplishing great undertakings; “Dingwei” foretells a destiny of assisting an enlightened ruler; “Water Transport” concerns overseeing blessings sent down from Heaven; “Laurel Register” concerns literary fortune and the selection of candidates through examinations; and “Filiality and Integrity” concerns bringing about peace through filial and incorruptible conduct.

“Moved by the Times” laments the decline of royal instruction; “Divine Aid” makes clear the deeds associated with Mount Bagong; “Punishing the Violent” warns officials against corruption; “Illuminating the Classics” makes the ancient sages known; “Protecting the Sage” makes great achievements known; “Manifesting Authority” warns scholar-officials against deception; “Aiding the Compliant” concerns carrying out the emperor’s command and protecting the people; “Aiding the Deluded” disciplines those who refuse to believe; “Loyalty Made Manifest” concerns assisting the state; “Sage Governance” praises an age of peace; “Proclaiming Loyalty” concerns serving the world through loyalty and righteousness; “Reviving the State” concerns strengthening the country through loyal and worthy people; “Knowing When to Stop” concerns declining the ruler’s summons and knowing contentment; “Instructing the Rebellious” disciplines the unfilial; “Warning Against Deceit” concerns setting names and roles in order and forbidding deception; “Punishing Rebellion” suppresses defiance and urges people to fulfill their filial duties; “Primordial Reality” concerns rescuing people from danger; “Delivering from Suffering” expresses grief for the dead; “Blessings for Lu” concerns putting to rest enmities formed in the past; “Making Bright” reveals that a project has been completed; “Mowei Grotto-Heaven” reveals transformations that will come later; “Releasing Life” warns against killing young fish; and “Quelling the Locusts” concerns saving the people from the suffering caused by locust plagues.

Thus the sages use the way of the divine to carry out their instruction, bringing Heaven and humanity into mutual response and enabling the divine and human realms to govern together. In the end, all these manifestations were intended to convey teachings to the people and establish the guiding principles of instruction.

In the spring of the third year of the Yanyou era, the court, following the deliberations of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, reviewed my deeds from the Zhou through the Jin dynasties and examined accounts from ancient and recent times. It formally included me among the deities honored in state sacrifices, describing me as loyal to the state, filial within my family, beneficial to the people, and upright in conduct. In addition to my existing title, “King of Divine Letters and Sagely Might, Filial Virtue, Loyalty, and Benevolence,” the court further honored me as “Imperial Lord Wenchang, Registrar of Merit, Who Assists the Origin and Brings Forth Transformation with Broad Benevolence,” and inscribed the Hall of Numinal Efficacy with the name “Shrine of Blessing Letters and Bringing Transformation to Completion.”

As my titles grow ever more illustrious, I feel all the more ashamed. I often ask myself what deeds I have performed to aid the Way of justice and assist the Yuan dynasty in governing. In terms of what I have actually accomplished, I am truly shallow and unworthy of praise. Therefore, I have set down in a book, as best I can, my efforts to teach and transform the world, in response to the court’s gracious command.

To guide people through principle is called “teaching”; when those above put it into practice themselves and those below are transformed by their example, this is called “transformation.” The source of moral instruction and custom lies with those who direct it. By examining whether their conduct is good or bad, one can understand where that instruction comes from. After simple, honest customs declined, people’s hearts were no longer as sincere as those of the ancients. When punishments and government orders, too, proved insufficient to govern the people, spirits and deities used signs of response and retribution to teach the world.

The instruction of the people under Heaven depends at its root on those who guide moral customs. Anyone who undermines the bonds of social order or violates the laws will surely face punishment in the unseen realm. From ancient times to the present, this principle has been plain and unwavering. Thus the work of officials governing the people and deities overseeing the world follows the same principle: both must make their instruction clear, guiding people to correct their faults, do good, and keep away from evil.

Yet the human and netherworld realms follow different paths, and what is manifest and what is hidden have different conditions; the two cannot communicate directly. Even if there are laws for teaching and transforming people, how can they be put into practice and made visible to the people? Governing affairs from the netherworld is especially difficult to bring to bear. I have long understood this problem, so I devised a way for spirits and humans to communicate. Together with the deities in charge of their respective offices, I presented the matter to the Heavenly Emperor and established the method of “Flying Phoenixes to Proclaim Transformation”: by means of spirit-writing through the phoenix planchette, words could be conveyed to the human world, joining the netherworld with the realm of the living. The Heavenly Emperor, mindful of the people, approved this petition.

I have already publicized accounts of my efforts to teach and transform the world. At first glance, writing this may seem like self-praise, but what I record are the things I actually did. These accounts are circulated to make moral instruction clear and to affirm the laws, so people may understand the purpose of correcting their faults, doing good, and keeping away from evil. What else could we rely on to purify people’s hearts, improve customs, and turn back a world in gradual decline?

Recently, I was again honored with a gracious edict from the Heavenly Emperor, who appointed officials for twenty-one departments under me and clearly defined each one’s duties, assigning them to govern human affairs. They are to assist the Heavenly Bureau in bringing forth and transforming the myriad things, and secretly support the sagely dynasty in its peaceful governance. I have repeatedly received such favors and dare not be negligent; for many years I have carried out my duties diligently.

My Book of Transformation consists of ninety-seven fascicles and has circulated among the people for a long time. Unfortunately, it passed through the hands of people with little learning, and contains many miswritten and corrupted characters, with authentic and spurious material mixed together. If it is not corrected and republished, people will say it is the fanciful talk of those who meddle in other people’s affairs and believe in ghosts and spirits. I therefore sought out reliable scholars of upright character and instructed them to collate the northern and southern editions repeatedly, using accounts of spirits and deities as points of reference in their examination. I found many omissions in the southern edition, while the northern edition, which I personally revised, is more complete. For events before the year Dingwei, when my manifestations first appeared, I corrected errors; for material after I entered the register of the laureates, I removed what was confused and excessive. I also added two chapters, “Transforming the People” and “Transforming the Civil Service Examinations,” bringing the total to ninety-nine. For now, the final two chapters are left with titles only and their texts blank, awaiting completion by later generations. I hope those who have revised this book will print and circulate it, preserving it for posterity so that people will no longer be confused or indulge in wild speculation.

Some say, “The sages used accounts of spirits and deities to carry out their instruction, and the Nine Classics are as clear as the sun and moon. Learned and refined gentlemen have never been lacking in any age, yet the instruction recorded in the classics still has not become known in every household. How, then, could a modest book like the Book of Transformation serve as a pillar to save the world?” Alas, those who say this have simply not thought deeply enough. Wherever moral instruction exists, there the Dao exists.

Officials who read accounts of my manifestations and see the strict demands made of them in loyalty, integrity, competence, and a sense of responsibility may feel awe. Literati and Confucian scholars who read the full account of this process of transformation, and learn that awe-inspiring deities seem to stand before them, may become reverent and fearful, and reflect on their own conduct. Farmers, artisans, merchants, and people of every other kind who hear the strange stories passed down over hundreds and thousands of years, and learn that those who deceive their own hearts will suffer Heaven’s punishment, those who commit verbal wrongs will face divine retribution, good deeds are rewarded, and evil deeds punished, may be startled into wakefulness and change their ways for the better. Those who cultivate the Buddhist or Daoist path, knowing that the cycles of calamity and the consequences of actions are plainly manifest, may set their hearts straight and observe the laws. The effects of this instruction go far beyond making the stubborn upright or giving the timid the resolve to strive.

The shallow-minded say, “Confucius did not speak of strange occurrences, violence, disorder, or spirits and deities. Why do you speak so much about them?” This is because some people are not yet ready to hear deeper principles. All I have done is uphold the “trustworthiness of Lord Bai”—earning people’s trust through sincerity. I help people set out on the right path of cultivating themselves, ordering their families, governing the state, and bringing peace to all under Heaven; I do not use deviant arts. This instruction may not establish the right order of Heaven and Earth, settle the people’s destinies, or create an age of peace for generations to come. Still, those who understand may appreciate the depth of my purpose.

My divine office extends throughout the world, as the sun and moon travel across the heavens. I govern the granting and withdrawal of official rank and emoluments, as well as the literary fortunes of the realm and the standards of its examinations. My responsibilities encompass matters both great and small. Alas, since I have in the past carried out measures to turn back harmful trends and quell calamities, why should I not now again proclaim transformation with the force of thunder and the reach of the wind?

People under Heaven, understand my deeper purpose: establish benevolence and righteousness in the garden of poetry and the classics; uphold loyalty and filial devotion in communities known for integrity and humility; and let everyone together pursue benevolent, long, and healthy lives, sharing in peace. Nothing could be more fortunate. If you do not, once Heaven’s punishment descends, how could regret undo it?

I have the good fortune to bear so great a responsibility, and fear that I may fail the favor bestowed by the Son of Heaven. For this reason, I have written this preface.

At the beginning, by the Jade Emperor’s (Celestial Emperor’s) command, I sent down the traces of the Wish-Fulfilling Flying Luan—a divine oracle written through a flying luan spirit—to the world between Heaven and Earth, to save beings in the age of the final tribulation. I therefore appointed Lord Zitong, the Zitong deity, to take on this task. Now, after taking form in more than ninety lifetimes, I have ordered Wu Yujian to collate this text anew. The collation is complete; let me write the postscript myself.

Across more than ninety lifetimes, I have revealed the hidden workings of moral teaching, supported living beings, relieved their suffering, and rescued them from calamities. For this reason, in the age of the final tribulation, I appointed Lord Zitong to undertake their salvation. Now, after taking form in more than ninety lifetimes, I have ordered Wu Yujian to collate this text anew. The work is done; let me write the postscript myself.

Across more than ninety lifetimes, I have revealed the hidden workings of moral teaching, supported living beings, relieved their suffering, and rescued them from calamities. I attained the state of the Womb of the Tathāgata, Venerable and Radiant, a realm associated with Buddhist cultivation and realization. I also transmitted sacred writing, so that it might benefit others in the future.

Wu Jian and I have been filial friends in two lifetimes, bound by mutual respect and deep affection. My writing is complete, and now this treasure is being published anew. Hold fast to it, and you can travel ten thousand li. An old saying goes: “A thousand measures of fine grain and a thousand gold steeds will win you a name in the end; when a cloud forms beneath your feet, you can climb to the heights; once you ascend the lofty terrace of the Three Heavens, you can also descend deep into the earth; a single branch bearing a message can disclose spring’s hidden workings.” Here lie the transformations’ hidden workings, even a thousand li away, and the means by which a person may fulfill their destiny. You, who are in your second lifetime, understand their essential secret?

Affinities and the completion of affairs each have their appointed time. People can spread the Great Dao—what is there to doubt?

If a hundred-foot tower had not already been built, how could the deeds of many lifetimes have been handed down?

Let others mock or praise the stories and records. Only by persevering from beginning to end might one see what they can accomplish.

From now on, it will once again circulate among people, as A Hundred Poems on Qinghe.

Book One of the Transformations of Imperial Lord Zitong

First: The Mandate of Origin

When primordial chaos first opened, clear Qi and turbid Qi separated, and the celestial region in the southeast became bright.

Within it was the misty Qi of the Great One, one of the sources of all things under Heaven. I had already, in secret, attuned myself to the subtle workings of creation.

I dwelt alone in the Palace of Chen, a celestial abode associated with the stars, above the Constellation of the Maiden. I also held authority over the virtue of Fire and the affairs of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water).

I soon grew weary of dwelling in a remote, desolate place, and ultimately longed to cast off my mortal form and attain the Dao.

I was originally from the Wu region, around Kuaiji. I was born at the beginning of the Zhou dynasty, and by now I have been reborn seventy-three times.

Chapter Two: The Transformation of Form

I lived in seclusion on Lingyan Mountain and had lost count of the years that passed. My eyes opened and closed from time to time, following the changes of firmness and softness.

I took in the rosy clouds’ Qi until my belly was full, and so felt neither hunger nor thirst. I regulated my breathing and quietly cultivated my true nature, letting myself come and go freely.

When my cultivation was complete, I was reborn through the womb and emerged from it. When the time came, I served rulers according to my station and the opportunities at hand.

Kuaiji was a good place to spread instruction. My father’s surname was Zhang, and I was born during the Zhou dynasty.

As I traveled through the human world, I suddenly arrived north of Kuaiji and saw a hermit, about fifty years old. He had prepared incense and a lamp, and was praying with his gaze lifted toward the sky. It was the middle of spring, late at night; the stars shone brightly, and the two stars in the Zhang constellation stood out especially clearly. I bent down and heard his prayer. The hermit’s surname was Zhang, corresponding exactly to the Zhang constellation, so I was born into his family.

Chapter Three: Birth among the People

One night, my mother dreamed that she swallowed a pearl. In her heart she felt a quiet solemnity, as if sensing that something extraordinary was about to happen.

That month, I was born on an auspicious day. A wondrous light filled the house and shone even into the neighboring homes.

I behaved with decorum and did not play with children my own age. I loved reading and learning, and concentrated my thoughts without being disturbed by distracting ideas.

When the respected elders of the village saw me, they often praised me, saying that I would one day become a great Confucian scholar of broad learning.

The Zhang family’s ancestors descended from Hui, son of the Yellow Emperor. Hui was the first to make bowstrings and arrows and to set up nets. His descendants inherited these duties from generation to generation, and so took “Zhang” as their surname and became prominent in the Wu region.

Chapter Four: Changing Customs

The people of Wu inherited the customs left by Taibo. In later generations, their ways gradually changed and came to resemble those of the island peoples.

People cut their hair short to adapt to life in marshlands. They tattooed their bodies, they said, to ward off water creatures such as dragons.

I did not wish to follow these worldly customs. I wanted only to wear a cap, clothes, and shoes, and to study proper conduct.

At first, my relatives and friends thought I was putting on airs and deliberately making myself different. Later, the people of the village accepted my example and followed it.

In my hometown, people originally cut their hair short and tattooed their bodies to make it easier to go into the water. Over time, this became the local custom. When I grew up, I found the practice unappealing, so I sought out hats and shoes and taught myself the rites and institutions. Everyone in the region, both near and far, thought me unusual. After a long while, seven or eight out of every ten people had followed me in changing the custom.

Examining the Past, Chapter Five

The Three Wu region lay in a remote place, far away at the edge of the world. Its cultural rites were little known, and refined customs were rare.

The institutions of the emperors had never reached distant generations. How, then, could the court’s teachings have reached the farming households?

Fortunately, an envoy on official business brought books and silk texts. They suddenly opened my eyes: my knowledge had been shallow, and I learned that people in ancient times had already known how to spin hemp and make clothes.

From then on, the custom of studying books and reciting poetry flourished in this region, and the local people’s education became worthy of praise.

My hometown was far from the capital, and its cultural rites were little known. One day, an elder and respected villager came to visit my father and recited several teachings of Tang Yao and Yu Shun. He said they had been taught to him by an envoy from the Central Plains. I took great pleasure in them and studied under him, remembering everything I heard. The villagers who wished to study then came to learn from me, and people began to regard me as their teacher.

Honoring the Divine, Chapter Six

My thatched hut was secluded and quiet, its doors shut even by day; few people came to the village by the water.

While deep-plowing the fields, I happened upon a golden image. Though it had lain there through the passing years, a purple kudzu vine still wound around it.

I could not bear to melt it down and damage its form, so I offered incense to it morning and evening and prayed before it.

Later, I returned the golden image to the mountains by the sea, to ward off calamities and evil influences. The people throughout the region all received its protection.

As I was working the fields, I suddenly dug up a golden image with my hoe, still wrapped in a purple kudzu vine. I could not bear to melt it down and damage its form, so I offered incense before it morning and evening. Later, I returned it to the mountains by the sea, in order to ward off calamities and evil influences and ensure that all the people throughout the region could receive its protection.

In my early years, I made a living by farming and taking odd jobs. One day, while digging with a hoe, I suddenly unearthed a golden statue. It wore a crown rising high like a mountain, and its robes shone with the colors of sunset clouds. Its brows were dark blue-black, its face round as the moon, and its expression both solemn and kind. The figure sat upright on a tall seat, with a lotus flower as its base. It was a little over a foot tall and weighed more than one jun. At first I did not know which deity it represented, so I asked the local elders. Some said it was a statue of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning, one of Daoism’s revered deities. According to legend, when Yu the Great controlled the floods, he smelted metal and cast statues of deities to guard the mountains. Perhaps this statue belonged to that same tradition.

My family had always been poor. Though hardship forced us to struggle for food and clothing, I did not dare consider melting down the golden statue. One day, violent winds churned the sea, and people near and far were thrown into panic. Human effort alone could not meet the danger. I said to everyone, “There is a golden statue in my house that I happened upon by chance. I will now give it to you all, so that we may pray for safety at sea.” Then I led everyone to higher ground and cast the statue into the raging waves. Before long, the wind died down and the tide ebbed, and everyone in the area escaped unharmed. Grateful for my kindness, the local people brought me grain and cloth in return. I could not refuse their gifts, and from then on my family’s circumstances gradually improved, enough to keep us going.

Later, I remembered where I had thrown the statue and went to look. I saw a glow in the sand. When I dug there, the old statue had somehow reappeared. I brought it back and built a shrine to house it. The local people all worshipped it with reverence.

Chapter Seven: Honoring One’s Parents

My mother had labored hard for many years. As time passed, the cold, wind, heat, and damp continued to wear down her health.

Doctors and ritual specialists had all treated her, but nothing helped. Acupuncture and moxibustion were applied again and again, and she could hardly bear it.

I cut flesh from my own thigh and made it into soup for my mother, to repay her for the many years she had raised me. I also sucked the pus and blood from her sores, acting from the depths of my heart.

At night, I clearly heard a celestial deity speak, saying that my mother’s life would be extended by twelve years, in recognition of her utmost sincerity.

By the time I came of age, my mother was already sixty. In her youth, she worked diligently at weaving and often neglected to eat on time, which made her ill. In her later years, the Six Qi (natural climatic influences such as wind, cold, summer heat, dampness, dryness, and fire) further afflicted her and worsened her condition. A poisonous sore appeared on her back. At first, we asked a shaman to pray for her; later, we sought medical treatment. Needling and medicines were used for more than a month, but nothing helped.

I kept watch over my mother in her bedroom day and night, caring for her without ever taking off my clothes to rest. With no other recourse, I used my own mouth to suck the pus and blood from the sore. My mother’s condition improved somewhat, and the doctor said the root of the infection was attached to the bone and would be difficult to remove completely. Three days later, I sucked the sore again. Suddenly, my mouth felt full of something. I spat it out and saw a membrane-like substance resembling cotton, with pus clots the size of rice grains mixed inside. My mother gradually recovered.

Because of her illness, my mother had been unable to eat for a long time, and her body had grown thin and weak. The doctor said she had a stubborn wasting illness and needed restorative treatment to recover her original Qi before she could hope to get well. So, at night, I cut flesh from my own thigh, cooked it, and gave it to my mother to eat. Suddenly I heard a voice in the air say, “Heaven considers you purely filial and will grant your mother twelve more years of life.” The next day, my mother stopped taking medicine, and in time things unfolded exactly as the voice had said.

Ghostly Marriage, Chapter Eight

Marriage and its bonds have their own origins; they are not ordinary coincidences. The meeting one hopes for in this life is a bond formed in a previous life.

The soul and the remains seem still to be waiting for one another. When they meet again in a dream, can it really be by chance?

An heir had already been born to carry on the family line, yet before long that fragrant soul returned to the netherworld. In the prime of my life, I gave up relations between men and women, and everyone said my features were those of an immortal.

When I was young, my family was poor. I was quiet by nature and not good at associating with others. I was past twenty and still unmarried. This was not only because no suitable matchmaker had come to our door, but also because I myself had no desire to seek a match. Clothing…

When I was young, my family was poor. I was quiet by nature and did not mix much with other people. Even after I turned twenty, I had not married. This was not only because no matchmaker had come to our door; I myself had no desire to seek a wife. My mother had been ill, and she regretted that she had not lived to see grandchildren. I too worried that I was failing in my filial duty.

One night, I dreamed I had come to a place at the edge of a mountain forest. There stood a high, solitary grave, with a doorway beside it. A woman, neatly made up, sat inside the doorway and looked at me. “You are Zhang Shanxun, are you not?” she said. Surprised that she had addressed me by name, I asked how she knew who I was.

The woman said, “I live near you. I am the daughter of the Zhong family. Some time ago, my uncle visited your home and spoke of your character. He said you were diligent in your studies, valued propriety, and were like a gentleman of ancient times. He then proposed that I be promised to you. My father thought you were not handsome and refused. But my admiration for you had already taken deep root. Later, I was promised to Zhong Anru. He was the son of a wealthy family, but had a bad reputation. I was ashamed, and fell ill with grief until I died. I have been dead for three years now, and came here because of you. Why will you not find a way to help me?”

I woke in fright. A little over a month later, I had the same dream again. Later, during some free time, my friend Yi Jiancheng and I went for a walk in a quiet place. We suddenly came upon a spot whose appearance was exactly like the one in my dream. As we told each other what we had seen and marveled at it, someone emerged from the grave and called me “my lord.” It was the woman from my dream. Yi Jiancheng was related to the Zhong family through his mother’s side, so he hurried to tell her parents. They brought the woman home, and in the end, she was married to me.

Yuan Shi, Chapter Nine

The spring scenery was delicate, and time seemed to pass slowly. The spring water flowed gently and wide, its shallow surface rippling softly. The figures of elegantly dressed people along the bank were reflected in the water. Amid the crowd, I understood that what I had known before seemed to have been foretold long ago.

Fine seal-script characters were carved into the white stone, forming the character “Yuan.” The green stone…

Silk brocade shimmered in wavering reflections by the shore. The immortals gathered together and understood the signs of what was about to happen.

White strokes and finely worked seal script formed the character Yuan. A rounded blue-green stone was shaped like a small turtle.

The child was given a name at birth in response to this portent. If one understands that it was bestowed by Heaven, one will harbor no selfish thoughts.

Three months after the woman of the Zhong family married, men and women from the village who were already married but had not yet conceived went together to the sacred pool to touch stones. According to local custom, touching a stone meant one would have a boy; touching a roof tile meant one would have a girl. The woman of the Zhong family was among them. My mother said to her, “The pool is deep, still, and dark; we cannot see what lies beneath. It would be better to look for something in the shallower water upstream.” As the woman of the Zhong family hesitated, bubbles suddenly rose in the pool like froth blown from flowers. She reached in and drew out a stone about the size of an egg, with six raised points and the shape of a turtle. Blue-green and white mingled across its surface, where the character Yuan could just be made out. She felt the portent, and later became pregnant. When the child was born, he was named Yuanshi. Just as the child was old enough to lose his milk teeth, the woman of the Zhong family suddenly said to me, “My child truly resembles you. Please take good care of him. The bond between us in this life has come to an end.” Then she died. I never married again.

Taming the Pheasant, Chapter Ten

No grief could compare to the pain of heaven collapsing and earth splitting apart. With plague raging, there was no way to save my parents.

I carried earth on my back to build my parents’ tombs, repaying the care with which they had raised me. I slept on a mat of grass with a clod of earth for a pillow, my grief growing ever deeper.

Separated by Yin and Yang, what could sighing possibly restore? Even the white pheasant became tame from sorrow.

The rites prescribe three years of mourning, yet profound grief is hard to express fully. Restraining one’s sorrow allows ordinary people, too, to observe mourning rites in due measure.

I was thirty-six that year, in the year called Zu’e in the ancient sexagenary cycle. Plague spread, and scarcely anyone escaped it. The village lay desolate, and no travelers could be seen on the roads. My father was eighty-five, and my mother seventy-three…

When I was thirty-six, it was the year called “Zuo’e” (a name for a year in the ancient calendar). Plague was widespread, and scarcely anyone in the surrounding villages escaped it. The villages and towns were deserted, and no travelers could be seen on the roads. My father was eighty-five and my mother seventy-three. Both fell ill in midsummer and died on the same day. I therefore took up a winnowing basket and an iron shovel myself and made the funeral arrangements. I built a crude mourning hut by the roadside, used a clod of earth for a pillow, and observed mourning until the full three years had passed. A pair of white pheasants often perched in the woods. Whenever I made offerings, they would fly down and cry out, bowing and lifting their heads as they circled low, their calls seeming to express something. When my mourning period ended, they departed.

Returning Currents, Chapter Eleven

I built up the burial mound, sparing no effort; who could have guessed that waves would rise on level ground?

The pines and catalpas were about to be swallowed by water, and I feared the coffin would not remain secure.

The Great Cavern Scripture could dispel calamity; a sacred image cast in pure gold could suppress the perilous flood.

The endless autumn rain finally ceased, and the rushing waters subsided. How glad I was to see the flat fields open out, broad and high.

My parents’ burial mound lay only a little over a hundred paces south of my home. At the time, everything happened in haste. Divination identified the site as auspicious, and I thought it would be convenient for me to visit them there. At first, I did not consider any other concerns.

Five years after my parents were buried, a flood broke out thirty li west of the graves. The flat ground turned into a stream, and the waters surged up beside the burial mound, which became their bank. The current flowed without end, rushing down with great force. I was terrified and wanted to move the graves, but it was already too late. So I fasted and kept vigil at the graves, reciting the Great Cavern Scripture day and night without stopping. I also brought out the golden image kept in our home and reverently enshrined it, until the graves were no longer in danger.

The following autumn, the prolonged rains caused the waters beside the stream to rise. Several currents merged into one, and my worry grew even greater. When the waters receded, I went to inspect the site and saw that the valley in front of the graves had become firm, elevated ground, more than a li wide. From then on, the pines and catalpas beside the graves were never again troubled by flooding.

Dispelling the Plague, Chapter Twelve

My parents died of the plague, and grief cut to the bone; I mourned in sorrow and anguish.

The kindness my parents showed in bringing me into the world and raising me was profound, and to this day I cannot forget it. Yet Yin and Yang now divide us, and we can never meet again. The sorrow and anger in my heart are impossible to dispel.

The plague has taken both parents, leaving their children torn between resentment and grief, their sorrow impossible to dispel.

Their parents showed them deep kindness in life, and the children remain forever grateful. Now they are separated by Yin and Yang, and there is no one to whom they can voice the anger in their hearts.

Divine Generals, commanded by the Daoist gods to expel evil and suppress calamities, appear by day, while the true methods for transmitting Fulu (talismans and registers used in Daoism to summon deities and drive away evil) come in dreams.

With a few strokes of the brush, one can draw Fulu to relieve the people’s suffering. How could one allow the Five Ghosts, spirits said to bring plague, to linger and wreak havoc?

Both of my parents died in an epidemic. The summer heat and pestilential toxins were intense, and their illness was agonizing. Whenever I thought of the plague spirits’ cruelty, I would grit my teeth in rage. But the human world and the netherworld were cut off from each other, and I had no power to avenge them. Resentment weighed on me for a long time.

Later, because the water beside my family’s ancestral grave turned back on itself, I truly felt the power of the golden image described in the Great Cavern Perfected Scripture (Da Dong Zhen Jing), a Daoist classic. I therefore became even more diligent in reciting the scriptures and reverently serving the golden image. Before long, I received the protection of spirits in the netherworld and was able to govern the plague spirits. Three years later, I suddenly dreamed that the golden image I served spoke to me: “You have memorized the Great Cavern Immortal Scripture, but you have not yet seen the Great Cavern Method Register, a scripture recording Daoist methods and Fulu. Now I should transmit it to you so you can govern evil demons. This will fulfill your original wish and also help Heaven carry out its teaching, rescuing the state and its people.”

The golden image took two books from its sleeve. I bowed a hundred times, then accepted them. When I awoke, the books were beside my pillow. One was called the Great Cavern Line, and the other the Great Cavern Method. I opened the register of methods and recited it. When I reached the words, “Ten thousand heavenly crested armored troops shall cross over,” wind and thunder suddenly roared, and daylight grew dark. Many divine soldiers clad in golden armor and wearing red sashes formed ranks before me, bowing as they awaited orders. Three of them stood at the head of the formation, holding red flags. They said to me, “We await your command.”

I was still somewhat dazed, so I sternly ordered them: “I command you to govern the plague spirits. In this village, a certain household has been stricken with plague. Seize the spirit causing the trouble and bring it to me.” As soon as I had spoken, one of the flag bearers led a hundred or more men into that household. Before long, they brought out five plague spirits in custody. Some wore tiger skins; some had rooster crests. One looked like a human, another had a swan’s head, and another a donkey’s head. They carried implements such as water, fire, feathers, knives, axes, and chisels.

I angrily rebuked them and intended to destroy them. But they pleaded their case: “We disciples are generated by the cycles of the years and the year’s seasonal climate. We act within our assigned bounds, and wherever we go, people may fall ill. Those who are heavily punished by the netherworld meet with disaster; those whose allotted span is at an end die. We do not act on our own authority. If a True Official—a deity or ritual master with the authority of the Daoist arts—will spare us, from now on we are willing to submit to restraint. In future, whenever we are ordered to spread plague, if we see a True Official’s Fulu in a place, we will not dare approach it.”

So, in accordance with the prescribed rites, I gave them instructions and let them go. When I heard that someone in the village had contracted plague, I gave them Fulu and methods, and the sick were all able to survive.

Nurturing Life, Chapter Thirteen

External influences such as wind, cold, summer heat, and dampness come with changes in the weather; improper diet and daily habits are causes of illness that arise from within.

The Yellow Emperor’s medical classic explains in detail the relationships of generation among pulse patterns, while Shennong’s pharmacology distinguishes the primary and secondary roles of medicines used in combination.

Massage, acupuncture, and moxibustion are applied according to the severity of an illness. Tonifying what is deficient and draining away pathogenic influences each have their own methods and variations.

If one can keep the people from dying prematurely without cause, then the intention is sincere—even if it means working tirelessly and giving no thought to one’s own exhaustion.

I have used Fulu and other Daoist methods to treat the illnesses of many people. People came to seek treatment from near and far, one after another, too many to count. Some had contracted epidemics, some were troubled by evil spirits, some suffered from malaria or dysentery, and some faced disturbances by the spirits of the dead, attacks by ghosts, afflictions from dou spirits, or invasions by malign influences. I treated them all, and they recovered.

Yet people’s internal organs differ in cold and heat, deficiency and excess, and their diets, daily habits, work, and rest also vary. Some illnesses arise internally from emotions such as joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure; others result from external influences such as wind, cold, summer heat, and dampness entering the body. These belong to the medical arts transmitted through Qibo and Shennong, and cannot be replaced by Daoist talismans. When someone earnestly sought my help but I could not save his life, I was deeply ashamed and felt that my learning was inadequate. So I began to study the principles of the pulse and understand the properties of medicines, examining how the Five Phases restrain and transform one another, and repeatedly studying the methods of the Nine Needles. Only after six years of diligent practice did I gradually grasp their subtleties. From then on, as long as a person’s allotted life span had not yet ended, I could keep them from dying prematurely without cause.

The Celestial Palace, Chapter Fourteen

Doing good is simply one’s own duty, done for the sake of a clear conscience. I never expected that my reputation would spread because of it.

My name reached the imperial court, and I had nothing to reproach myself for. There was reason, too, that I came to hold a place among the celestial officials.

When the Six Qi—wind, cold, summer heat, dampness, dryness, and fire, which affect the human body and the climate—are in harmony, the weather throughout the realm is settled and the skies are clear. The people’s suffering can then be relieved more readily.

How could my ability to fulfill my duties in those days have come from my own strength? It was the result of the ruler and his ministers sharing wisdom and jointly carrying out the work of moral instruction.

I had treated many people, and my reputation reached the ruler. At the time, I practiced acupuncture and medicine, and was known among the people of the capital region. The court therefore sent an official courier to summon me to the capital. After someone recommended me, the ruler examined my abilities and appointed me as a physician, placing me in charge of ten thousand…

I had treated many people, and my reputation reached the ruler. At the time, I made my living treating illness with acupuncture stones and medicines, and was well known in the capital region. The court therefore sent a relay carriage to summon me to the capital. First, the ruler recommended me; after several tests, I was appointed physician, responsible for treating the people’s illnesses and serving under the Office of Heaven, which oversaw medicine and other affairs. I willingly took on this duty. I then instructed and admonished my subordinates, urging them to practice medicine diligently. This was during the reign of King Cheng. The capital region enjoyed abundant harvests, the Six Qi—the six climatic forces that affect both weather and the human body—were in harmony, and few people suffered from epidemic disease. This was indeed a benefit brought by the ruler’s virtue, and it also enabled me to serve competently.

Recommending Worthy People, Chapter Fifteen

When others have strengths, regard them as your own; even when you yourself have achieved distinction, keep those who have not yet advanced in mind.

A person of great wisdom studies with focused attention and can devise new methods. A subtle prescription cures illness with an effect that seems almost divine.

Recommend worthy people with urgency and candor, concealing nothing. Yield your position to others willingly, with humility and sincerity.

The memorial reached the ruler, who valued it. I was then promoted to remonstrance official and became a close attendant at court.

Among my subordinates was Gongsun Zhishu, a surgeon who specialized in sores and ulcers. He was naturally kind and perceptive, widely learned, and familiar with the properties and flavors of all kinds of medicines. He devised a “Five Poisons Preparation” made from cinnabar, realgar, alum, magnetite, and chalcanthite. He explained that cinnabar nourishes the blood and benefits the heart; realgar promotes the growth of flesh and strengthens the spleen; alum regulates the body’s fatty fluids and benefits the lungs; magnetite facilitates the flow of bone marrow and strengthens the kidneys; and chalcanthite treats the sinews and nourishes the liver. These medicines were used externally to treat five kinds of sores and ulcers, and they also corresponded to the five zang organs. Sealed in a yellow pottery jar and refined over a carefully regulated fire, the preparation was then applied to sores and ulcers, with invariably wondrous results. He also wrote down this method and passed it on to the world.

I considered myself inferior to him, yet his rank was below mine. So I recommended Zhishu to take my place and appointed him to share my duties. Before long, the ruler became unwell: an abscess, a suppurating sore, appeared at his temple and suddenly burst overnight, leaving him in grave danger. The medicine described above was applied, and he soon recovered. Zhishu was then formally appointed physician. Since I had acted without self-interest and recommended the right person, I deserved a generous reward, and was promoted to Director of Remonstrance, an official responsible for advising the ruler.

A physician who saves the people’s lives brings benefits to the state that should not be underestimated. Candid advice can be painful, like good medicine, but accepting such remonstrance is what enables government to be carried out well.

At first, the practice of setting aside outward formalities and treating one another sincerely made my intentions clear. Given my frank, honest nature, with nothing concealed, the person I recommended was indeed well suited to the post. I therefore deserved a generous reward and promotion to Remonstrance Officer, the official responsible for admonishing the ruler.

Correcting Faults, Part Sixteen

A physician who saves the people’s lives brings benefits to the state that should not be underestimated. Candid advice may cause discomfort for a time, yet it can help bring about good government.

When barriers between people are removed, their suspicions naturally fade; once secrets are disclosed, calamity can follow.

How could I bear to expose the ruler’s faults through tactful counsel? What harm is there in destroying the written drafts of my remonstrances and concealing my reputation for speaking frankly?

So long as the court avoids mistakes and improper conduct, I need not seek advancement or concern myself with rank and rewards. This is the sincerity of my heart.

The king said, “Ah, you have rendered good service. Your nature is frank and honest, with nothing concealed. I have heard that a good physician can save the people, while a great physician can save the state. I now appoint you as an official charged with advising the ruler, to recognize your worth. With the mind of a physician treating illness, correct my faults. Alas, good medicine tastes bitter but helps cure disease; candid advice grates on the ear but helps bring affairs to a good outcome. Go and take up your post. Be sure to act with care and never abandon your principles!”

I declined repeatedly, and only afterward accepted the appointment. Once I had joined the circle of seven close ministers, I was able to attend the king each day. Though the ruler and the chancellor were both wise and had no serious faults, my love for the ruler and concern for the state never slackened, whether I was walking, eating, or resting. When King Cheng was young, the Duke of Zhou assisted him in governing. Later, after King Cheng had ruled in his own right for many years, he once spoke words of resentment. I feared that those around him might take the opportunity to drive a wedge between ruler and minister, so I often remonstrated with him, warning him of the signs of good and ill fortune that could arise in the relationship between ruler and minister over time. I wrote out my advice many times, then burned the drafts; no one ever saw them. Thus, when the Duke of Zhou later led his eastern campaign, although four states spread rumors and the Duke of Shao was displeased, creating discord between ruler and minister, the Duke of Zhou ultimately preserved himself. I too had played a small part in this.

Returning Home in Glory, Part Seventeen

For ten years I held high office away from home, far from my native place. Now, returning in honor, I have come back to my hometown.

My son, the heir to the family, is still young. Seeing me in my official robes, he is so astonished that he does not know what to do. The paths through the fields and gardens have fallen into disrepair, so that they seem almost like ruins.

The dream of wandering among immortals has ended, leaving only futile agitation. After experiencing the ways of the world, one’s heart grows detached, and one can come and go as one pleases.

Now I once again know the pleasure of sleeping soundly on a spring day beneath the north-facing window. Let the roosters crow at the fifth watch.

For ten years I held office in the capital and in Zhou. I had been away from my home village for a long time, and, like a weary bird longing for its nest, I often thought of returning. As long as my parents were both well, I did not mind living among ordinary people without an official post. Only after they had passed away did I accept rank and emoluments. Even eating fine rice and wearing brocade brought me no joy. One day I read the Duke of Zhou’s “Owl” poem and was deeply moved with sorrow. It awakened in me the desire to return home. I repeatedly submitted petitions asking to resign and retire, and at last permission was granted. The ministers and senior officials held a farewell banquet for me outside the eastern gate. When I returned, the villagers came out to welcome me. I got down from my carriage on the outskirts and walked home, while my neighbors and fellow villagers took pride in my return.

Honoring the Clan, Section Eighteen

Members of a clan share the same roots. Whether they are poor or wealthy should make no difference to how close or distant we consider them.

A stipend is something received by chance, so why be miserly with it? When relatives and friends fall on hard times, how could one remain unmoved?

When clan members face the events of life and death, sickness and old age, marriages and funerals, all should be given support. Promising young people should also be helped to develop their abilities.

When other clans heard of this, they gladly followed suit, and the name of “charitable estates” gradually became known throughout the Sanhao region.

The Zhang clan had several branches, most of them living in poverty. After returning home, I visited clan members far and wide. I found that the children had grown up and the young had grown old. The changes in fortune and the lives and deaths of my clan members filled me with deep emotion; yet those so poor they could not help themselves remained in the same plight. So I established charitable estates—institutions that used clan property to relieve hardship and support clan members—and asked Yuanshi to manage them. We provided aid to the poor and medicine for the sick, helped young men and women marry when they came of age, and supported the education and development of gifted children. When other clans heard of this, they too began to follow suit. Charitable estates became more widespread, and a custom of mutual aid and poverty relief took shape.

Returning to Stillness, Section Nineteen

I have heard that the great sage of the West regarded insight into suffering, emptiness, and extinguishment as the true Way.

Singing as I go, I trust that worldly affairs are like floating clouds. Sitting in silence and pondering, I find myself only trapped within this dreamlike, illusory body.

Once the key is grasped, one can calmly cross to the far shore beyond life and death. There is no need for many words; one need only nurture the spirit in silence.

Only then do I understand the principle of returning to the source and the root. From now on, wherever I may be—north, south, east, or west—I can move freely and at ease.

When I served at court, I heard people speak of a land in the west, where there lived a great sage named Master Gu Huang. He taught without relying on words, yet all things were naturally transformed. He did not act with deliberate intent, yet affairs of state were naturally brought into order. He took compassion as his foundation and skillful means for helping the world as his practice. Purification was his daily observance, and he delighted in quiescent extinction—the state of putting an end to afflictions and transcending life and death. He regarded life and death as morning and evening, and gratitude and resentment as the moments before and after waking from a dream. His heart held no sorrow, anger, or other emotions, for he understood that human life is brief and sought to transcend life and death.

I admired him. Later, after resigning my honors and emoluments and returning to my hometown, I met a recluse on the road, walking and singing:

“The rising sun shines on the mountain rocks, and clouds emerge from them. At first they seem like a faint haze; in an instant, clouds stream and scatter. The clouds drift away on the wind, stretching without end; before long, they change and vanish, and no one knows where they have finally gone. Those who serve as officials chase profit and status, forget their hardship, and hurry on without pause. Suddenly old age draws near. Faced with the end of life, they linger in hesitation. If they then enter a dark realm, they may be reborn in any of the many forms of nonhuman beings.”

When I heard this, I first stopped my carriage to listen closely, then leaned on its crossbar and bowed to him. Finally, I stepped down and wept as I thanked him, saying, “The teaching I have just heard is profound and speaks deeply to my heart. I beg you to give me words of lasting value and guide me through the rest of my life.” Then, on the main road, I bowed repeatedly and earnestly asked him to instruct me.

The man who had been walking and singing sighed as he looked up at the sky. He transmitted the method of the heart to me and taught me the orthodox formulas, saying, “This is the method of returning to quiescence taught by the great sage of the West, Master Gu Huang: a practice of stillness that seeks transcendence. If you can recite and cultivate it, you will transcend life and death, remain undestroyed though dead, attain the fruit of immeasurable longevity, and ultimately reach the Other Shore and realize perfect awakening. If you stop halfway, you can at least choose a place to settle and become an immortal.”

I accepted his teaching. Once my worldly ties had been brought to an end, every concern in my heart immediately dissolved. It was autumn. I gathered my friends and family, left them a verse of praise, and passed away. The verse said: “The autumn wind sighs; the autumn moon shines bright. I have truly understood: this body is no more than a guesthouse where I lodge for a time on my journey.”

Mount Jun, Section Twenty

Mount Jun is an exceptionally serene place. Riding a crane, I circled through the air and deliberately paused there for a while.

The scenery over the lake shifts between light and shadow as day turns to night, while the dappled patterns of light in the woods change with the passing seasons.

Now that I have left my mortal body behind, I no longer dwell on elixirs of immortality. Having attained the Dao, who would still crave the riches of a noble granted a hundred miles of territory?

I gaze into the distance at the vast, misty waters, content to take in the view. Listening to the water and quietly watching the scenery, my heart is full of ease.

After my transformation—leaving my mortal body and entering another state of life—I was preparing to travel west when I happened to arrive at Mount Jun in Lake Dongting. I loved its beautiful scenery and stayed for a time. Above me, no ruler or powerful official imposed constraints; below me, no ties to family held me back. I stood apart from the world of dust, free to come and go. The waters and mountains are beautiful in every season. What end could there be to the joy of composing verse in the breeze and admiring the moon? Looking back on the past, it seems almost like a dream. I roam freely as an immortal, meeting from time to time with companions who share my aspirations. I no longer feel the hardships of the mortal world; all I see is the peaceful life of the celestial realm, where immortals dwell. Much later, two azure youths descended from heaven and respectfully conveyed the Celestial Lord’s decree, appointing me ruler of Mount Jun and placing the waters of Lake Dongting under my charge.

Rebirth, Section Twenty-One

My spirit remained on Mount Jun through long ages. The celestial realm was deep and secluded, cut off from the clamor of the mortal world.

At times I grieved and wept, yet had no tears left to shed. I had also come to understand that a sorrowful soul cannot be summoned back.

The conditions for borrowing another’s body and being reborn were not yet complete. I still longed for the mortal world and could not free myself from it, and so regret lingered in my heart.

In the end, a jade vessel could not keep spring inside: the season’s radiance still seeped out and appeared on the willow branches.

I had lived on Junshan for a long time. One day, as the spring waters had just begun to rise, a large boat came ashore at the lake’s mouth. Someone slaughtered a sheep and sprinkled wine in sacrifice, crying out as they performed the rites. The wailing was heartrending. I was moved by it too, and went closer to listen.

The person making the offering was a woman in her thirties, her body shining with a golden light. She became drunk three times, and each time she prayed: “My husband was unfortunate enough to offend the ruler and was exiled far away to the wild southern lands. In the end, he died of miasma. His home was ten thousand li away, and only now is his coffin being brought back to his native place. Time passes so quickly; the rite of final wailing, one of the ceremonies for mourning a parent, is about to be held. I think of how there is no one else in our family to serve my parents-in-law. Two elderly people are still in the main hall. Though I already carry a child, there is no sign of it yet.

“If the spirits of the mountains and rivers can know that my husband was punished for his loyalty, exiled to the wild south, and died of miasma, with his burial at home possible only after a journey of ten thousand li; if they also pity my aged parents-in-law, nearing the end of their lives and with no one to rely on—then, as I am close to giving birth, I beg the spirits to protect me unseen and grant me a son, so that the Zhang family’s line of offerings may continue. Even if I lose my life as a result, I will have no regrets.”

I was amid the paths of the clouds, so grief-stricken that I could not stop my tears. Suddenly, I felt myself fall into the woman’s arms and lost consciousness. After a long while, I heard someone say, “It’s a boy! It’s a boy!” I opened my eyes and found myself in a bathing basin. I had been born.

Honoring the Ancestors, Part Twenty-Two

King Li kept watch on what people said, and the people turned against him. My late father brought disaster upon himself with loyal counsel and stepped into danger.

Had we known sooner that he would be exiled to Zhi, and that the throne would later pass to another, he should not have offended the ruler by urging him to guard against trouble before it arose.

A wise and enlightened ruler took in the orphan, and his kindness never ceased. My father’s spirit received an honored posthumous title, adding to his glory.

I entered the ranks of remonstrating officials directly, inheriting my father’s hereditary post. People say, “When there is a son, someone will carry on the family estate.”

My late father’s personal name was Wuji. He was buried north of the Yellow River. My mother’s surname was Huang; she was kind and…

My father was named Wuji, and he was buried in Heshuo, the region north of the Yellow River. My mother, Lady Huang, was kind and wise, and placed great importance on teaching. Whether she was nursing me, resting, waking, or singing, she always guided me in learning through poetry, books, and conversation, and she also taught the children of our neighbors. When I played with her, she would shape figures from clay, silk, and other materials, then tell stories of the ancients and praise their deeds. Sometimes she acted out a meeting between ruler and minister; sometimes she spoke of a father and son offering counsel, a teacher instructing a pupil, or friends treating one another. She explained each scene in turn, so that from childhood I came to understand human relationships and the principles of life.

When I was ten, my mother sent me away to study and gave me the name Zhongsi, to honor my father’s aspirations. Later, when I came of age and underwent the cap ceremony, my grandfather Pingzi gave me the courtesy name Zhong. My mother solemnly performed the three stages of the capping rite for me, then returned the salute in the western chamber. When the ceremony was over, she wept and said to me, “Your father once served King Li as a Baoshi, an official charged with remonstrating with the ruler and instructing the crown prince. His duty was to admonish the king for his faults. But King Li was suspicious and ashamed to have his errors pointed out. Those who remonstrated were often put to death. Later, the king sent people to monitor what was being said, and many were condemned and died as a result. When common people met on the road, they could only signal to one another with their eyes; they dared not speak. The people could no longer endure this, and resentment spread. So your father submitted a memorial, urging the king to mend his ways, abolish the ban on discussing affairs of state, and allow the people’s concerns to reach him. King Li refused to listen and exiled him to Panyu. He died not long afterward, and people throughout the realm believed he had been wronged. The present king governs with benevolence and has issued an edict to record the descendants of ministers who died unjustly under the previous dynasty. You should go to the capital.” So I went to the capital and climbed the Feishi, a stone platform where people could present grievances, to recount my father’s story. The emperor issued an edict restoring my father’s official rank and granting him the posthumous title Xian. According to the rules for posthumous titles, “Xian” was given to one who loyally remonstrated with his ruler. The emperor also appointed me Baoshi, allowing me to succeed my father in his office. This was during the reign of King Xuan.

Filial Piety and Fraternal Devotion, Chapter Twenty-Three

My elder brother died before his time and left no children. Brothers share the same parents, and are like branches of a single trunk.

My mother was deeply grieved. Considering the obligations of family, she judged it right to establish an heir for my elder brother.

In the northern hall, I comforted my kind mother by fulfilling her wish, and let the deceased know of it beneath the earth.

I fulfilled my duties of mourning toward my grandparents, and then made my name known to the world for filial piety and fraternal devotion.

My elder brother Yunsi died young, and I never had the chance to meet him. In my later years, I had two sons: the elder was named Ranming, and the younger, Maoyang. Maoyang was clever as a child, and his great-grandfather was very fond of him. On the eve of the winter solstice, a memorial service was held at the family temple. My mother wept in grief, saying that my late brother had no descendants and that I had never met him. I therefore asked that Maoyang continue my late brother’s ancestral offerings and carry on his line, to comfort my mother. When my grandmother, Madam Zhao, died at the age of eighty, my grandfather was so overcome with grief that he could not eat or rise to preside over the funeral rites. As a grandson, I undertook the mourning duties for my father, wearing the severest mourning clothes, zhancui, for three years and fulfilling the rites in grief. My filial conduct became known among our relatives and friends. They often praised me as “filial and fraternal,” addressing me by my courtesy name rather than by my personal name.

The Mian River, No. 24

Ah, Yin Jifu was a man of exceptional bearing, foremost at court in merit, reputation, talent, and strategy. Accomplished in both civil and military affairs and possessed of grand ambitions, he was nevertheless sent far away to campaign in the west and subdue the north. Slander circulated in the capital, and the poem “The Mian River” expressed my feelings through indirect remonstrance. In the end, ruler and ministers were reconciled, and his achievements shone brightly. It was thanks to my loyal counsel that the slander was laid to rest.

King Xuan of Zhou had a worthy minister, Yin Jifu, who excelled in both civil and military affairs and was held in high esteem by the scholar-officials. At the time, the realm was unsettled, and tribes on every frontier repeatedly made incursions. After the new king took the throne, he sent out armies to campaign in the north and west and recover the territories held in the time of Kings Wen and Wu of Zhou. Jifu was entrusted with full authority over the campaigns. I was constantly by the king’s side, while Jifu spent most of his time away. He was skilled at planning great undertakings but often overlooked details. Many people around the king therefore resented him, and slander arose one accusation after another. The king, too, could not help but grow suspicious.

When Jifu was in the capital, people spread rumors about him to the king. I explained matters in every way I could, but the king’s doubts did not entirely lift. So I composed a series of poems called “The Mian River” to offer him gentle counsel. After hearing them, the king waited until Jifu returned from his campaign and completed his mission. The bond between ruler and minister was then restored. From that point, the Zhou dynasty grew strong again, achieving a revival that even surpassed those of Shaokang and King Gaozong.

Wei Zhongjiang incurred the ruler’s anger by submitting a memorial, and the ruler, enraged in his majesty, punished him according to the law. This caused worthy men of virtue and deep experience to leave in succession. I was deeply troubled by this, so I composed the poem “White Colt” as a remonstrance, urging the ruler to value able and worthy people and to welcome candid advice. In this way, those in office would not wish to leave, those who had already departed would hope to return, and those living in seclusion would be willing to enter public service.

When the poem reached the ruler, it moved him. He issued an edict to inform those who were away, took responsibility and expressed remorse, and restored Wei Zhongjiang to his post. After that, the ruler repeatedly sent gifts of silk and banners with bows—the gifts and ceremonies used in antiquity to summon worthy men—to invite the virtuous to serve. Before long, public opinion praised the court, the conduct of the literati was harmonious and flourishing, and the realm once again displayed the well-ordered character of the age of Kings Cheng and Kang.

My late lord died with resentment, and by the rites, such a feud should have made it impossible to share the world with his enemy. But the matter was in the past, and the dead could no longer pursue it. Later, Wen Shu was able to recommend a descendant of that enemy; that is what may truly be called wise and worthy.

He thought only of recommending a talented person and gave no thought to the fact that this man had once falsely accused the innocent. The ruler also understood the circumstances. Why, then, be troubled by the clamor of opinions inside and outside the court?

My father died because Nan Fengcheng slandered and falsely accused him; everyone at court knew this. I have never forgotten the grief that has stayed with me all my life. Nan Fengcheng has been dead for many years. His son, named Wenshu, was both talented and virtuous. He once studied under Master Wei and was enrolled as a disciple at the National Academy. I asked Master Wei about him, and he told me, “Fengcheng’s son Wenshu is exceptionally eager to learn and never thinks he has learned enough. His words are worthy of emulation, and his conduct accords with the rules. Among the sons of nobles today, no one can match him. Heaven’s way is hard to fathom. Who would have thought that although Nan Fengcheng behaved like a petty schemer, his son would be so outstanding? Perhaps it is like Shun and Yu, born to Gu Sou and Gun, whose own conduct was poor. Wenshu will surely become a great man.”

Though I bore Nan Fengcheng an irreconcilable grudge, when I heard that Wenshu was virtuous, I still admired him. Later, I was promoted to minister, and the post of Baoshi, who instructs the sons of the royal house, fell vacant. The ruler issued an edict permitting me to recommend someone I knew to succeed me. I recommended Wenshu. The ruler accepted, and Wenshu ultimately performed the duties very well.

Caring for Orphans, Chapter Twenty-Seven

No one can truly know how long a life will last or what the future holds. Zhongjiang was still in his prime when calamity struck him without warning.

He left and never returned; it was too late even to grieve in vain. More sorrowful still, he left behind five daughters, all orphaned.

Following the marriage rites observed while their father was alive, I arranged the betrothal ceremonies, including the presentation of gifts and the exchange of names. On their wedding days, I prepared offerings such as lambs and geese to present to their ancestors.

Though death now separates us, I have not changed the affection I felt when we first became friends. If his spirit beneath the earth learns of this, it may find some comfort.

Master Wei Zhongjiang and I held office together and had known each other for a long time. One morning, he set out in his official carriage through the Tiger Gate, intending to present a memorial to the ruler. He stepped forward, then turned back, and suddenly fell to the ground. When the guards lifted him, he was already near death. After returning home, he told his elder sister what had happened.

Wei Zhongjiang had no sons, only five daughters. The eldest was already widowed and had returned to her family home; the second was old enough to marry but had not yet been betrothed; the youngest was fifteen. Zhongjiang had died suddenly in the palace. The court had given no aid to his family, and who would care for his five daughters? So, following the proper rites, I arranged marriages for three of them. I entrusted the two younger girls to High Official Gao Zhiliang, the Censor, to raise in his household. When they came of age, they were to marry Ranming and Maoyang.

Shouzhi died young, within the palace precincts. The court offered no support and made no arrangements for her five daughters. So I took care of the necessary rites and arranged marriages for three of them. The other two, still young, were placed in the care of Gao Zhiliang, a remonstrance official. When they had grown up, I arranged for them to marry Ranming and Maoyang.

Compassionate Instructions, Chapter Twenty-Eight

Shouzhi was in the bloom of youth; even at a hundred years old, her hearing and sight remained clear.

She was drawn to the Dao and was not misled by heterodox teachings or false methods. She kept the Scripture of Inner Observation in her heart and cultivated her mind through inner observation.

Flowers bloom and fade, yet their root remains. The moon waxes full and wanes, yet its essential nature remains empty and numinous.

As she lay dying, she earnestly left behind compassionate instructions. Later, she attained the rank of an immortal and ascended to a profound and mysterious realm.

My mother was widowed early and lived to the age of one hundred, yet her sight and hearing had not declined. This was probably because she often recited the Scripture of Inner Observation, carefully reflecting on its teachings, and came to understand them in her later years.

One day, just after I had left the court, I hurried across the courtyard. My mother called me over and asked me to sit. Her two grandsons stood nearby. With a sigh, she said, “Fate brought us together as mother and son. Your hair has now turned gray, so you can imagine how old I must be. I have been thinking that human life has no fixed span: coming and going are both brief, like the moon waxing and waning, or flowers blooming and fading. Birth in this life is death in a former life; if there had been no death in that former life, how could this life have begun? If we do not understand that this body in this life must eventually die, how can we be sure we will be born again in the future?

“If we understand that the body is only illusory, then we should carefully preserve our true, enduring nature. So long as our nature is settled and the foundation of life is firm, we can endure through vast eons without being destroyed. Those who cultivate merit and practice can rise to higher realms; those without harmful karma can retain human form. In this world, as insubstantial as a dream or illusion, endure hardship and do not sow the bitter fruit of resentment and enmity. I am about to leave forever, so there is no need to grieve too much. Listen carefully to these words of parting.”

When she had finished, she sat upright, leaned against a small table, and died. Later, she was reborn as a young girl, cultivated the Dao and attained it, and in the end was born in the celestial realm, becoming the Perfected One of Subtle Wisdom.

On Utmost Loyalty, Chapter Twenty-Nine

For the sake of the king’s affairs, time for mourning was taken away and the funeral rites altered, out of gratitude for the sovereign’s kindness and concern for a former minister who had passed away.

Again and again I offered earnest remonstrance, but in the end I was not heard. My words, filled with loyalty, were ultimately spoken in vain.

The Crown Prince had little virtue or wisdom to begin with. In my old age, I would be ashamed to be a flatterer.

I do not regret dying in utmost loyalty beneath the Dragon-Spring Sword; I still grieve that the righteous Way of the Zhou is steadily sinking into decline.

When my mother died, ritual required me to wear mourning robes and observe the mourning period. But the court issued an order summoning me back to office before it ended. I repeatedly declined, but in the end had no choice but to obey. This was an accommodation within the ritual system. Years after the King of Zhou had taken the throne, he gradually grew tired of governing. The elder ministers at court departed one by one: Yin Jifu, the Duke of Shao Mu, Nan Zhong, Fang Shu, and others. Some were too ill to serve; others had died. I alone remained as one of the old ministers.

At first, the King of Zhou made Gong Nie crown prince. I urged him forcefully to reconsider, but could not change his favor toward Gong Nie, who was made crown prince all the same. Later, the king died, and the successor took personal control of the government. He gave himself over to drink and sensual pleasures, and ruled with cruelty and lawlessness. I remonstrated with him again. The successor thought I was relying on my status as a former minister of the late king, and he still resented an earlier memorial I had submitted. His anger showed on his face. I asked to retire and return to my home. One day, a messenger arrived with a gift of wine. I bowed, accepted it, and drank it all; only afterward did I learn that further orders were to follow. Though loyal to the state, I was unwilling to disturb my true nature by dying in the name of loyalty. Yet I still feared that Zhou’s fortunes could not be revived, and that the legacy established by Kings Wen and Wu would be lost.

Dwelling in the True, No. 30

Returning to office brought even more troubles; life has known its share of laughter, and its share of songs of sorrow.

Loyal to the state, I grieve that I can no longer turn things around; speaking plainly brought anger—what else could I do?

Gazing toward my ancestors’ graves, I only add to my white hair; I regret my attachment to salary and rank, and my acceptance of the court’s appointment.

Snow Mountain is a place beyond the dust of the world. If I come here to dwell and cultivate the Dao, can I truly fulfill my wish?

I was born into this world and remained steadfast in following the ancient Way. My words were not heeded, and I was punished for them. With nowhere to settle my soul, I remained bitterly resentful and wept in the palace for three days. When the king heard of this, he took me for a demon and ordered the Court Archer to lead his men in drawing their bows and shooting arrows toward the sound. But I had no body. What use was it to shoot at me?

So I gazed toward my homeland, overcome with shame, took leave of the kingdom, and traveled far away, setting my course westward. I passed Mount Min and Mount Emei, crossed the Jingluo region, and came to the western border of Shu. There stood a mountain called Feiyue. I thought of how my ancestor had been born at Haohui, beside Mount Feiyue, so I bent down to look. I found that only the names were the same; the customs were different.

Then I saw, far to the west, a mountain vast and lofty, stretching for nearly a hundred li. Even in midsummer, snow lay thick upon it and the cold endured; it seemed no part of the mortal world. The mountain spirit Baihui told me, “This mountain is called Snow Mountain. Long ago, the Tathagata Many-Treasures cultivated the Way here and attained it after eight years. The Perfected of the Western Pole also lived here for a long time and thereby attained the fruit of immortality. Your immortal bearing is so awe-inspiring. Why not stay here?” I followed his advice and remained. Before long, the Celestial Emperor issued an edict appointing me Great King of Snow Mountain.

Mountain King, Part Thirty-One

Northward, more than a thousand li from the capital at Jing and Hao; westward, Mount Min and Mount Emei rise into view, their peaks like ten thousand points.

Honor and disgrace have both been cast beyond the snare; right and wrong cannot reach the realm between water and clouds.

With fierce effort I slew the White Tiger, leaving behind the Star Stone; I locked the Azure Dragon in its casket, leaving a jade ring bright as the moon.

Facing south, I became king and ruled a hundred li of land. I beg the Celestial Emperor to issue another edict and confirm my title.

While I was staying on Snow Mountain, I received an order from the Great Immortal. Before long, I was again commanded to go to Shu and spread the teachings there. So I mounted a crane and returned. The original text then repeats several lines from the earlier poem, with the same meaning: facing south as king, ruling a hundred li, and asking the Celestial Emperor to issue the edict anew.

At that time, I was staying on Snow Mountain when I received the Great Immortal’s command. I was then ordered to go to Shu and spread the teachings, so I rode a crane and turned northeast. There I saw green peaks rising all around, deep and quiet, with scenery of great beauty.

After a long while, five mountain gods, led by Gong Yuanchang, came to pay their respects. They said, “We are charged with guarding this place. Recently we have seen a true official whose bearing is majestic. Light often shines from his body, and the sound of his breathing and exhalation echoes through the valleys. Could he be a divine being from Heaven? More than three hundred years have passed since King Wu’s campaign against Zhou, when the leaders of the states of Wei, Lu, Peng, and Pu aided the ruler of Shu and led a great army north. They truly passed through here. This place is remote, with few people living in it, and no person of high rank has ever come here. Since your presence is so imposing, please tell us why you have come.” I told them the truth.

The mountain gods said, “We too grew weary of the human world, so we came to wander and cultivate ourselves on this mountain. This mountain falls under the jurisdiction of the Shu emperor and is called Sword Ridge. To the north it joins Zhongnan Mountain; to the west, Min Mountain and Mount Emei; to the south, Qionglai Mountain; and to the east it encircles Ba and Shu. It extends for more than a thousand li in every direction and is a place of strategic importance. Nearly a hundred years have passed since the mountain king Bai Fenggui was reborn as the crown prince of Shu, yet he has still not taken the throne. You are descended from sages, clear of heart, devoted to cultivating virtue, and true to both loyalty and filial duty. Your spirit has now traveled here by the decree of fate, so you may as well stop and rest for a while. Moreover, near Sword Ridge there is a great white tiger with a white forehead. It has lived for more than a thousand years, haunts the mountain, and feeds on people. You once served the Son of Heaven as a minister, and the spirits of mountains and rivers were once under your governance. Now you have come here by the Jade Emperor’s decree. You can naturally summon the gods and command the spirits of the underworld to destroy this tiger, thereby helping Heaven cherish life.”

I believed them, and solemnly proclaimed the Emperor’s decree, summoning the mountain and river spirits and ghosts within a thousand li to hear my command. I said to them, “The Emperor has decreed: the white tiger is taking human lives. As king of this mountain, I command you all to join in destroying it. Those who obey will receive offerings for generations; those who defy the command will face Heaven’s punishment.” The gods replied, “We will obey.”

Then I looked around and manifested a wondrous transformation, growing as tall as the mountain. I uprooted a solitary bamboo and commanded it to become a long sword. Pingyi, the god who governs wind and rain, and the Rain Master went ahead to clear the way. I brandished the sword and shouted, my voice resounding through the valleys. The white tiger, too, turned its fury into clouds; its eyes flashed like lightning as it sprang back and forth. I charged toward it, and the gods joined the attack. At last, we killed it.

Then, amid the blood and filth, we found a round stone shaped like a fallen star. Gong Yuanchang recognized it and said it was called “Tiger Might.” I wore it on my person, and all the gods saw it and bowed in awe. When the deed was done, I reported to the Emperor, first setting out Jiaoshao’s offenses, then mentioning how the merits should be apportioned. The Emperor thereupon appointed me King of the Mountain at Shu’s Northern Gate.

Punishments and Rewards, Chapter 32

Although the ways of governing the world of the dead and the world of the living are different, both uphold the same spirit of fairness and impartiality.

Sun Di’s wrongful suffering was eventually redressed, while Hao Yijian’s filial conduct and good deeds had yet to be rewarded. Gao Yusheng abused the power to punish and showed no regard for the people. I submitted a memorial recommending Hao Yijian, and the Heavenly Emperor ultimately approved it. Spirits of every rank were thereby filled with reverence. Heaven and Earth were made clear, and the benevolent influence of the imperial Way spread in every direction.

I have become a god and the ruler of the mountains. For every mountain and river under my jurisdiction, I can foresee floods and droughts, abundance and scarcity, auspicious and inauspicious signs, and matters of merit and fault. I govern them with impartiality.

Among the people under the jurisdiction of Gao Yusheng, the mountain god of Qingli Mountain, was a man named Sun Di. One night, as Sun Di’s daughter was about to marry, Gao Yusheng became consumed by desire. He seized her soul and violated her. The Dragon God of nearby Baichi discovered what had happened, and I investigated as well. I then questioned Gao Yusheng and the young woman together. After Gao Yusheng confessed, I had the woman’s soul return to her body, and she awoke. I ordered Gao Yusheng to be flogged three hundred times and stripped him of his divine office.

At the foot of the mountain lived a filial son named Hao Yijian. When his father fell ill, he had copied four volumes of the Buddhist scripture Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra using his own blood. Five years after Hao Yijian died, he still had not received the blessings he deserved. I therefore submitted a memorial recommending him, and asked that his merit be used to offset Gao Yusheng’s crimes. The Heavenly Emperor replied that this was approved. From then on, spirits great and small all knew to revere the righteous Way.

Preserving the Praise, Chapter 33

The Marquis of Bao offered his daughter to King You of Zhou. The king favored Bao Si, and the laws of the state consequently fell into ruin.

Disinheriting the heir apparent and neglecting the principal wife are things Heaven abhors. Killing the worthy and abusing the good bring calamity from ghosts and spirits.

The Mountain God, in his anger toward the state of Bao, may have felt satisfied for a time, but he risked harming the innocent people of Bao.

I submitted the matter to the Heavenly Court, and the Heavenly Emperor issued an edict approving my request. The surviving people of Bao were thus able to enjoy benevolent rule in peace and live long lives.

King You of Zhou initially took the daughter of the Marquis of Shen as his queen. Queen Shen was virtuous and gave birth to a son, Yijiu. As the eldest son born to the queen, Yijiu showed compassion and filial devotion from an early age. Later, the Marquis of Bao presented a woman of the Si clan to King You. He favored her and gradually distanced himself from Queen Shen. Before long, she too gave birth to a son. King You named him Bofu: “Bo” meant that no one older stood above him, while “Fu” meant that all under Heaven would submit to him. King You then drove Yijiu away and made Bofu heir to the throne. Nine ministers remonstrated with him, and he had their entire clans put to death.

King You’s evil deeds reached Heaven, which sent calamities from Mount Xiyue as a warning. The spirits of the mountains and rivers were thereby thrown into turmoil. Three rivers shook; mountains collapsed, waterways were blocked, and all the rivers flowed backward. The spirit of Mount Xiyue was said to have been sent down by Bai Tuoju, the White Emperor. In his anger, he also sent a dispatch to the spirits of the Han and Mian river region. The spirit of the Bao-Xie Mountains wanted to bury the town of Bao beneath the earth. Since Bao bordered the land of Shu, I thought the punishment too severe and submitted a memorial: “The Marquis of Bao may not deserve pity, but what have the people done wrong? I ask that they be spared.” Heaven issued an order: “The spirit of Jintian has sent a dispatch on his own authority to a territory under his jurisdiction; let him receive only a slight punishment.” The people of Bao were thus spared burial. Later, when the Xiongnu attacked the Zhou, the Zhou court relinquished the Bao lands in the Han and Mian river region to Shu. This, too, was arranged by the sovereign deity.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Returning Wind

Evil people bring calamity upon themselves through their misdeeds; filial children, who honor their parents, have hearts unlike those of the wicked. To incur enmity over a single mouthful of food is already a grave matter; the disasters of returning wind and reversed fire are now raging fiercely.

Though filled with the spirit of chivalry, one can still stand forth and speak plainly. A gale lashes one’s face, yet seems to turn and strike oneself instead. These events are left as a warning to the world, showing that the wise and upright, too, can manifest divine powers.

South of Jianling, there lived a commoner named Li Yuan who was deeply devoted to his mother. One evening, a guest arrived seeking lodging. Li Yuan was preparing to kill a chicken and cook a meal. The guest assumed his host was preparing a banquet for him and looked pleased. A little later, the food was brought out, but it was only coarse rice. The guest did not pick up his chopsticks. Li Yuan explained, “There is an elderly mother at home. Now that she is feeling a little better, she wants to eat meat. As it happens, the chicken at home was not meant to be served to a guest.” The guest said angrily and in embarrassment, “Do you think I’ve never eaten meat before?” Then he left without a word.

Late that night, the guest rode the wind and set a fire, intending to burn down Li Yuan’s home. It was the middle of winter; the plants and trees were dry and yellow, and the flames were fierce, making it difficult to get near. Li Yuan carried his mother out on his back and cried out to Heaven. I happened to be passing through the sky. Thinking this was deeply unjust, I blew a gust of wind, causing the raging flames to turn back upon the arsonist. He still held a fire striker in his hand, and the flames singed his eyebrows and temples. He tried to flee but lost his way, fell into the fire, and nearly died.

I questioned him, and he said, “I am the knight-errant Pu Guangdu. This summer, men and women from Yuandu went to Huanhua for an outing. A friend of mine got drunk and offended a respectable young woman. He was humiliated and nearly lost his life. To get him out of trouble, I threw someone into the water, and nearly failed to save him. Later, someone reported the matter to the authorities, so I had no choice but to flee. I’ve been wandering for half a year. Yesterday I was terribly hungry, and I felt bitterly resentful toward you. Just as I was about to set fire to the grass, I seemed to hear someone shouting at me. Then, after the fire reached your home, the wind blew it back. Only then did I realize I was suffering retribution. Now I am close to death. I don’t want to become a nameless, homeless ghost, so I’m telling you what happened.” When he had finished, he died.

Clarifying Injustices, Thirty-Fifth

You should understand that human life is more precious than mountains. Never treat the adjudication of doubtful cases as a trivial matter.

The injustice in Mao’s death has still not been rectified. And once Liang Neng has been unjustly killed, can anyone bring him back to life?

Let the soul of the dead possess a living person and expose the wrongful conviction; seize the murderer and investigate the case, bringing the most heinous offenders to confess and submit to the law.

Yimin’s words brought great benefit. Since he receives offerings of incense from the people, he need have no cause for guilt.

Note: In the original, the passage beginning “I happened to be passing through the sky…” and ending “When he had finished, he died” appears twice.

Three hundred li north of Jianmen lies a mountain called Turtle Mountain. At its foot lived a man named He Zhiqing, courtesy name Wufang. He married the daughter of Hou Fu of Yushan. A year later, Hou Fu became gravely ill. His daughter told her mother-in-law that she wished to return to her family home to visit him. Her mother-in-law agreed, and she set out with her husband.

Halfway there, Madam Hou remembered a pair of yellow-silver earrings in her jewelry case. She wanted to take them to help meet her father’s urgent needs, but in their haste she had forgotten them. By the time she thought of returning home to fetch them, the sun was already sinking in the west. A little later, Wufang’s younger brother Liangneng hurried after them and called them to a stop. He took out the earrings and said, “Mother is unwell and sent me to call my elder brother home. She also asked me to bring what my sister-in-law left behind. Once you reach her family home, my brother can come back first. Mother is waiting for you.”

Wufang said, “Go with my sister-in-law. I’ll return to see Mother.” After Wufang left, some time passed. Madam Hou felt that her family home was less than ten li away and that there was no need to trouble her younger brother-in-law with escorting her. She told Liangneng this, and he believed her. In a hurry, he parted from his sister-in-law.

Madam Hou reached her family home late that night. The next day, when Hou Fu saw that his daughter had not arrived as expected, he sent someone to meet her on the road. They found that she had been murdered and her head was missing. Hou Fu’s condition worsened, and he died soon afterward. The Hou family reported the case to the authorities, while the He family took their younger son, Liangneng, into custody. More than a month later, the case was concluded. Liangneng confessed that after arriving late, he had sent someone to meet his sister-in-law. Seeing her traveling alone, he had tried to force himself on her. When she resisted, he killed her; her head, he said, had probably been eaten by tigers or leopards.

As Liangneng was about to be executed, he wept bitterly, protesting his innocence. Yimin, the spirit of Turtle Mountain, came forward and disclosed what had happened. After investigating, Yimin discovered that the real killer was a bandit named Niu Zi. Niu Zi’s wife, Madam Mao, had once angered him. When he met Madam Hou on the road, he seized her and tried to force her. He then gave Madam Hou’s clothes to Madam Mao and made the two women exchange garments. Madam Mao and Madam Hou were about the same age. Niu Zi killed Madam Mao, cut off her head, and took Madam Hou back to his home.

Yimin searched for Madam Mao’s spirit and had it possess Niu Zi, so that Madam Mao could give her testimony through his mouth. In this way, the truth came to light. Niu Zi was handed over to the authorities for punishment under the law, Madam Hou returned to her husband, and Liangneng was cleared of the charge.

People are connected with Heaven, Earth, and all things. This is what makes human life most precious. It is not easy to be born with a human body, nor is it easy to cultivate body and mind.

Since we have been fortunate enough to be born from a mother’s womb, we should cherish and protect life. Yet people often become so absorbed in the struggle to provide food and clothing that they forget how precious life is.

I feel compassion for young children, as others do. Heaven and Earth bring forth all things and treat them equally.

From then on, the customs of this region changed. The vicious source of calamity, like an overgrown patch of orchids, was cut away so that it could no longer harm lives.

In Jianbei, two she (an ancient unit of distance) to the east, there was a settlement called Ju. The land there was fertile enough to support poor households. When a local family had a child, they usually raised the firstborn. They sometimes raised the second, sometimes not; by the third or fourth, they often would not let the child live. They were unwilling to spend their food and money, seeking only convenience in the present and ignoring the long-term consequences.

Zhang Qianshi was a wealthy landowner. More than eighty households rented his fields to make a living. When he assigned the land, he laid down a rule: male children already born could stay, provided they were able to work the fields and bring in the harvest; any children born afterward were not to be raised. Over time, this rule became customary.

Zhang Qianshi had two sons. His eldest was disabled and unable to work; his younger son was three years old and suffered from epilepsy. Nothing helped—not seeking medical treatment, consulting diviners, or asking a shaman to perform rites to dispel the affliction. The local deity, Gongsun Zhang, prayed for ten days, but the boy showed no improvement, so he came to me for help. I agreed, then investigated the cause of the calamity and learned that more than forty children had been abandoned by the tenant households over the years and left to die. With no one to turn to after death, they had gathered together to cause trouble.

I appeared in a dream to Zhang Qianshi’s wife, Lady Li, and told her what had happened. Although she heard the explanation, Zhang Qianshi still refused to repent. So I sent the ritual officer Xun Ming to deliver a message, and then had my young son relay it to Zhang Qianshi: “The children born to the households whose children you abandoned are just like your own. Just as you cherish your own children, you should cherish other people’s children. You covet the labor of other households, yet resent the grain that raising more children would consume. Now more than forty restless dead are closing in on you, and your son too is about to die.”

Zhang Qianshi repented and blamed himself, knocking his head until it bled as he begged me for mercy. I warned him to change his conduct, and he obeyed. After that, his son’s condition stabilized. From then on, the people of the entire settlement cherished life more deeply, and the number of children born there gradually increased.

Rescuing People from Floods, Chapter 37

Autumn rains fell without letup, continuing for a long time. Three rivers converged, their waters surging like a vast flood.

Jingtan Lake rose until its shores could no longer be seen, and sections of the city wall collapsed one after another. The situation was critical.

The people of Baima were honest and kind, and the Marquis of Huanggao governed with compassion and care for the people.

With a single shout from Baijian, the waves subsided. Who says that a raging torrent cannot destroy boats?

Baima County had more than eight hundred villages and lay where three rivers converged. Autumn rains fell continuously for three months without stopping. The waters from two valleys to the northeast rose together with the river, then backed up at the mouth of Lingyan Gorge and could not flow out. The flood spread far and wide, its depth beyond measure. Residents were trapped in the water and on the verge of becoming food for the fish.

Baijian, the local city god, came to report: “This small county of Baima was once a place where people gathered to live, but now it belongs to Shu. The county marquis, Huang Gao, cares for the people and is able to channel floodwaters away. Recently, unending rain has fallen from Heaven and damaged the crops. Three rivers surround and converge upon the county, and the people’s lives cannot be secured.”

I was responsible for this region, so I went with Baijian. When we arrived, the water stood ten times higher than usual. The people fled in panic, like ants moving house. Only five or six tenths of the city wall remained. Children were carried away, but some could not be rescued in time; the elderly were left behind, waiting for disaster to befall them. I felt compassion for them, so I had Baijian convey the Emperor’s command, ordering the waters to flow downward and return to their former channels. This is the event referred to today as “shouting at the river god.” In this way, several thousand people in Baima County were saved from drowning in the flood.

The Rain Valley, Chapter 38

People often ask how one should accumulate hidden virtue. In whatever one does, one should begin with concern for the common good.

The Xu family relieved the starving, nearly exhausting their wealth in the process. The Luo family, by contrast, hoarded grain and refused to sell it, unwilling to give up even a single grain.

After accumulating wealth, to give to others is in accord with the Way of Heaven. To be rich yet refuse to give may instead bring calamity.

One side suffered death, while the other prospered; there is a reason for this. How profound, indeed, is the intent behind Heaven’s creation and transformation!

The circumstances behind each life and death, each moment of glory and each period of hardship, have their own causes. How profound the purpose within the vast and mysterious workings of creation!

In the great city of Baxi, only one or two people in a hundred were wealthy; the poor scraped by through hard labor. When the Emperor of Shu had just taken the throne, a severe drought brought a poor harvest. Though the emperor lived simply and did his utmost to serve the people, his reputation for benevolent rule had yet to spread, and the disasters of earlier years had not subsided. As a result, especially many people in Baxi died of hunger for lack of grain.

A local wealthy farmer named Luo Mi hoarded grain and refused to sell it, while the righteous Xu Rong gave away his entire estate to relieve the poor. More and more people came seeking help, and Xu Rong could no longer keep up. He spent his days burning incense before the stove and praying to Heaven for protection. The local divine officials and the grandson of a previous generation reported the matter to me, and I submitted it to the Celestial Emperor. The Celestial Emperor issued an order to take the grain Luo Mi had hoarded—five thousand hu, an ancient unit of capacity—and distribute it to the people. I then commanded the Wind Master, the god who governs the winds, to blow open the Luo family’s dwellings. The grain whirled through the air and fell from the sky, gathering into piles according to its color and spreading across the fields and streets. Everyone in the city was able to eat their fill.

Luo Mi’s grain was all distributed within a single day. Grateful for Xu Rong’s kindness, the people often looked for ways to repay him. Many also took satisfaction in seeing Luo Mi suffer misfortune. The Emperor of Shu appointed Xu Rong as a local assistant official. When Luo Mi heard of this, he hanged himself.

Qu Yu, Third Installment

North of Ju Suburb, on the western bank of the Ba River, stands Dragon Mountain, its slopes steep and difficult to climb.

The local people have always been simple and honest, devoted to their parents and respectful of their elders. Famine had persisted for a long time, and the people yearned for life-giving rain.

Heaven bestowed its favor, bringing the crops to maturity and a plentiful harvest, so that the people would be spared hardship and sickness from laboring in the fields under the midsummer sun.

From then on, more and more people came to settle here. The elderly supported one another, and children were led by the hand and cared for.

North of Ju Yi and west of the Ba River stands Dragon Mountain. About three hundred households live at its foot.

In the early years of Emperor Can, a severe drought struck all of Shu. The local deity Su Gongzhang could not bear to see the people perish in a year of famine, so he took the blame upon himself and addressed Heaven: “Among the people under my care, the young and strong work diligently, while the old rest in peace; this is not a failure of filial piety. They do not fear labor summons and never dare complain; this is not a failure of loyalty. They plow in spring, sow in summer, and make offerings to Heaven and Earth in winter; this is not a failure of reverence. They watch over their fields and hope for abundant grain through all four seasons, yet after the harvest they dare not taste the new grain first; this is not a failure to follow the proper order. Though the people are so loyal and filial, reverent and cautious, compliant and obedient, they still suffer from drought, and Heaven has shown them no concern. This is my fault. I am willing to plead with Heaven on the people’s behalf and ask the local earth deities to state their case themselves. I will bear the blame and seek pardon for their offenses, and use the force of the Ba River to bring down rain.” The rain stopped after three days, and that year brought a harvest. The people of the area named their settlement “Good Blessing,” and more and more people gradually came to live there.

The Bandit’s Demise, Chapter Forty

A dutiful daughter-in-law works tirelessly to care for her mother-in-law. Her heart is as steadfast as clear water, and she longs for her deceased husband.

She wears no cosmetics, to the surprise of those around her. She earns her living through needlework and is content with it.

She buries her husband according to proper rites, grieves deeply, and continues to make offerings to him at the appointed times. Yet foolish thieves break into her home in broad daylight to steal.

Her steadfast adherence to righteousness brings her the protection of the spirits. It also makes clear that the greedy and violent will be punished by ghosts and spirits.

In the area around the source of the Han River lived a virtuous wife named Yang Jingzhong, born into a family of officials and scholars. She married Yong Youzhang, a poor scholar. When Yong Youzhang died young, Yang Jingzhong vowed never to remarry.

Later, the family’s money ran out, and there were no spare hands to help with the household. Her mother-in-law was old and often ill. Matchmakers came one after another, urging Yang Jingzhong to marry again. She said, “People value only looks and wealth. My family is poor and has suffered a great calamity, yet people still come to seek my hand. I suppose it is because I am still young, my vital energy is strong, and I have no serious illness. But how could I bear to abandon my aged mother-in-law, forget the husband I married in my youth, and change my heart to serve another man? I cannot sew or do needlework; I can only mend clothes and wash laundry for others to scrape by. Even if my mother-in-law and I can barely manage, I will wait until she has passed away before considering remarriage. There will be time enough then.”

So she cut off her hair and stopped tending to her appearance, earning a living through household work and sewing. Six years passed this way. When her mother-in-law died, she buried her according to proper rites and held a memorial offering three days later. More than a hundred villagers came to help. While Yang Jingzhong was away, a thief climbed over the wall, picked the lock, and stole all the savings in the house. At the time, she knew nothing of it.

The local Earth God, Bai Zhiyi, and the village headman spirit, Kang Chaosheng, wanted to punish the thief. Just then I arrived in Baozhong, and they reported the matter to me. I sent thirty yin soldiers to seize the thief at the market. They recovered the stolen goods and proclaimed to the crowd, “This property belongs to the chaste wife Yang. It must be returned.” Then the thief raised his hands to his mouth, bit off all ten fingers, and died.

Beiguo, Chapter Forty

It is certainly important for a person’s descendants to carry on the family line. The key is to plant good seeds in the heart.

To rush blindly toward success is, in the end, only foolishness. When one brings disaster upon oneself again and again, how can there be peace?

Planting flowers and trees can serve as a metaphor, but helping the lonely and poor must be done with sincere intent. An adopted son inherited the family estate and later became known as Shenbao. From this, we can see that the rewards for good and evil are clear.

Outside the north wall of the capital of Shu lived a man named Wang Shangzhong. His family was wealthy, but he had no son. Past the age of forty, he was troubled and wanted to take in many concubines as quickly as possible, but still had no children. Later, he adopted a boy from his own clan as heir. Yet Wang was impatient and harsh: if a concubine displeased him in the slightest, he would beat her and send her away; if his adopted son strayed even a little from his instructions, he would drive him out. The more anxious he became, the worse his choices grew. As the years passed and he approached fifty, he laid out lavish offerings and summoned deities from every direction, along with spirit mediums—people who served the gods through song, dance, and prayer. The mediums sang and prayed for more than a month without stopping.

I then took the form of a lay Daoist and said to him, “When you plant peach and plum trees, you must both heap soil around them and water them. Before much time has passed, you prune their branches and leaves, hoping they will grow quickly. Then you move them elsewhere and add richer soil. Before the season has come, you uncover their roots to see whether they have taken hold. When you see their branches and leaves flourishing, you pull them up again, replace the old soil, and plant them somewhere else. You tend them so anxiously that in the end they bear no fruit. Can this be called wise?” He replied, “No.”

I said, “How is your way of seeking an heir any different? I advise you now to settle your heart and mind and change your past conduct. Treat your servants generously and forgive others’ faults. Keep the maids and concubines who can remain; arrange marriages for those who cannot stay in your household. The adopted sons from your clan have left their birth parents and call you father. You should remain true to the purpose with which you adopted them and stop dwelling on petty matters. If you later have a son of your own, do not think of casting out your adopted sons. Rescue people from danger, help those in dire need, aid the poor, and care for orphans. Devote yourself to these good deeds and leave the outcome to Heaven. Do this for three years, and you will surely receive a good reward.”

When he had finished speaking, the man vanished. Wang Shangzhong believed his words and took them as a divine admonition. From then on, he arranged marriages for thirteen maids, raised both adopted sons to adulthood, found wives for them, and apportioned property so each could secure a lasting livelihood. He also arranged burials for the parents of more than fifty poor households and helped bring about marriages for more than eighty poor couples. Within three years, he indeed had a noble son, whom he named Shenbao. When Shenbao grew up, he was able to inherit the family estate.

Returning the Fire, Chapter Forty-Two

The two brothers were originally of the same lineage.

Why, simply because their lands shared a border, did they covet one another’s territory?

The Lord of Ju was greedy for gain, and his intentions were hard to fathom.

The ruler of Shu was generous and kind, and at first he did not suspect him.

Flames blazed to the heavens, a terrifying sight.

A fierce wind blew straight toward them, and the arsonists themselves were put in danger.

A clear warning came from the sky, revealing where the calamity lay.

Only then did they believe that the gods could not be deceived.

The Shu king, Yu Liang, had a younger brother named Jiameng, who was enfeoffed in Ju and called the Lord of Ju. Long afterward, the Lord of Ju sent an envoy to demand wealth from the Shu king, who refused. The Lord of Ju then sent men to set fire to Shu’s storehouses, and the flames grew fierce. When I heard of this, I ordered the Wind Master, the deity who governs the wind, to blow the fire back, and made it clear that the Lord of Ju was acting contrary to the Dao. In a moment, all those who had gone to set the fire died in the flames. From then on, Ju and Shu made war on each other for three years, but Ju still could not defeat Shu.

Pacifying Ju, Chapter Forty-Three

The Lord of Ju founded a state called Jiameng,

yet gave no thought to his brotherly ties with Yufu.

They took up arms against each other, and the people were slaughtered.

Though the lands of the two states were close together, they fought without cause.

Later, an envoy was sent to discuss the situation.

I manifested divine troops to warn them of the balance of power between the two sides.

At last, the people of Jiameng were convinced and turned to what was just.

Thus the people were spared the devastation of war.

After Ju and Shu became enemies, they fought one another for a long time. The Shu king grew weary of this and sent Zhuang Su to negotiate a reconciliation, but the Lord of Ju refused to listen. Zhuang Su then explained that Shu had a large army and pointed toward the northwest. I immediately manifested divine troops to warn the Lord of Ju. Thinking that Shu’s army was about to attack him, the Lord of Ju asked to make an alliance. The envoy reported this to the Shu king, who then built a temple for me north of the capital.

Fei Ding, Chapter Forty-Four

While alive, I upheld the right path, though it brought me calamity.

After my death, the divine power and renown I left behind would not remain silent or yield.

The king trusted the Five Ding, forgetting to strengthen his defenses.

So I submitted a memorial and repelled the Three Di.

They busied themselves moving earth to build a tomb for the consort,

disbelieving advice about military affairs and refusing to guard the frontier.

They said my words were demonic nonsense, unworthy of attention.

Even if they destroyed my temple for it, what would there be to regret?

A mountain spirit from Mount Wudu took the form of a woman of striking beauty, one of the rare beauties of Shu. When King Kaiming Shang of Shu saw her, he was captivated and took her as a consort. Before long, she died. The king remained preoccupied with her, so he built a tall tomb to show that he had not forgotten her.

In the Wudu region lived a group of tall Fe brothers, known as the Five Strongmen. They ingratiated themselves with the king and, relying on their great strength, carried soil from Mount Wudu to raise the tomb. Before long, it stood as high as the mountain. The king named it “Mount Wukai,” saying that even after her death, his consort still longed for her homeland.

Later, the king trusted and favored the Five Strongmen, keeping them at his side day after day. He himself also relied on his strength and bravery, believing that with the Five Strongmen he could fend off blades and spears with his bare hands and face chariots and cavalry on foot. He therefore stopped maintaining the border defenses, dismantled the frontier fortresses, and abandoned the beacon alarms.

I had already become a spirit and received offerings in worship. Because Shu bordered the powerful state of Qin, I feared that disaster might strike. So I took the form of a scholar, called myself “Zhang Sheng of Beidu,” and knocked at the palace gate to submit a remonstrance. Its main points were these:

“I have heard that those who govern a state by relying solely on Virtue prosper, while those who rely solely on military force are doomed to fall. The ministers who served under Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang, who governed the realm, are all clearly known by name and deed, yet none relied on brute strength alone. A person’s bravery cannot be depended on, and extraordinary abilities are not enough to intimidate an enemy. Feilian and E Lai could not save King Zhou of Shang; Yi, the master archer, and Ao, the skilled boatman, both met unhappy ends. More recently, the Three Di tribes, though tall and exceptionally strong, were ultimately wiped out.

“Today, the five Fe brothers of the frontier have neither virtue nor ability; they regard strength alone as their talent. Because they are tall, Your Majesty considers them worthy men. I believe the Fe brothers may be stronger than ten people, or even a hundred, but when they face an enemy army, they will ultimately be of no help. It would be suitable to place them in terraces, pavilions, and courtyards, where they could serve as attendants, drive carriages, shoot arrows, or run errands. But they cannot be relied upon to defend against neighboring states. They are no different from the Red Di, White Di, and Long Di. I urge Your Majesty to guard with care the legacy left by the former kings and to strengthen defenses against powerful Qin. Do not let reliance on one person’s physical strength lead to lax military discipline.”

Here, “beacon fires” refers to the fire signals used to relay warnings along the frontier; “fending off an enemy” means resisting and defeating enemy forces.

The king was displeased. “You urge me to prepare carefully for war, yet mock me for employing brave men with abilities. That is like wanting to hunt but refusing a falcon, or wanting to guard against thieves but refusing a watchdog.”

I argued my case. The Five Strongmen were standing before the king. Taking advantage of his favor, they tried to humiliate me, so I vanished from sight. The Five Strongmen thought I was a demon and said, “This must be Zhang Zhongzi of the northern outskirts.” They then destroyed my temple statue. I did not take issue with them.

The Ba and Shu kingdoms fought one another. Shu was prosperous and powerful, so the people of Qin coveted its territory and schemed at length to seize it.

This was not because King Hui of Qin intended to do Shu a good turn; rather, King Kaiming of Shu miscalculated. The people of Qin carved stones into the shape of oxen and set them at the foot of a mountain. They also melted gold into shapes resembling ox dung and hid it beside the oxen’s tails.

King Kaiming coveted wealth and ignored his loyal ministers’ advice. He had roads cut through the mountains and sent troops to conquer, ultimately bringing disaster upon himself.

As the Zhou royal house gradually weakened, the feudal lords attacked one another, and tensions also arose between Ba and Shu. Qin bordered Shu, and King Hui of Qin followed Sima Cuo’s plan to annex the Shu state. But the roads between Qin and Shu were steep and treacherous, making it difficult to send troops. So the Qin people carved five large stone oxen at the Qin-Shu border and placed them in the grass. They melted gold into ingots and put them beneath the oxen’s tails. Then they secretly sent people to watch. More than a month later, someone took the gold ingots, and the Qin people put out new ones. This happened repeatedly. When the king of Shu heard of it, he sent people to investigate. Over several months, the people of Shu collected more than a thousand jin of gold.

The king of Shu then ordered the Five Strongmen (legendary men of great strength from Shu) to cut a road through the treacherous terrain. He also sent out five thousand soldiers, intending to haul the stone oxen back to Shu. On the day the troops set out, I once again took the form of a Confucian scholar, called myself Zhonggong Zichang, and went to the palace gate to request an audience. I submitted a memorial urging the king that opening the road was no good, and that gaining the gold was no real benefit. The king of Shu laughed and said to me, “Heaven does not begrudge the Dao, and the land does not begrudge its treasures. With the protection of the spirits of our altars of soil and grain, the stone oxen and gold have entered our territory on their own. Gold is a treasure: it can enrich the state and strengthen its army, and it can also ease the people’s burdens. You suspect that this is a neighboring state’s deception, but you are worrying too much. Who would give up several thousand jin of gold just to set a trap? Please wait a little; the stone oxen will soon be brought here.”

I looked up to heaven and sighed deeply, grieving as tears fell. The king of Shu thought I was an ill omen, so he ordered his attendants to help me out. I then vanished from sight.

The Five Women, Chapter Forty-Six

The Qin people coveted the land of Shu and resolved to annex it. They cut a road through the dangerous terrain, opening a gateway into Shu.

Still worried that the stone oxen might expose their deception, they then offered a woman from the Qin royal house in marriage to the king of Shu, using the marriage alliance as a cover.

The king of Shu did not realize that it was difficult for great states to form genuine family ties. He believed instead that Qin was acting in good faith.

I knew that advice no one wanted to hear would surely be useless, yet I could not bring myself to remain silent, lest I fail the king’s trust and kindness.

After the stone oxen had been transported back, the King of Qin said, “They can be used to open mountains and build roads. But if the oxen are brought back and no gold is obtained, my scheme will have failed.” He then sent another envoy to discuss a marriage alliance with Shu, saying, “Qin and Shu are neighboring states. It is only right to draw close to a benevolent and virtuous state and befriend our neighbor. I have five women from the royal clan whom I am willing to marry to the King of Shu. I ask him to receive them.”

The King of Shu was delighted when he heard this. When I learned of it, I sighed, “Qin is a powerful state. Why would these women come to Shu for no reason?” The King of Shu then sent the Five Strongmen—warriors from Shu legend—to the border to welcome the women from Qin. Every day, he prepared more than a thousand carriages and waited in the northern suburbs, eager to see their faces and hear their voices for himself.

I therefore transformed myself into a Confucian scholar among the guards and submitted a memorial urging the King of Shu to reconsider. The king grew angry and said, “Aren’t you Zhang Zhongzi from the northern outskirts, the man who can’t stop talking? You have already suffered humiliation three times for slandering others.” He ordered the guards around him to kill me. I then took on an enraged appearance, and the guards fled in panic, allowing me to escape.

Manifesting My Power, Forty-Seventh

Loyal at heart, I could not bear to see Qin harm Shu. I urged the king with all my strength, yet he rejected me.

I took on an enraged appearance, hoping to make the neighboring enemy state afraid. Before long, I transformed into a gigantic figure and hid myself in secret.

The road twisted and turned; only after winding through seven bends did it finally become passable. The mountain collapsed upon them, and the lives of all the spirits were extinguished.

From then on, the people of Shu began to revere me, and my influence in the region of Jiannan grew ever stronger.

After the Five Strongmen escorted the woman from Qin into Shu, the people of Shu, young and old alike, were delighted. They could not see the calamity concealed in this event. They took an inauspicious occurrence for a good one, and a sorrowful event for a joyful one. Such is the common person’s way of seeing things.

I manifested a gigantic form south of Jianling, blocking the road in hopes of frightening the Qin woman into turning her carriage around and going back. The people of Qin and Shu saw me and were utterly terrified. Amid the commotion, the warriors heard a voice as clear and pure as jade say, “What Heaven means to cast down cannot be made to rise again: this speaks of the king of Shu. What Heaven means to raise up cannot be made to decline: this speaks of the king of Qin. You are indeed loyal, but what can you do about Heaven’s decree?” So I made my form smaller.

At that moment, the Five Strongmen recognized me and said, “This must be Zhang Zhongzi, the god of the Northern Outskirts. I’ll seize him and eat him!” The crowd cried out, their shouts shaking the mountains and rivers. The Five Strongmen pursued me, and I passed through the mountain’s interior, making the mountain path wind through seven bends. As I was about to enter a cave, they caught up with me and clutched me tightly. With no other choice, I made my body a hundred times larger and let them tug at me. Before long, my head emerged above the mountain peak. I turned back and sent out a flash of light, shaking the mountain; the mountain shook along with my body. The Five Strongmen and the Qin woman, together with her five attendants, reached the rocks at the mountain’s base. The mountain collapsed with great force, and the Five Strongmen and all five women were swallowed beneath the earth. After that, Shu was annexed by Qin, and I had no regrets.

The Great Elixir, Chapter Forty-Eight

Laozi grew weary of warfare in the Central Plains and went west, willingly undertaking the journey to transform the Hu people—a journey said to have begun when he left through the western pass.

In the clouds, the procession of carriages and horses stretched for a thousand li, and the spirits along the way escorted me for ten stages.

Now that the killing had taken place, my intention was utterly impartial, and the knot of grievance naturally came undone. With wholehearted devotion to swallowing the elixir, my body became light.

The northwest, the direction of Qian, was no place to withdraw and hide, so I settled in the southwest, the corner of Kun, to soothe the hearts of the people.

I once saw in Shu a procession of carriages and horses stretching for a thousand li through the clouds, with the spirits along the way escorting me for ten stages. Now that the killing had taken place, my intention was utterly impartial, and the knot of grievance naturally came undone. With wholehearted devotion to swallowing the elixir, my body became light. The direction of Qian was no place to withdraw and hide, so I settled in the corner of Kun to soothe the hearts of the people.

After I witnessed the fall of Shu and the transfer of its state altars, worship of the local deities was abolished everywhere. No one offered sacrifices to them anymore. I left the human world and wandered in spirit to Mount Kongtong, where I rested for a time. Suddenly, banners and ceremonial guards, along with carriages, horses, and riders, passed along the cloud road for three days in succession. The mountain deities said to one another, “Such a splendid procession must belong to a sage passing by.”

Before long, Laozi came from east to west with two perfected beings in attendance. I joined the ranks of the deities under the jurisdiction of the Western Marchmount and bowed in greeting. The Western Marchmount ordered the deities of every region to escort him for ten stages, and I joined them.

One day, I earnestly recounted to Laozi my past merits and faults in Shu. He said, “When the Great Dao is put into practice, all under Heaven belongs to everyone. You held justice in your heart and remonstrated with the king of Shu three times; that was your merit. The five strong men and five women died because of you, but you acted from public-spirited motives, so this was not a fault. Since you rendered service to Shu, and although its state name has now changed to Qin, its towns and villages remain in Shu, you should be entitled to its sacrifices forever, to comfort the people there.”

Laozi then ordered Xu Jia to take a pill from his bag and give it to me, saying, “This is the Great Elixir, the immortal pill spoken of in Daoism. You should take it. ‘Great’ means becoming one with the Great Dao; ‘Elixir’ means making the heart one with the Dao. After taking it, your spiritual powers will be complete, and you will no longer be as you were before. The Central Plains are in turmoil, and I have grown weary of them. I will now go west to teach the people there. Three hundred years from now, the teachings of the West will flourish and enter China. You should believe this.” I received it with reverence.

Ba Du, Chapter Forty-Nine

In general, the most important thing when facing any situation is not to deceive your own conscience. The heart is like a clear mirror; once it is clouded, calamity draws near.

Use schemes to trick someone out of a pearl, then boast that cleverness brought you success; preside over a case, shouting accusations and passing judgment in a fit of temper.

If you are beaten two hundred times, you should not expect easy forgiveness. If you suffer thirty days of pain from punishment, you should reflect on it and weigh your conduct.

Do not count on people to build temples, sculpt statues, burn incense, and offer sacrifices. Simply follow the upright way and repay those who truly understand you.

After Qin conquered Shu, Zhang Yi captured the king of Ba and seized his territory, incorporating Ba into Qin.

People burn incense and build temples, but that is not what I desire. I only hope to repay those who truly understand me by following the path of integrity.

After the Qin state annexed Shu, it sent Zhang Yi to capture the King of Ba and seize Ba territory, then established Ba’s capital as a commandery. Later, Yiting Yi, the commandery’s chief administrator, temporarily took charge of government affairs because the governor was ill.

Wan Zhen, a servant in the household of Zhang Wei, a resident of the commandery, threw himself into a well. Zhang Wei was imprisoned and interrogated for more than a month. Unable to endure the torture, he was forced to confess that he had killed Wan Zhen and thrown the body into the well. In fact, Wan Zhen had previously done wrong, and Zhang Wei had beaten him. Less than three days later, Wan Zhen stole Zhang Wei’s money and tried to flee elsewhere, but Zhang Wei caught him. Wan Zhen realized he could not escape punishment and took his own life. Zhang Wei had not killed him.

After the case was concluded, Zhang Wei’s son heard that his father had been found guilty. He took out a hundred large pearls and sent someone to deliver them to Yiting Yi. Yiting Yi said to an aide, “Tell them you are a doctor. Another day, simply bring a small box containing medicine for wind disease. Even if there are guests present, you need not feel embarrassed.” Zhang’s family was delighted to hear this.

On the appointed day, the Zhang family waited at the entrance and brought the box. Yiting Yi happened to have more than ten guests present, and the food and wine had already been laid out. He had the “doctor” sit at the end of the table. After three rounds of wine, the man stood up and said he was offering medicine. Yiting Yi accepted the box and placed it in an inner room for the time being. But he soon regretted it, worrying that the matter might come to light and bring criticism later. He ordered the box brought back, its seal still intact. Then he called the “doctor” over to open it and take out the medicine. Afraid that his bribe-taking would be exposed, he distributed the medicine among the guests.

The next day, Yiting Yi convicted Zhang Wei on the basis of the confession beaten out of him and ultimately sentenced him to death. Zhang Wei’s son wept in the street and cried out, “Can no divine spirit uncover this injustice?”

I witnessed what happened and summoned Yiting Yi and Zhang Wei and his son that night. The doctor’s spirit also brought a complaint about the case, and the truth was thereby brought to light. Yiting Yi admitted, “I did indeed accept the pearls. The medicine in the box was something I had prepared long ago. After the pearls arrived, I put the medicine in the box. Having accepted the pearls, I was afraid the governor would find out, so I did not dare alter Zhang Wei’s confession.”

I ordered Yiting Yi to be whipped two hundred times across the back. The next day, the person being examined woke and described events exactly as they had happened. Everyone was astonished, and before long they heard that Yiting Yi had developed terrible sores on his back. He cried out in agony for more than a month, then died. Zhang Wei’s family built a temple for me, and the whole commandery came to honor me.

After being born, one should honor one’s parents, for they labored tirelessly from the time you were young and raised you to adulthood.

Assuming another person’s surname is certainly shameful to speak of. But even if one’s birth parents are poor, how could one abandon them for that reason? Being punished by the authorities is hard to bear; even a beating with a staff in a dream feels just as painful.

If one day those who have suffered injustice become one another’s fathers and sons, the customs of the community may return to their former simplicity and honesty.

Between the two commanderies of Ba and Shu stands a mountain called Posuo Mountain. The mountain spirit Yuan Anxing came to the banks of the Yu River in Ba Commandery, saw me, and said, “The people in the territory under my care are hardworking and devout. They honor their ancestors and revere the spirits. Before undertaking anything, whether great or small, they consult the turtle shell or milfoil stalks, and dare to act only after receiving an auspicious sign. The Mountain King once governed all the spirits of Shu. Now Ba, Shu, Qian, and Han are divided into four commanderies, but people from Qin call them all Shu. Why do you not go there yourself and visit the territory under my care?”

I thought this was not an official matter and did not wish to go without good reason. One day, Anxing came to me again and said, “In my territory there is a man named Zhou Fu. He was born into the Yuan family and is also of my own clan. His birth hour was inauspicious, so his grandfather despised him and ordered the family not to raise him. His father, Pingshu, could not bear to abandon the child, and took him away to bring him up. When Zhou Fu was three, on the first day of the first month, Pingshu brought him to pay respects to his grandfather and the other grandsons in the household. His grandfather flew into a rage and scolded Pingshu: ‘Are you trying to use this ill-fated child to bring about my death?’ Pingshu had no choice but to carry the child away.

“On the road, they happened to meet Pingshu’s friend Zhou Ningzhi. Pingshu told him what had happened. Ningzhi said, ‘I have no descendants of my own. I am willing to adopt the boy. If my wife bears a child in the future, I will send him back to the Yuan family and restore his Yuan surname.’ Pingshu agreed.

“After that, the Zhou family grew steadily wealthier, while the Yuan family became very poor after suffering one calamity after another. Later, Zhou Ningzhi had a son of his own, and the earlier agreement was never mentioned again. After Ningzhi died, Pingshu often went to visit Zhou Fu. When the family faced urgent difficulties, Zhou Fu also helped them many times. Pingshu privately concluded that Zhou Fu was in fact his own son and still cared for him. He found an opportunity to tell him the whole story of his birth and upbringing.

“Just then, Zhou Fu’s younger brother came to visit and overheard Pingshu. He rebuked Pingshu and told him to leave. The next day, the younger brother went to the authorities and filed a complaint, accusing Pingshu of making false statements. The authorities had Pingshu beaten with a rod. Pingshu smeared incense ash on his head and told Anxing what had happened. He also said, ‘My son has dared to have his father beaten.’ Anxing knew the circumstances and believed Zhou Fu had not acted with that intention. Since no proper way to settle the matter had yet been found, he asked the king to mediate between them.”

So Anxing and I went there together. That night, I appeared in Zhou Fu’s dream and showed him the circumstances of his birth, his grandfather’s words refusing to raise him, and how his birth father had brought him up. Before the dream had ended, Zhou Fu woke in tears. He wanted to go at once and acknowledge his birth family, but since the matter had already involved official documents and his younger brother stood in the way, he could only hold back for the time being.

I appeared to him again in a dream and reproached him for not obeying at once, then struck him a hundred times with a rod. Zhou Fu woke and stayed awake all night. The next day, he went to the Yuan family home and paid his respects to Pingshu. “I failed to understand in time that I was your own flesh and blood,” he said. “The spirits had to rebuke me in a dream and beat me until I was almost dead. I have now come to my senses. The Zhou family has a son to carry on the ancestral rites, and I no longer wish to share in the Zhou family’s estate. I will leave everything to my father’s decision.”

When people in the district heard this, they all considered Zhou Fu a virtuous man. The Zhou family’s son consulted the divination and then gave Zhou Fu a share of the family estate, also allowing him to return to the Yuan family. In their old age, the Yuan couple now had someone to rely on.

After Qin destroyed the Zhou, it carried the Nine Tripods away. The dragons from every region obeyed the sea god’s command and gathered by the shore.

If dragons vented their resentment by contending over the waters, disregarding the safety of the people and causing floods, they committed a grave offense. So people pointed to a stone and made an oath upon it, looking up to Heaven and swearing solemnly, their words free of bias. From then on, those who farmed and raised mulberry trees along the banks no longer faced seasons when floods overflowed and submerged their fields.

The waters of the Qingyi River flow from west to east and join the Min River. After Qin unified the Zhou realm and carried away the Nine Tripods, the deities of the mountains gathered at Yue Ling, while the dragons of the rivers came to the shore. After the oath was sworn, the people who farmed along the banks no longer suffered from floodwaters inundating their land.

The Qingyi River flows from west to east, joining the Min River. After the state of Qin annexed the Zhou dynasty, the Nine Tripods—ancient ritual vessels symbolizing royal authority—were moved westward. The mountain spirits gathered at Yue Ling, while the water dragons of the rivers went to Hai Ruo, the sea god. In this way, they acknowledged Heaven’s mandate for the change of dynasties and revealed auspicious signs.

The two dragons traveled east together and met in the river. After the rivers joined, each dragon tried to go first, and neither would yield. They fought on the riverbed. The waters of both rivers were blocked, and the waves surged wildly. More than a thousand households along the banks were flooded within a single day. With no time to escape, they cried out in anguish for help, their voices carrying far and wide.

I happened to witness this scene. First, I sent out ten thousand Yin soldiers—troops from the underworld—to hold back the raging flood. Then I entered the water myself to mediate the dispute. I said to the two dragons, “Heaven’s mandate has changed, replacing the De I once received. Even I still find it hard to let go of old grievances, and the spirits everywhere feel the same. How much more so for the two of you? You are fighting over who has the right of way, but the disaster is falling on the people. If my troops had not held back the flood, perhaps not a single person in this region would have survived. The Supreme Emperor takes the preservation of life as his foremost concern. What good would regret do after lives have already been lost?”

The two dragons replied, “We respectfully accept your instruction.” I sent them on their way together and arranged that, when they returned from paying their respects to the sea god, we would settle the matter jointly. On the day they returned, I presided over a covenant with them. We swore an oath beneath the sky, and I pointed to two large stones, one in the east and one in the west, commanding them to stand upright. In an instant, the two stones rose up, facing each other.

I warned them again: “Since the dragons of the two rivers have agreed to reconcile, let Heaven and Earth bear witness: this oath must not be changed. If these two stones become one, today’s covenant may be voided. Otherwise, part ways and withdraw.”

Fengshan, Chapter Fifty-Two

A mother carries a child in her womb for ten months and brings that child into the world. How easy can that be? Every layer of muscle in her children’s bodies bears the debt of their mother’s nurture.

Because one sincere remark went against my ruler’s wishes, I was imprisoned for two years and made to suffer this calamity.

If my soul had not flown free in a dream, how could I have reached the mountain’s edge to take shelter from the rain?

The bond between mother and child is rooted in Heaven’s natural order and human affection. In old age, one should stay by one’s mother and offer her delicious food, fulfilling one’s duty of filial piety.

In the area of Guoshan lived a wealthy man named Wang Ji, who had reached fifty without having a son. One day, after eating and drinking his fill, he said to his wife, Madam An, “People seek wealth and rank so that, while alive, they may have food and clothing, and after death, someone to make offerings to them. Though we are wealthy, we have no son. What use is wealth and rank to us?”

Madam An was also the daughter of a wealthy family. She had never borne a child, and was stern and jealous by nature. Hearing her husband’s words, she felt ashamed. She took money from her dowry chest and bought a girl named Liu to serve her husband. A year later, Liu became pregnant, and Madam An was delighted. Day and night she burned incense and prayed to Heaven and Earth, wholeheartedly wishing for the Wang family line to continue. Once she learned of Liu’s pregnancy, she gave Liu her own clothes and jewelry to wear, and cared for her meals, daily needs, and pregnancy with the greatest attention. As the birth drew near, she arranged in advance for a midwife to be ready. Liu gave birth without difficulty to a boy, and Madam An was overjoyed.

Madam An personally handled the child’s feeding, diapering, and washing after he relieved himself, cherishing him as though he were her own. Wang Ji considered Madam An virtuous. When the child reached one hundred days, they named him Yishou, a name that also expressed Madam An’s hopes. Afterward, Madam An hired a wet nurse to feed him.

Someone said to Liu, “You and the mistress were once master and servant. Since you came to her household, you have wanted for nothing; your food, clothing, and comforts are no different from hers, all because of her child. Now your child is nearly a year old. She will find a matchmaker for you and marry you into a good family.” Liu wept and said, “That is not what I want. I wish to stay with Yishou until I die.”

Madam An heard this and was very displeased. “Do you want to compete with me for this child?” she said. Soon she began to beat Liu, took away her clothes, and gave her only coarse, poor-quality food, treating her as worse than livestock. When calling for her, she used the name of an animal, and she assigned her every arduous and exhausting task as punishment.

When Yishou was three, he ran into Liu’s arms one day, and mother and son wept together. Liu said, “For the sake of my child, I have endured hunger, cold, and hard labor without complaint. But lately…”