《谷神篇》

The preface to the Gushen Pian says that when the enlightened rulers of high antiquity governed the realm, they first secretly transmitted the Way of the immortals to their successors. When rule became hereditary within a single house, this Way was no longer passed on, and its transmission ended with Yu. After that, the Way became scattered among recluses beyond the world, who passed it down by word of mouth rather than committing it to writing.

In the Zhou dynasty, Laozi wrote five thousand words. Their language was ancient and obscure, and their meaning profound. Who but an immortal or a sage could grasp their subtleties? Lie Yukou and Zhuang Zhou understood them as emptiness and Wuwei (non-action); Gai Gong and Cao Can understood them as stillness and Wuwei. These interpretations were not fully correct, but they had not strayed far from the Dao.

Regrettably, three distortions arose later. First, the school of Shen Buhai and Han Fei steered Daoist thought toward harsh punishments and severe laws, with little compassion or kindness. This was the error of the School of Names and Laws. Second, Kou Qianzhi of the Northern Wei compiled Daoist scriptures. Since there were few Daoist texts at the time, he mixed them with books on occult techniques, Fushui (the practice of drawing talismans and consecrating water), medicines, divination, and chenwei (theories predicting good and ill fortune). Third, before Buddhism entered China, the teachings of recluses beyond the world fell into two categories: the study of immortals concerned “life” and belonged to Yang, while Daoist teachings concerned “nature” and belonged to Yin. The Yiwenzhi (Treatise on Literature) in the dynastic histories catalogued the two separately. Though its treatment was imperfect, the two traditions were indeed distinct.

Those who believed they had awakened to the Dao became bound by their own doctrines and could no longer discern the difference. They even claimed that the heart and kidneys within the human body were Kan and Li, lead and mercury, and that by making them join, one could refine the Golden Elixir. In this way, they misled the ignorant, like the blind leading the blind. The author laments that this is truly regrettable.

The author says he has carried this sense of injustice for more than twenty years, yet could never find anyone to confide in. Recently, he met Master Lin, the Dark Nest Hermit of the Three Mountains. They took to one another as soon as they began to talk, as if they had finally found kindred spirits after a thousand years, and he was deeply grateful. Master Lin also showed him the Sanxuan Pian. He read it with reverence and was profoundly moved. He then wished to have it printed and circulated so that all who study the Dao might benefit. But he had repeatedly fallen into poverty and could not raise the funds needed for printing. He therefore sincerely invites people of standing and all who are willing to help bring this work to fruition, so that its teachings may illuminate generations to come.

Long ago, Perfected Lord Jingyang, an immortal revered in Daoism, left a mysterious prophecy: a thousand years later, eight hundred earthly immortals—people who had achieved success in cultivation while still dwelling in the human world—would appear among the Five Mounds. Surely that time has now come! This book hopes that those who read or hear it will gain confidence and awaken their understanding, sincerely await the true transmission, and be able to take the Great Elixir of the Dragon and Tiger, an internal alchemical elixir symbolized through concepts such as Yin-Yang and lead and mercury. They will then enter the ranks of the immortals directly, fulfill the prophecy, and pass through the gate to long life and enduring clarity. Is this not what a person of great resolve strives for? Fellow practitioners, let us not give up on ourselves.

In the summer, sixth month, of the Yiyou year of the Yan’you era (1315), Zhao Sixuan, from Zhaozhou, respectfully wrote this for Jing Shu of Shanshan, at the Hao River in Linchuan.

I have heard that cultivating the Dao can make one an immortal, practicing Chan can make one a Buddha, and studying Confucianism can lead to official service. These are the great studies pursued by people of ambition; their only concern is that they may fail to attain them. The underlying principle runs through Daoist cultivation, medicine, and governance. Without principle in the world, the Dao would have nothing to rest upon, and there would be no grounds even to force a name upon it.

Human life cannot ultimately escape old age and death. Cultivating the Dao means cultivating oneself; refining the elixir means refining body and spirit. The wise know how to gain from this, while the foolish bring harm upon themselves. Why is that? The human body is born from its parents. When the parents’ Original Yang, the vital energy at the root of life, comes together, it forms the body, which gradually grows to a height of about six feet. From this we can see that the body has its own source of generation; it cannot be conjured from nothing through deliberate visualization.

Around the age of fifteen, the body is like the sun and moon arriving at the new and full moons: lead and mercury, terms in internal alchemy that symbolize the Yin-Yang essences, are abundant, as though the furnace and vessel for refining the elixir were complete. After this stage, the body gradually declines. Add the disturbances of desire, and Jing and Qi inevitably diminish. Before reaching middle age, one’s face is already worn and one’s hair falling out—a truly lamentable sight. Thus the ancient perfected immortals made clear that the two Qi of Yin and Yang that constitute the human body are precisely the fundamental ingredients on which cultivation and refinement depend.

This teaching guides people to infer the principles that correspond to things of the same kind, thereby advancing their cultivation. It compares Qi with Qi and uses lead to prolong life. Its meaning is simply the principle of “sealing the furnace and mending the altar”: as one repairs a furnace cauldron or ritual vessel, so one tends and replenishes oneself. This is the Way of reduction and increase: reducing or adding according to the circumstances.

Some foolish people in the world are poorly endowed with good fortune. They do not know that the body is worth cherishing and life worth treasuring. They do not understand how to guard the original celestial vitality within themselves—the fundamental Qi that sustains life—and instead pray for longevity to statues of gods carved from wood or molded from clay. This shows that they do not understand the principle. They waste their efforts in harsh exertion. Some wear coarse cloth and eat poor food, enduring hunger and cold. Others pursue the formless Dao, exhausting their bodies and sitting motionless for long periods, holding their hands in a firm posture and regulating their breath, yet gaining nothing. Still others talk idly about profound principles and argue over who is right, treating writing essays and debating as the work of cultivation. They concern themselves only with verbal dealings with others and remain bewildered into old age, all because they refuse to reflect and awaken. Some even injure their bodies and destroy their lives, only to stray further and become more confused. Seeing the world in turmoil and knowing that death is unavoidable, they let deluded thoughts multiply and fabricate false doctrines out of nothing.

Some say that having a body means being tainted by all kinds of worldly things, and that the body itself is illusory. Others speak of life and death, saying that all who are born must perish, that seeking life is mere attachment to life, and that it is better to regard extinction as the greatest joy. Some say that the Yin soul after death is the “true original self,” neither born nor destroyed, neither increased nor diminished. Others say that a single point of spiritual awareness remains clear and pure, dwelling forever in the void. These claims contradict one another. Those who believe them regret having treated the body as the source of suffering, yet cannot truly relinquish themselves. Those who burn the crown of the head, cut off their arms, maim their limbs, or cast their bodies into water or fire have likewise been deluded into seeing life as unreal.

Some wait for old age and the end of their allotted years, only to be mocked as senile and decrepit. How could they know that after death, the hun and po wander in the netherworld, where their fate is bleak and they suffer according to their own thoughts and perceptions? Those who die in war, though they no longer have bodies after death, still seek offerings of blood and food to settle their souls. Those who die of hunger, though they no longer have mouths after death, still seek measures of rice and cakes to ease their hunger.

Those who die violent deaths have no physical form, yet offerings of blood and food are still made to them to settle their departed souls. Those who starve to death have no mouths after death, yet grain cakes are still offered to ease their hunger. Those who die without enough clothing to cover themselves have no bodies after death, yet money, silk, and garments are still presented to conceal their shame. Those who drown have no salary to speak of after death, yet cornered millet dumplings—millet wrapped in wild rice leaves—are still offered as sacrificial fare. Those who die of paralysis or malignant sores have no backs after death, yet straw figures are still used to seal away their pain. Fetuses who die after burial have no flesh or blood after death, yet orchid basins—vessels for ritual water—are still used to wash away their impurity. As for those who hang themselves, drown, die unjustly of wounds, or perish in prison or on the road, there are also rites for summoning the soul, providing a substitute, and freeing the dead from suffering. The wise should examine these practices carefully. What joy can there be in the path of death and extinction?

A person lives in the world with a body; each day alive brings a day’s joy, and living one year longer adds a year’s wisdom. The deeper one’s wisdom and insight, the more one can commune with the spirits. What joy can there be in the path of death and extinction? A person lives in the world with a body; each day alive brings a day’s joy, and living one year longer adds a year’s wisdom. With far-reaching wisdom and insight, one can commune with the spirits—these are things one may hope to attain.

Thus, folk say that when a fox cultivates itself into a spirit, it can learn to speak like a human; when a python has lived through many years, it can summon winds and rain; sandalwood and cypress trees develop their fragrance only after growing for a long time; and clams can produce pearls only by holding the fluid within them. How much more should human beings, creatures endowed with spirit, study the Dao to preserve their lives? The human body is the pivot of the spirit; how could one fail to refine and nourish the body in hopes of attaining the Dao of immortality?

The so-called Dao is already present in everyday speech and worldly affairs, yet its principles are exceedingly subtle, and the workings of change encompass both movement and stillness. Here, familiar things are used only as comparisons. Without setting one’s thoughts aright and seeking to learn with sincerity, few will ever understand. Could such a principle really be something that a person of my modest capacity may hear? The Immortals’ Scripture says, “The Way of Losing Oneself in Laughter is not fit to discuss with those of shallow understanding.” Only those of the highest wisdom have the ability to bring the Dao to full expression.

I was born into the Lin family of Fujian. When I was young, war broke out, and resentment arose among my relatives; we were scattered from one another. I wanted to learn the Confucian ways of self-cultivation and conduct, but did not know where to begin. I wanted to enter the Buddhist community, yet feared having no one to rely on. Later, like tumbleweed, I wandered from place to place through all kinds of hardship. Poor and lowly in my youth, I did many kinds of manual labor.

By chance, I came across the Huangdi Neijing (Inner Classic of the Yellow Emperor) and felt as though I had understood it long before. I then devoted myself to seeking the Dao, enduring a hard life and exiling myself among lakes and seas. For a long time I accepted, as they came, days of hunger, cold, and toil. Fortunately, I met a person of the Dao who took pity on me and showed me the essentials of cultivating the true Dao. Only then did I understand that self-cultivation is the most important work.

Afterward, I read through many kinds of classics and sought out different views wherever I could. I thought that if one seeks long life, one must begin with the source of life; and if one seeks to know the Tathagata—the Buddhist title for an enlightened one—one should investigate one’s original nature. The source of life is primordial Qi; one’s original nature is essence and blood. When the root is understood, one’s efforts will not be wasted, just as food and drink answer hunger and thirst, and medicine treats illness. Only by grasping the principle of what is constant and true can one cultivate the Great Dao with firm resolve.

If one speaks only in vague generalities, follows mistaken views, and believes that accumulating causes and conditions for future lives and cultivating blessings for the next life are enough, then one will regard the body and mind of this present life as useless. Without cultivation, there can be no realization; in the end, all returns to emptiness.

A close reading of the alchemical texts and the writings of the masters shows that, among their discussions of the Reverted Elixir—refining and nourishing essence and Qi until they congeal as the internal elixir—and the Great Medicine, the most essential method concerns the spirit water and flower pond, terms for the movement and convergence of essence and Qi in internal alchemy. These are the foundation of the various alchemical methods and the source of the Great Dao. Quieting the mind and maintaining awareness is called the “Precious Pearl”; bringing them into convergence is called the “Golden Elixir.” The teachings of a thousand lineages are fundamentally connected; each simply uses poetry and prose to express its intent. When one’s practice is fully refined, one can explain the principles clearly and fluently, and one’s words seem to come from the spirit. I am ashamed that I have not yet reached this point.

As for the specific measures of timing and weights, the worthy masters of earlier generations have already discussed them, and I dare not add further complications. I feel fortunate merely to have heard the supreme Dao, and unqualified to presume to comment on it. Yet I fear letting the years pass in vain. I plan to return to the islands and dwell among mountain cliffs and caves, making this my resolve to bring worldly affairs to a complete end.

I often think of friends from the past. They are scattered far and wide, as distant as the ends of the earth, and I cannot bid each of them farewell in person. So I have had to gather a few simple, unpolished words and send them to kindred spirits, recalling what has passed and sharing some of my own thoughts.

For this reason, I have titled this piece “The Spirit of the Valley.” It speaks only of how to nurture the original Qi (vital energy). Though its language is plain and rough, it still contains principles of creation and transformation. If a fellow seeker who understands these matters reads it and grasps its meaning in the heart, it may accord inwardly with the mysteries of the Dao (the Way). If you find any awkward wording or shortcomings in its intent, please do not hesitate to correct me.

The Daoist methods I have inherited come through a teacher’s lineage: they continue the line of Han Xiaoyao, and I studied under Master Yu of Lu’an Hermitage. My teacher’s nature was difficult to distinguish as ordinary or sage; his movements and whereabouts were unfathomable, sometimes manifest and sometimes hidden. I was born into humble circumstances and have long been frail, so I worry that my blessings are slight. Cultivation depends both on oneself and on Heaven’s mandate. Since I cannot yet leave the world of ordinary life, to name my teacher might bring discredit upon his lineage; therefore I dare not write his name. I only hope to become a worthy student of the Dao.

On the day in the winter solstice when Yang Qi first arose, in the Jiachen year of the Qing era’s eighth great virtue, the fifth blessings, Mysterious Nest Master, Lin Yuan, Divine Phoenix, wrote this preface.

The Spirit of the Valley, Volume One

By the fifth blessings, Mysterious Nest Master, Lin Yuan, Divine Phoenix

Poem on the Great Medicine and the Returning Elixir

A human life may span a hundred years, yet reaching seventy is already rare. Hair turns white at the temples and teeth fall out: a sorrowful sight. The Buddha awakened long ago and cultivated without clinging to any state; the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning, however, ever kept in his heart the wish to save the world and took action.

Su Jin discussed Chan principles yet still feared death; when Shao Yong fell gravely ill, he too sought a physician and treatment. How lamentable that foolish people investigate the character “nonbeing,” while many heroes and eminent men lose their way in the process, as if bewitched by ghosts.

When you hear of the Great Dao, without a teacher’s guidance it is hard to dispel your doubts, and the spirit-water is hard to bring into the Flower Pool. If you do not yet know how to gather and refine lead and mercury in the Moon Grotto, do not speak idly before others of Kan and Li. Here, “spirit-water,” “Flower Pool,” “lead and mercury,” and “Kan and Li” are terms from Neidan (internal alchemy). They refer respectively to symbols for the vital energies, parts of the body and mind, or Yin-Yang substances used in cultivation, rather than to water, minerals, or directions in their ordinary senses.

Like rotting grass transformed into fireflies, life is brief, and birth and death are impermanent. Like the man who waited by a tree stump for a rabbit, one who only knows how to wait awakens too late. If you have not yet refined the Return Elixir—the central elixir of Neidan practice—your hair may already have turned white. In the end, you can only stand by helplessly, sighing as you await death.

Harmonizing lead and mercury, terms in Neidan that symbolize Yin-Yang, Jing, and Qi, is essential to laying the foundation of the Elixir. They must also be blended according to a set method until they become one. Once you understand that Wood and Metal must work together, you must bring Geng and Jia—terms from the sexagenary cycle that here express the timing and sequence of Yin-Yang coordination in Neidan—into harmony.

The Metal Lord, who often symbolizes lead or the Yang aspect, marries into the family as the son-in-law of the Azure Dragon, which symbolizes Wood and Yang Qi. The Old Maiden, often a symbol of mercury or the Yin aspect, marries the White Tiger, which symbolizes Metal and Yin Qi. Then the Yellow Matron, who represents the mediator that harmonizes Yin and Yang, brings them together as agreed, and the Elixir—the “knife and measure”—forms in the depths of the mysterious and profound.

Investigate the path to the Mysterious Pass, the crucial point in Neidan where body, mind, essence, and Qi converge, and you will learn how to refine the Return Elixir. Bore open primordial chaos so that clear Qi separates from turbid Qi; wash away worldly confusion so that the sacred and the ordinary become distinct.

Through gentle warming and nurturing, the liquid Metal—the Jing and Qi gained through practice—naturally grows warm. Then, through cooking and refining, mercury, a term for the transformation of Jing and Qi in Neidan, becomes dry and firm. Grasp clearly the meaning of the transmission from the West, and you will understand that the Dragon and Tiger, symbols of the two Yin-Yang forces, are called two, yet must work together.

Having received the Immortal Elder’s wish-granting ladle, diligently channel the water and nurture the spiritual seedling. Wash the hidden depths with hot spring water so that damp, yin creatures such as toads may be cleansed. The bright moon shines continually, and the Crow and Magpie Bridge—the passage where Yin and Yang meet and Jing and Qi flow between them—remains ever full.

The effort to cultivate the true Dao is no easy matter; even traveling to the ends of the earth may not lead you to a worthy teacher. Whenever you meet a person of the Dao, ask them about the correct method. Do not imitate those who refuse to speak and only deceive themselves.

When the Yin and Yang Qi of parents unite, they produce offspring. When mercury and lead, these two forms of Jing and Qi, unite, they form the Return Elixir. I urge you to seek the Mysterious Female in earnest: a Daoist term for the source from which all things arise, and for the crucial meeting point of Yin and Yang in cultivation. To seek it outside the body is to follow heterodox teachings.

A father’s Jing and a mother’s blood are the roots of mercury and lead. The body itself already contains the Primordial Venerable, one of the exalted deities of Daoism. Learn to discern the Return Elixir and recognize the true wondrous medicine; distinguish the orthodox method that draws near to the Dao from the heterodox path that strays from it.

Milk is where blood resides, and so it should be drunk. Black substances are where Jing and Qi reside, and so they should be taken without delay. Hold fast to the One, the state of single-minded abiding cultivated in Daoism, and practice the way of ease and joy. Why worry that life and nature cannot endure?

Planting and eating the Peaches of Immortality is like stealing the power of Nature’s transformations, so that one’s youthful face remains forever as if refreshed by the spring breeze.

Milk is where blood resides, and so it should be drunk. Black substances are where Jing and Qi reside, and so they should be taken without delay. Hold fast to the One and practice the way of ease and joy. Why worry that life and nature cannot endure?

Planting peaches that promise immortality is like secretly stealing the Creator’s craft, so that one’s face remains forever as captivating as someone intoxicated in the spring breeze. Laying out a bewildering formation like those of Guigu is like someone in the Doushuai Heaven, a Daoist celestial realm, asking the way to the Palace of Ultimate Bliss.

Fearing that cutting and gathering materials might damage the source, one guards it in secret, yet even in old age still hopes for an inexhaustible harvest. Flowers bloom and fade; there is no need to pluck them. Simply watch from afar and let them unfold and wither in their own time.

The original aspiration in cultivating the Dao was to prolong life. But without receiving the transmission of Daoist methods, one turns in vain to Chan meditation. If one mistakes the fleeting images before one’s eyes for reality and keeps chasing after them, one will come to despise the body as too fragile.

When Hun departs and Po disperses, what remains is merely a ghost. Only by refining Po and returning it to Hun can one be called an immortal. The teachings passed down through generations of masters all make the same point: they instruct people to seek “lead in the water country,” a Neidan term for a vital ingredient or vital energy needed in alchemy.

People of wealth and poverty each cultivate the Dao according to the causes and conditions of former lives. The poor cultivate Qi; the rich cultivate the body. If one refines Qi alone and it separates from the body, one becomes a Yin ghost. If one makes the body firm and preserves life, this is called the Valley Spirit, a wondrous state that nourishes life and accords with the Dao.

To bring the Way of nature and life to completion, one must understand the function of lead; otherwise, it is difficult to sustain a life of abundance. Only upon meeting an immortal master and learning about the ingredients does one grasp the subtlety involved. Cultivation has its proper methods and requires seeking ingredients that correspond to one another. Speaking only of cultivating Qi while understanding nothing else is useless, even if one repeats it to others.

One studies immortality because one abhors death; thus one sets up the cauldron and furnace as the great plan for cultivation. Hold fast to the alms bowl and subdue the “Water Mother,” a Neidan term for the Yin vital energy that must be regulated in cultivation. There is no need to rely on lamps or jars to prolong a lonely, desolate life among the grave mounds.

For nine years one embraces the Dao, passing through three thousand days; for twelve years one cultivates the Elixir, passing through twelve autumns. To contend with the skeleton for the breath that makes one hungry and weak, one must persist in abstaining from “earth buns,” a saying about grave soil or eating earth, used here as a metaphor for cultivators who do not depend on ordinary food.

Sitting in dry meditation and clinging to precepts, without understanding the principles involved, leaves one lost in the end. Without a furnace and cauldron, Li and Kan—the trigrams that often signify Water and Fire—cannot bring about the reversals and transformations. To preserve life, one must especially seek cinnabar within sand; to refine and nourish the body, one must make use of lead within water.

When guarding the Elixir Qi, one should often remain in a state between wakefulness and drunkenness. In applying the skill of regulating the firing process, restlessness is most to be avoided; one should be calm as if asleep. If one clings to outward forms such as sitting upright or attaining perfection, thinking they will bring the Dao to completion, one is like a prisoner locked in a death cell who still dreams of becoming an immortal.

Mount Sumeru can be tucked into a mustard seed, and a needle cast into the sea can be found; but once the human body is lost, it is hard to obtain again. To fulfill the boundless compassion of Guanyin, everything depends on the steadfast resolve of a sage’s worthy successor: the “second sage,” one who is just below a sage.

The legend of Nüwa mending Heaven and refining stones reveals the work of transformation. Boiling seawater to make salt can also serve as a metaphor for extracting the essence. If this teaching is disclosed carelessly, the ways of the world will lose their distinction between past and present.

Taiyi, the source of the cosmos and the highest Dao, contains wondrous, numinous Qi and transforms into the Jade Perfected. Immortals dance, their sleeves in motion, while their robes remain untouched by the dust of the mortal world. The Lead-Flower Maiden lowers her radiance; the Golden-Millet Tathagata appears in a dignified, subtle form.

By aiding the world and benefiting all beings, one can realize a state as pure as white gold. If this principle is disclosed carelessly, human feeling in the world will lose its distinction between past and present and its abiding standards.

Taiyi contains wondrous, numinous Qi and transforms into the Jade Perfected. Immortals dance, their sleeves in motion, while their robes remain untouched by the dust of the mortal world. The Lead-Flower Maiden lowers her radiance; the Golden-Millet Tathagata appears in a dignified, subtle form.

To benefit all things and accomplish merit is the highest good. Refining and nourishing the body, and bringing it into harmony with the Dao, can elevate the life and spirit. If bamboo records and historical annals are unclear, what is there to blame? A cultivator who is resolute yet bears the guilt of taking life has acted against the purpose of the Way.

In the Purple Palace, an immortal realm or divine residence within the body, lies quail fat, fragrant and tender as jade. In a dwelling of fine jade is mellow wine that can restore the soul. Harmonize and regulate the two opposing forces, and use them to refine the Elixir. Once the work is complete, hold to it without loss; then life can be nourished and prolonged.

Sip and rub the Luohou, a term from cultivation arts; swallow the Jade Formula, a mnemonic used in guiding practice or ingesting Qi; gently nourish Yuebo, a Daoist star name also used in internal cultivation; and guard the Pearl Pouch. Refine the inner elixir described in the Huangting Jing, and you will gain an immortal’s standing, like one who bears a golden fish pouch—a far greater distinction than taking an official post or becoming a farmer.

The fool who casts off worldly learning awakens to the truth that life is a dream in the Kingdom of Huai’an. Moonlight, like the radiance of the toad, shines back, and the Jade Hall opens wide. In the monastery, the Moon Sister raises a cup to pour wine, just as the Heavenly Child arrives to ask for food.

Hang upside down like a white serpent, breathing in and out the Seven Luminaries—the sun, moon, and five planets. Ride crosswise on a black tiger and ascend the Three Terraces, a stellar office that also symbolizes high rank. If one is not a person of supreme numinosity under Heaven, who would dare claim to have received an immortal’s investiture?

The fool who casts off worldly learning awakens to the truth that life is a dream in the Kingdom of Huai’an. Moonlight, like the radiance of the toad, shines back, and the Jade Hall opens wide. In the monastery, the Moon Sister raises a cup to pour wine, just as the Heavenly Child arrives to ask for food.

Hang upside down like a white serpent, breathing in and out the Seven Luminaries; ride crosswise on a black tiger and ascend the Three Terraces. If one is not a person of supreme numinosity under Heaven, who would dare speak lightly of such a realm?

Read the Zhouyi Cantong Qi closely and look up to Wei Boyang, traditionally regarded as its author. As for the Way of cultivating the true and restoring life described in the Wuzhen Pian, it must be studied and pondered again and again. The dragon of the Li trigram and the tiger of the Kan trigram enter the crucible; the horse of the Qian trigram and the ox of the Kun trigram keep watch in the inner chamber, the heart of the alchemical or internal practice. These images from the trigrams represent the harmonizing and circulation of Yin-Yang Qi within the body.

A simple recipe for refining mercury calls for crane-grass; to nourish and refine lead, only the “Red Maiden” is needed. When Yin and Yang are paired and each finds its proper kind, the body becomes strong. Relying only on clever devices and using the wrong methods will never bring lasting results.

Break open the vast chaos before the world was divided, and laugh at the Great Void. Reach out and take a mysterious pearl the size of a millet grain, a symbol of the inner elixir or the true seed of the Dao. A sage like a dragon may analyze this principle, yet find words tasteless; a hungry tiger swallows it and rejoices as if it had borne a cub.

If you want to learn how the immortal adept blends the ingredients in the cauldron, how can a gentleman keep away from the kitchen and refuse to tend it himself? Here, cooking is a metaphor for refining the Elixir. Transform living beings, freeing them one by one from birth and death. Understand how to draw out and replenish—to regulate Yin and Yang and adjust the firing times in internal cultivation—and the Jade Vessel, a symbol of the body, mind, or Dantian, will be filled.

The Great Elixir is rarely heard of in the world. Even after reading every wondrous recipe for the Elixir, one must spend many words passing on its instructions. Seek the Red Child, a symbol of pure primordial Qi, in the Flower Pond, the mouth’s saliva or a source of fluid in internal cultivation. Carry him back to the Purple Palace and present him to the Primordial Sovereign, a revered Daoist deity.

After first receiving Qi (vital energy), one must guard the Qi in the abdomen and prevent diarrhea caused by an unbalanced diet. Shen (spirit) gradually gathers in the brain, and thought grows correspondingly more subtle, until even changes in a sneeze can be perceived. The mysteries of cultivating the Dao (the Way) are endless; they have all been revealed here. People are urged to cultivate the Dao with diligence and perseverance.

Many practitioners cannot preserve their true nature. To have aspirations without steadfast resolve is foolish. Even knowing that a precious jade disc is not truly one’s own treasure, they stubbornly insist on refining gold, and in the end bring about their own ruin.

Some use lavish wealth to secure a marriage, arranging for nieces or younger sisters to accompany the bride as dowry; others travel in richly adorned carriages and ride splendid horses, outshining even the majestic Qilin. Such people are readily willing to court danger, driven by arrogance and recklessness. Those who study the Dao should be content with poverty and keep their hearts clear and their desires few.

The scriptures of Daoism and Buddhism are often subjected to endless weighing and comparison of their worth. The Mani jewel, the wish-fulfilling scepter, and the jade Lizi pearl, too, have all become treasures that people chase after. Emperor Wu of Liang, blinded in heart by anger, ultimately failed to obtain what he sought. Emperor Wu of Han, extravagant and indulgent, likewise could not attain long life.

The Buddha Maitreya has a pepper-cloth bag hanging from his staff; Lü Dongbin has a medicine gourd hanging from his branch. Seek out someone truly enlightened, who can untangle the knots of the heart. Let him overturn every attachment and explain things clearly.

The feathered immortals of the towering trees cultivate the fruit of the Dao. At dawn they take in Golden Elixir; at dusk they drink jade nectar. They wash and clarify the numinous essence until it is as clear as autumn water, and gather the Original Spirit until it surpasses the hue of morning frost.

Ghostly flames boil the caves where flying squirrels dwell, and barbarian thunder splits the ridge where the sleeping dragon lies. Since entering the path of cultivation through the Great Treasury and the Yellow Court, one often rides a goat-drawn carriage into the deep green chambers of the inner landscape.

In old age, withdraw to the mountains and forests to study immortality, refining elixirs and preparing medicines to nourish the years that remain. Take the Yin-Yang changes of the Gen and Dui directions as the two strings, and refine lead and mercury through their interaction. Let Qian and Kun encompass the six directions, bringing Yin and Yang together to hold within them the mysterious Qi.

The Earth Demon and the Crouching Hen unite to form the egg of a zhen bird; the Metal Lord bears a gu insect and gives birth to frog-spittle. After a hundred days of bathing and refinement, one busies oneself with changing the elixir furnace. The elixir shifts from white to yellow and is complete after ten months.

Cinnabar and jade slips are matched according to their natures. Dry mercury can contain wet mercury, bringing the two together. Water the treasure tree with golden flowers, and cook jade liquid to cast a tower of jade.

The great thousandfold world undergoes endless transformations, manifesting all kinds of numinous and sacred phenomena. Grasp the single point at the root, and all things become clear. But if one still covets fame, wealth, and profit, never content in one’s heart, one will return as before to the world of dust and chase after them.

When Yin reaches its extreme, Yang Qi begins to arise, and the six pulses fill in response. The image of Thunder over Earth stirs into view, and the pearl of the elixir rises into the palace. When the first line moves, the other lines change with it; once one method of cultivation is understood, the others can be grasped through it as well.

In the Golden Cauldron, lead is used for bathing and the “Weak Water” is cultivated. In the Jade Furnace, fire is advanced, while the “Black Wind” must be avoided. The names differ, but their source is the same. No one recognizes this; it all lies in the Mysterious Pass and its secret essentials.

Without having encountered a true oral instruction, why rush about in confusion? For now, nourish the body with food and drink. Washing and combing in the morning, going to sleep at night: all follow the natural order. Wearing hemp cloth in summer and fur in winter is the ordinary way of adapting to the seasons.

Meat can nourish the spirit and tend the body. Though the human form is like an illusion, it should still be cherished and cared for. Blood, Jing, mucus, and saliva belong to Yin; yet with the right oral instruction and diligent practice, they too can help prolong life.

Travel far to the ends of the earth in search of techniques, planting the Peaches of Immortality; make repeated journeys through Yunmeng and Yangping. Gather the Qi of thunder and bring it back to cultivate, then take in the essence of the stars and constellations and refine it.

Use the method of Najia at the proper time to nourish the withered body, but avoid talk of joining with Geng Metal and the like, turning instead to the technique of igniting mugwort. If you neglect the right path and practice what is called the black path, you will likely never escape the all encompassing net of Heaven.

In seeking the Dao, first seek the “Formless Image,” the unseen and ineffable body of the Dao. Do not casually muddle your explanations with terms such as Dragon and Tiger. So called bedroom arts often conceal mechanisms that repeatedly harm their practitioners. To be consumed by desire is like sitting in meditation at the bottom of a well: the true Dao remains out of sight.

In the womb chamber, red snake like blood Qi is welcomed in; from the tip of the tongue comes a white fluid like the spittle of a wild fox. They treat gold and silk as treasures with which to pass on a wicked path. How much money for mutton must they cheat people out of?

The Three Pure Ones are like examiners holding the imperial examinations, selecting learned men of talent and virtue. When the wicked crowd among them, Daoist methods fall into disorder and danger, and the right path can no longer be upheld. Heaven’s eye is supremely benevolent and can distinguish good from evil; yet worldly circumstances alter people’s understanding, blurring the distinction between the worthy and the foolish.

The Dao aids and supports immortals like Laozi, a rough jade awaiting its carving, and also imparts its methods to true men of courage and integrity. A fine horse is not made fine by admiring verses about the shadow of a whip. To enter the Mysterious Pass in a sudden leap—can it really be so easy?

Becoming an immortal depends on human cultivation, and anyone can achieve it. Those who take up the Dao later should heed admonition, just as wood must be straightened by the carpenter’s line and ink marker. There is no need to cross the sea in hardship to search for divine medicine; renewing the lamp of nature and life is no difficult matter.

Why does the person seeking the Dao receive the wondrous teaching in the southwest, yet lose a companion in the northeast? One should carefully remove the impure and mixed elements in one’s nature, along with the faint disturbances. In daily life, drink only a cup of dark wine—the clear water used in ancient sacrifices, also a name for a plain, tasteless drink—and lie down as one pleases, resting an arm beneath the head. Keep to a simple life.

On the Principle of the One and the True

The Dao originally had no name. Only when there was the One could it be established. The myriad things originally had no form. Only through the One could they come into being. The Dao is the source from which all things receive their nature; the One is like a cord tying fast the root of life.

Those who delight in embodying the Dao but forget the One can attain an enduring status. Those who hold fast to the One and follow the Dao can preserve the pure and good essence of their nature. Thus, the One is the beginning of all numbers, the sign through which the myriad things appear, and the root of all words. The Dao and the One each fully contain the other, encompassing both the root and its expression: the One is the substance, and the Dao its function. Nature is inherently unborn, while life comes into being.

The Book of Changes says: Heaven is represented by Qian, Earth by Kun, valleys by Dui, and the myriad things take on form. The Dao De Jing says: Heaven, upon attaining the One, becomes clear; Earth, upon attaining the One, becomes settled; valleys, upon attaining the One, become full; and the myriad things, upon attaining the One, can grow. Human beings, too, are among the myriad things: by attaining the One, they live; by losing it, they die. They therefore cannot be without the One for even a single day. From this we can understand that the One of Heaven, Earth, and valleys moves back and forth, rises and descends, giving rise to one another; each is at once the end and the beginning of the others.

Although each of the myriad things has its own One, they often abandon it and cannot attain it on their own. In ancient times, Fuxi began drawing the Eight Trigrams, first drawing a solid yang line to make the Qian trigram, signifying strength that does not cease, though it must eventually reach its limit. He then drew another line to pair with it, and the pairing of the two trigrams formed Kun. Some say instead that Qian’s firm line was transformed into Kun’s yielding line, bringing firmness and yielding into balance and stilling movement and rest, so that the myriad things could be settled.

Qian and Kun unite to generate Kan and Li; Kan and Li are the male and female produced by Qian and Kun. When the lower lines of Kan and Li change, Dui and Gen are generated; Dui and Gen are the male and female produced by Kan and Li. When male and female unite, it is like a husband and wife joining together. Only when firmness and yielding are brought into balance and movement and rest are at peace can the myriad things be settled.

When a man and a woman join together, they become husband and wife. When they have children, they become parents. As they grow old, they become parents-in-law. These relationships all reflect the interplay and mutual transformation of the innate and the acquired, which continually give rise to one another in a cycle. Those who care for their bodies rely on particular arts or methods to sustain their lives; those who cultivate nature and life embrace the Dao of Yin-Yang to preserve their spirit; and those who govern a household rely on wives and concubines to keep it in order. All of this is called “attaining the One,” and so body and mind can be at peace.

Laozi embraced the Dao, expounded Dao and De, and set his teachings down in five thousand words. The Dao encompasses wondrous powers, while De accords with hidden principles. De is relatively easy to transmit: Yan Yuan went three months without straying from benevolence, and benevolence also encompasses righteousness and De. Thus De can be passed on. The Dao, however, is difficult to transmit. The “Great Plan” in the Book of Documents speaks of the Five Blessings, the first of which is wealth. Material abundance is also a blessing, and so one may be worthy to receive the Dao. Among those who live between Heaven and Earth, some uphold benevolence and achieve De, while others preserve wealth and receive blessing. Their endowments from Heaven differ.

When goods are given to diviners, their divinations appear efficacious; and lawsuits and criminal cases often involve exchanges of benefit. From this, it seems that the Dao does not prize paying homage to a teacher, and De does not depend on material support. Yet without learning and practice grounded in righteousness, how can one achieve completion, or surpass those who learn only techniques for acquiring wealth? People tend to hold tightly to what is hard to obtain; what is easy to hear, in the end, is simply set aside.

Offering one’s stipend in sacrifice to the soil and grain deities is like paying tribute. Making private sacrifices and invoking spirits to extort money is like accepting bribes. The ancients said that the Dao is not transmitted to people without cause. When seekers of techniques never receive instruction, they sometimes hide books or secretly imitate what they find in them. Those who seek teachers and ask about the Dao for a lifetime without receiving instruction can only blame themselves if they cannot discern the reasons; whom else could they fault?

Some say, “The Dao is not withheld from transmission, nor must one necessarily pay for it. Even a humble and eminent gentleman may despise the Dao after hearing it.”

Immortals, those who have attained the Dao, belong to many different schools. Because they fear that their arts of the Dao will be lost, they pass them on whenever they meet a suitable person. In this way, the arts of the Dao become a burden of concern for the one who transmits them. Those who merely perform purification rites or write books would not dare pass off their own words as Daoist methods. Nor is someone who falsely claims to possess gold worthy of being entrusted with anything.

In former times, some people eagerly sought the Dao, and some attained it and became immortals. They understood honor and disgrace, recognized skill and clumsiness, and were adept at hearing the teachings; at times, they suddenly awakened to them. Even when deceived, they were not easily misled. Today, worldly learning abandons the root and pursues the branches. Having lost the Dao, it turns instead to the pursuit of De. It regards “ten thousand” as the most exalted number among things and “one” as the lowliest. Hearing of “nonbeing,” people hesitate and disbelieve; hearing of “being,” they mock it. The Dao uses “one” as its screen, and “one” has thus become a word the Dao avoids.

Many scholars in the world say they wish to embrace the One, keep to the One, understand the One, and attain the One, yet very few truly take responsibility for the One. It is like seeing a prescription clearly but paying no attention to the ingredients. For this reason, the One is not easily explained in words. When words are insufficient, one turns to song; when song is insufficient, one sighs—yet still cannot express it fully. If those who study the Dao lose the substance and function of the One, it is as people say: “A thousand pieces of gold are easy to obtain, but a single drop of water is difficult to dissolve.”

The people of old who attained the Dao attained the One. Those able to cultivate the supreme, complete Dao can roam through mysterious realms and enter the Gate of the Many Mysteries. They cultivate the Great Mystery’s One, widely dispensing the righteous Qi of Heaven and the talismanic water of primordial unity, used in Daoism to aid the world, in order to help all people. Some say this is using what is abundant to make up for what is lacking; others say it is harmonizing mercury and lead, terms from alchemy, so that neither harms the other. Only foolish men and women corrupt the arts of the Dao and disrupt the true Dao, recklessly harming one another.

When a filial son loses the Dao, he may cut flesh from his thigh to save his parents, and father and son both end up dead. Do they not know that the One must not be given away carelessly? The scriptures say: “The arts of the Dao have three thousand six hundred gates; attain any one of them, and all matters can be brought to completion.” Thus, the One is the master key to the Mysterious Pass, the gateway to the hidden realm.

Thus, “One” is the master key that opens the Mysterious Pass—the crucial point for discerning the subtle principles of cultivation—and the lamp that, in a moment of awakening, illuminates the heart and spirit. No pass cannot be opened by it, and no place, however deep or distant, cannot be brought to light. Yuan Su explored the profound principles and did not attain the Dao until middle age. He keenly felt how much hardship his earlier study and searching had involved, and was later fortunate to receive guidance from many sources. Without making the effort oneself, one cannot understand; without having suffered a loss, one cannot truly awaken. He carefully recorded what he had learned, hoping in this way to help all beings cross over.

Quatrains on the Practice and Timing of the Fire Phases

The secret formula for longevity exists, but it cannot be attained by sheer force of effort. Yet to do nothing but wait is to miss the opportunity when impermanence—death—comes near. Even when mercury and lead, terms from alchemy, are mentioned, people may dismiss them with a laugh. How, then, could they recognize the true “master” of cultivation, the root that governs body and mind?

The Metal Essence and Wood Fluid—two medicines or energies represented in alchemy by Metal and Wood—originally dwell in separate directions, then are moved into the earthen crucible, which symbolizes the furnace where the medicines are harmonized. Who can rival this alchemical work, which brings the Five Phases back to a single root?

As the numinous sprout gradually grows, the foundation of the Dao is established. When the blossom is at its height, the moon naturally becomes full. This is the vital energy descending from the five directions, also called “true mercury” and “lead.”

Within the sun is a crow, belonging to Yin Metal and appearing red; within the moon is a jade hare, belonging to Yang Fire and appearing white. Only by refining the crow’s essence together with the hare’s blood can the Elixir form. Ordinary mercury and lead in the world cannot be made into an Elixir through firing alone.

The sun’s soul is in the eastern Mao position, which corresponds to the hare; the moon’s spirit is in the western You position, which corresponds to the rooster. To return to the root and establish the foundation in alchemy, one need only restore the positions of the rooster and hare to their proper correspondence with west and east.

The Lady of the Six Ren, a goddess associated with the Six Ren arts of divination, descends from the Jade Terrace and transforms into Xuanji, Yuebo, and Thunder—celestial bodies or symbols in astronomy and divination. She accidentally touches the Yellow Chamber, which symbolizes the inner alchemical palace where transformation takes place, and then ascends away. If lead restrains her, she forms an embryo.

The sun’s soul is in the eastern Mao position, which corresponds to the hare; the moon’s spirit is in the western You position, which corresponds to the rooster. To return to the root and establish the foundation in alchemy, one need only restore the positions of the rooster and hare to their proper correspondence with west and east.

The Lady of the Six Ren descends from the Jade Terrace and transforms into Xuanji, Yuebo, and Thunder. She accidentally touches the Yellow Chamber and wishes to ascend, but cannot leave. Bound by lead, she eventually forms an embryo. Through images of a goddess, celestial bodies, and “lead,” these lines describe the process in Neidan cultivation by which Qi is constrained and congeals into an embryo.

Lead and mercury join one another, and with the aid of the Four Spirits—symbols of the four directions or four protective forces—they refine a wondrous sacred embryo. The place where lead and mercury unite is like an empty chamber, a state of stillness that can give birth to transformation. From it, form is continued and a true Qi as firm as dragon bone is born.

The firing times of the microcosmic orbit—the measured course and advance or retreat of the breath in Neidan cultivation—are not difficult to understand. When ash flies from the reed tubes used to sense the seasonal nodes, it corresponds to the hour of Zi. Only the Yellow Matron, the mediating force that harmonizes lead and mercury, can see through the changes involved. The waxing and waning of the moon in a woman’s monthly cycle can also serve as a metaphor for the growth and decline of Yin and Yang.

The peaches of immortality at the mouth of Wuling Stream are ripe, and the fiery dates on Mystic Melody Mountain have turned red. Once the dark smoke and slanderous rain—the haze and turbid Qi of the refining process—have dispersed, gather these fruits to nourish the old immortal.

Everyone has a pot of liquid silver, a metaphor for the Jing and Qi within the body that can be cultivated. Young or old, all possess this foundation; how could anyone be without it? Sadly, people often cast it aside without care, letting the precious “Pearl of Preserved Youth,” a metaphor for the vital Neidan essence, slip away for nothing.

It is not difficult to quiet the mind; what is difficult is to make Kidney Qi descend. To preserve Jing and Qi for a hundred days is already no small feat. Eating too much at night in cold weather can bring on worry and nocturnal emissions. One should seek the “Great Medicine” early—the refined substance of Jing and Qi in Neidan practice—to kindle the Yang within the elixir field.

Accumulating Jing and Qi and preserving primordial Qi must not be delayed or neglected. Only when primordial Qi is abundant can it nourish the body and bring harmony to the hundred vessels. So many foolish people lack the good fortune to preserve their primordial Qi, yet dare to praise the effects of moxibustion, burning mugwort to treat the navel.

Never take the path of sexual harvesting, using intercourse to gather and replenish vitality. Do not imagine that this so-called “dead gate” can yield life. The Lesser Yin cauldron—the place within the body where Jing and Qi are refined—contains treasures without end; this aspiration need not belong only to those who strive to outdo others.

The Pool of Salty Waters, a legendary place here associated with women, is the abode of water immortals; a single lovely peach tree can bloom a thousand times. Many have lost their lives through greed for plucking its blossoms, leaving their wives and concubines at home in mourning.

In old age, some still linger among the flowers and seek young women, thinking they can thereby prolong life. The Lesser Yin cauldron holds treasures without end; this aspiration need not belong only to those who strive to outdo others.

The Pool of Salty Waters is the abode of water immortals; a single lovely peach tree can bloom a thousand times. Many have lost their lives through greed for plucking its blossoms, leaving their wives and concubines at home in mourning.

In old age, to linger among the flowers and seek young women—how could the heart of the Dao rival a heart bent on lust? Such conduct is like taking dangerous risks in war and consorting with ghosts: it is often perilous. An aging man sleeping naked with a fierce tiger in his arms is an apt image of the danger.

The ancients said to love virtue as one loves beauty. People today, by contrast, are lost in delusion from dawn to dusk. Sons of wealthy families urge one another to learn the supposed art of harvesting women’s Yin. They talk of it with great excitement, but in practice it cannot be done.

Men of wealth compete to pursue the beauties of Wu and Yue. They know of the parricide described in the Spring and Autumn Annals, a warning here against violating ethical bonds and harming one’s own family. In old age, the navel suddenly gapes open like a bronze Buddha’s smiling mouth, and all the relics in one’s pouch vanish into nothing.

It would be better if the so-called arts of the bedchamber did not exist at all. Widowers and widows who believe such teachings may instead bring upon themselves the calamity of spouses opposing one another. Driving away evil influences that cling close to the body early is more effective than nailing a peachwood charm to the door.

Understand that Shen and intention may unite without the bodies joining, and illusory desires will fall away of their own accord. This is suitable only for mendicant cultivation and for subduing the Dragon and Tiger—that is, harmonizing Yin and Yang and gathering the mind and body. If desire entangles you, the outcome will be no good.

A single drop from the Immortal Spring of Meng is medicinal. Through bathing and refinement, the ordinary body can become a numinous embryo, the inner life formed through Neidan cultivation. Only by understanding the hinge of returning to the root and restoring life, and by returning to the origin and renewing the primordial, is rebirth possible.

In old age, one may study the mysteries in a half-drunk, half-awake state, yet fail to take in the teachings of the Scripture of Hidden Accord and the Dao De Jing. Since preparing a harmonious soup begins with washing the hands, a person’s original destiny, too, must first be sought through the hinge revealed by the Northern Dipper, the star deity revered in Daoism.

The Dao establishes the foundation of the Elixir through the Mysterious Female (the deep gate that gives rise to the myriad things, also used as a metaphor for the basis of cultivation), then regulates and refines Kan and Li (symbols of Water and Fire, and of Yin and Yang) in the Wuji Palace (a symbol of the central Earth position). Without true Lead to subdue true Mercury, who can nourish what is called the “ghost embryo” (an image in internal alchemy of an unorthodox, unfinished result)?

When primordial chaos first opens, black gradually turns to green. Thereafter, the Elixir is put to work in the Yellow Court (the central palace within the body, and also a place of internal refinement). Drawing out and replenishing (adjusting Yin and Yang and increasing or decreasing the firing process) may seem easy, like the methods of Han Xiangzi; but advancing and withdrawing the firing process is difficult, and requires knowing the proper measure.

When White Snow and Yellow Sprout (symbols of Yin and Yang’s refined energies congealing in internal alchemy) first receive primordial Qi, the evil must be cast out and the upright supported. This is why the process is called “Tusu” (a name suggesting renewal and the expulsion of evil). Some begin seated Daoist cultivation in their youth, yet even when their hair has turned white, they still have not broken open that strange sac—and gain nothing in the end.

The Kui-e (the original term, possibly a technical term for cultivation) turns and moves, seeking Li within Kan and reversing Yin and Yang at the proper time. Only after awakening the “male” (the original text’s term, whose meaning is unclear) can one increase the firing process. One must also carefully distinguish clear water from turbid water at its source, to avoid error.

A sip from the Flower Pool (saliva in the mouth, also a term used in internal cultivation) brings its effects: new hair grows at the temples, and a healthy flush appears on the crown. In a quiet moment, look into the diamond-shaped mirror, and your appearance will seem unlike what it once was.

The River Cart (a method for circulating essence and Qi) carries Qi throughout the body without seeming to end; the work of one cycle appears to equal nine years. In cultivating the Dao, one must hold fast to the Great Dao and nourish oneself, rather than imagine that success can come at once.

The sun, moon, and stars move in their appointed order. Only by closely observing the patterns of Heaven and Earth can one glimpse their subtle principles. Heaven does not fail to grow old; it simply keeps moving without pause. Yet people’s resolve is unsteady, even as they hope to explain everything and achieve success in an instant.

Men refine white essence and transform it into blood; women refine red blood and transform it into essence. Even before becoming an immortal guest of Penglai, one may be called “Infant Brother” and “Maiden” (terms in internal alchemy representing Yin and Yang’s refined energies).

Return to the original mandate of life and restore primordial Qi; preserve and nourish the dark, mysterious energy. The unbroken flow of spirit-water moistens the numinous root. Even in old age, people remain attached to the part of the body that gives rise to life, and at a hundred still think of carrying on the family line.

At thirty, when blood and Qi are strong, people often laugh at those who speak of Daoist methods and Elixir formulas. With rice in the kitchen, cooking breakfast is easy; with no oil in the lamp, working at night is very difficult.

To begin cultivating the Elixir Way at fifty is already too late. When Qi has weakened but the body remains, one is like a walking corpse. How many people have resolved to seek the furnace and vessel (the mind and body as the foundation for refining and nourishing essence and Qi in internal alchemy)? Even now, the furnace and vessel still contain the seed of life.

At thirty, when blood and Qi are strong, people often laugh at those who speak of Daoist methods and Elixir formulas. With rice in the kitchen, cooking breakfast is easy; with no oil in the lamp, working at night is very difficult.

To begin cultivating the Elixir Way at fifty is already too late. When Qi has weakened but the body remains, one is like a walking corpse. How many people have resolved to seek the furnace and vessel? Even now, the furnace and vessel still contain the seed of life.

Since we already have a body, we should care for it. What lies in the future and what lies in the past will ultimately come to nothing. If one insists on cultivating “nothing” from “nothing,” why discuss diagrams of the prenatal state, the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), and the like?

The Buddhist and Daoist paths of cultivation aim to bring nature and life to their fulfillment and release. Their secrets are like treasures hidden in a monk’s alms bowl. Yet some people now arrogantly imagine that they understand these principles. If a monk fails to preserve his original Qi (vital energy), it is hard to say he has attained the true fruit of practice. If a Daoist cultivator knows only ascetic hardship, he is merely attached to inert emptiness.

Simply practicing meditation while seated is not enough. If one treats the supposed ascent of fire and descent of water as proof of success in cultivation, these may be no more than strange phenomena of fox spirits and their kind. Blood nourishes the body, and breath moves through the channels; how, then, could this yield the true “knife and ounce” (a Daoist alchemical term for the elixir obtained through cultivation, or for a crucial formula)?

To reach the immortal realm of Penglai, one must rely on the art of spirit travel. Without truly grasping the wordless Golden Elixir (an elixir cultivated within the body through Neidan, or internal alchemy), one cannot speak of cultivation. If one takes extinction alone to be entry into the Land of Bliss, one will ultimately be no more than dry bones—and Zhuang Zhou, too, would lament this.

Attachment to inert emptiness leads one astray in the end. When the hun and po souls disperse, everything ends with death. Who does not have the dragon and tiger within? Yet people still insist that this body was obtained only through cultivation across many lifetimes.

The cycle of birth and death is like being trapped in a maze of waters. Buddhist teachings guide living beings, urge them to accumulate good deeds, point them toward the Western Land of Ultimate Bliss, and explain that the human body arises from many interdependent causes and conditions.

Where does the essential method lie at the threshold between life and death? Buddhism speaks of returning to extinction; Daoism speaks of ascending to immortality. Such empty talk may sound mysterious, yet it is far removed from reason. That is why people in the world so often revere monks.

Some seek the right month within the year, then choose a day within the month, then wait for the right hour within the day. They tend the alchemical furnace for years, yet still do not understand its principles. On cold nights they gather noisily to regulate one another, claiming they will attain extinction and ascend to immortality. Alone, they guard their Jing (essence) and prevent its loss, yet all they do is speak empty words.

With an aloof temperament, one may wish only to live in seclusion and refuse to study widely. How could one know that even guarding the One (a Daoist practice of focusing the spirit single-mindedly) may lead away from the true path? To regard one’s body as a filthy vessel and conclude that seeking long life is merely delusion is also a form of attachment.

In reciting scriptures, dispelling calamities, and praying to avert misfortune, one should understand the true principles involved rather than repeatedly guessing at them. Those who keep to the Dao and withdraw into seclusion to cultivate water and fire (a Neidan metaphor for the interaction of Yin-Yang in alchemical practice)—where did talk of tigers and wolves, willow rods, and the like come from?

The five kinds of immortals each follow different paths of cultivation. As the Dao of Heaven turns, what sort of affinity will ultimately come to rest upon you? When the virtue of water is at its height, Yin energy governs. Though the mysterious gate is widely expounded, it also contains many arts involving ghosts and spirits.

Daoism speaks of three vehicles and of levels of cultivation involving spirits, ghosts, and immortals. Dying while seated or attaining release while standing cannot transmit the fundamental method for bringing nature and life to their fulfillment and release. A body lying on the ground is still dead in the end. What, then, are those who murmur about mysterious principles actually saying?

Jade liquid congeals and hardens, while golden liquid grows thick. During cultivation, one shuts the doors, turns away visitors, and cuts off contact with others. If one does not guard the spirit closely enough, Jing and Qi will leak away. Visions of receiving visitors or being summoned in dreams may also arise from deluded thoughts; do not mistake them for ill omens.

The Mixed-Origin Talisman Water (talisman water made from Mixed-Origin Qi) and the Mixed-Origin Lamp are both the Black Essence of the Primordial Spirit. Since Lord Xu practiced this method, no one in the world has been able to perform it again.

In the mountains and forests lives a hermit who seeks neither fame nor profit. Since he says that all things will ultimately return to extinction, how could he smile as he waits for everything to disappear?

Whether kings, officials, or worthy scholars and commoners, all should cherish their Jing and Qi and preserve their lives. They must not place their hopes in blessings granted by Heaven. A person’s Jing, Qi, and life are not gifts from Heaven. Burning incense in vain to pray for longevity is futile.

The sun and moon move swiftly, their light entering the Purple Court, the inner place where the spirit and Qi reside during internal alchemy practice. Even amid a busy life, one can practice cultivation. Those in office can uphold the Dao and cultivate without hindrance; the only concern is that some may behave improperly.

The Golden Elixir, the substance formed by refining Jing and Qi in internal alchemy, can restore youth. Seek the mystery at the Life Gate, a crucial site in cultivation, and the Way of nature and life will become clear. If a worn-out shoe is not patched with a piece of leather, even the finest Hao silk or Shu brocade cannot mend it.

Everyone carries cinnabar within—the Jing and Qi that can be refined within the body. Ordinary mercury and ordinary lead, terms in alchemy that here refer to unrefined, commonplace Jing and Qi, cannot be added at will. Those who do not understand the principle merely smelt assorted stones, imagining they can refine the Yellow Sprout, an image in Daoist internal alchemy for the first signs of renewed vitality.

Remain single-minded and steadfast, advancing without rest and never giving up, even at the point of death. Practice with the urgency of a thirsty person seeking water, yet completion remains difficult to attain. To form the Womb of the County, an image in internal alchemy associated with embryonic breathing and the alchemical embryo, one must possess the Perfection of Pāramitā, the wisdom of reaching the other shore. One must also seize the queen bee and place it in the head.

Once the Heavenly Gui and Heavenly Ren, Daoist cultivation terms for Yin and Yang Jing and Qi within the body, are clearly discerned, there is ultimately hope of becoming an immortal. Even if no name is recorded in the Purple Palace, the abode of immortals and, by extension, the place where spirit and Qi reside within the body, I will ultimately succeed in refining mercury and lead, symbols in internal alchemy for Yin and Yang Jing and Qi.

End of Volume One of The Gushen Treatise.

The Gushen Treatise, Volume Two

Composed by Lin Yuan, Divine Phoenix, the Master of the Five Blessings and the Mysterious Nest

Diagram of the Instructions for Pitch-Pot

A wooden arrow is cast into a golden vase; the Qi cavity guides the spirit and Qi back. Only those whose minds and bodies are upright can employ subtle techniques to nourish and develop their cultivation. Luoluzi said, “Those who revere Buddhism leave office and hold fast to their resolve; those who study Daoism seek the mystery in the Water Palace.” These words are well said!

The primordial spirit returns to its origin. Only those whose minds and bodies are upright can employ subtle techniques to nourish and develop their cultivation. Luoluzi said, “Those who revere Buddhism leave office and hold fast to their resolve; those who study Daoism seek the mystery in the Water Palace.” These words are well said!

Diagram of Embracing the Origin and Holding Fast to Simplicity

On the Empty Reputation of Quiet Cultivation

There are roughly five stages in cultivating the Dao, corresponding to different ranks of attainment as an immortal.

Those who cultivate life first preserve and sustain their own vitality. They use the body as the place where the Elixir is refined and Qi as lead and mercury, the two symbolic substances of alchemy. They practice in accordance with the patterns of Yin-Yang change, while taking medicines and regulating their diet to keep the body free from illness. This is called becoming a “human immortal.”

Going further, they use jade talismans to protect the spirit, preserve a generous and unalloyed nature, and grasp the meaning of things without clinging to words. Even while living in the ordinary world, they can attain longevity. This is called becoming an “earth immortal.”

If they can cut off contact with family and friends, conceal their whereabouts to avoid being summoned, and refine the body with liquid gold—a Daoist Neidan practice in which body and spirit are cultivated together—then body and spirit can both reach a subtle and wondrous state. They can thereby become “spirit immortals.”

Going further still, they secretly hold the key to the transformations of creation, bringing the Way of Heaven within themselves. Even when burdened by grave concerns, they observe the mysterious rules and prohibitions of cultivation, avoid attachment to words and actions, practice benevolence widely, and accumulate merit in secret. They wait until Qi is full and spirit complete, transcend into a pure, light, and harmonious form, return to the Grotto-Heavens—the paradisal realms where immortals dwell—and attain the rank of a “celestial immortal.” These four ranks of immortals all begin with the gradual cultivation of life and advance in sequence, so their principles can be tested.

Those who cultivate mind and nature trust in the principle of “nonbeing,” take Qi as their master, and regard the body as a temporary dwelling. They gather in Yin Qi and remain quiet, stilling scattered thoughts and stopping all mental activity. Even when they lack enough food, they do not let this trouble their minds. They see the limbs as a form temporarily occupying its place and the five organs as empty vessels. Through constant practice of seated meditation, they become free of old ailments and feel no weariness.

As the practice begins to take effect, they gradually enter stillness and concentration. Jing and Qi no longer leak away, and the water of mind and nature grows clear. Looking inward, they feel there is no mind within; looking outward, they feel there is no form to the body; looking into the distance, they feel that all things are empty. They are then on the verge of entering true tranquility. The Yang hun gradually fades, while the Yin po grows stronger; the essence of the po and the water of mind and nature both appear luminous. Once stillness and concentration make it possible to forget everything, this is called “entering concentration.” They feel only that they are within a field of light, and in a hazy state seem to have no body. Their mind and nature open into clarity and brightness. This is called “attaining one’s nature.”

At this point the mind is pure and even-tempered, empty and clear. Speech comes aptly in response to circumstances. In a profound and subtle state, one seems able to foresee the good and ill fortune of human affairs, discern the past, and infer the future. Yet one may already be facing danger without realizing it. Some consider this a sign that the Yin spirit has left the body and the spirit-soul has been disturbed, as though a host of demons were arrayed and advancing.

When the mind is forced into action, it only becomes confused. In that confusion, it may seem as though snakes and tigers fill the space before one’s eyes. If there is no special reason for this, yet one insists on it, or is held back by stinginess or doubt, one cannot discern the past or infer the future. Misfortune may already be upon oneself without one’s awareness.

At times, when Yin Qi is depleted and the spirit and soul are disturbed, one may feel that demons are coming in a crowd. Forcing the mind until it becomes confused can make one see snakes and tigers all around. Without a special cause, Yin spirits may attach themselves to a person’s nature, while false and malign Qi enters the body. Ghosts and spirits then drive the person to act, and the person becomes their servant.

The effects of quiet-sitting cultivation, which centers on calming body and mind, can be summed up in one sentence, compared with “embracing the One,” the practice of keeping the mind and spirit unified: “When people can remain constantly clear and still, all beneath Heaven returns to them.” When Yin essence grows strong, corpse demons—delusive phenomena that disturb the body and mind in Daoist cultivation—also grow stronger. Even when someone seems to have let down their guard and fallen into a deep state, they may still find their own way out. This is just what the common saying means: “The Dao rises a foot, the demon rises ten.”

Some cast aside the body and dare to take risks; immersed in fantasy, they no longer feel hunger or cold. Relying on sheer force, they eat a great deal but do not excrete. Forgetting their form, they feel neither pain nor itch. Entering a state like corpse-like collapse, they think they can harm themselves without being injured. When they encounter strange spirits and apparitions, they imagine that even a blade at their throat cannot hurt them. With their Qi in disarray, they pay no heed even to cooking smoke or the hearth fire; with their nature and mind extinguished, they abandon sleep as well. These seemingly advantageous states all arise from disregarding life and acting without fear. They merely create a spectacle and bewilder onlookers, taking one farther from the Dao. They are only temporary, illusory occurrences, and in the end cannot avert death.

As for the sudden movement that follows stillness at its utmost, if one cannot govern it oneself and is instead disturbed by delusion, then one cannot control what follows. One may even give away one’s spirit, displaying strange behavior through speech, song, and verse, then use ritual rules and teachings to proclaim oneself and use outward conduct to instruct the world. Whether one rejects what exists and clings to emptiness, or disparages the true Daoist way, these are all signs of a lost spirit. The desire to compete and prove oneself remains; this does not come from the Great Dao. Even if one claims to have attained the Dao, in truth nothing has been attained.

People live between Heaven and Earth and possess a spirit-like Qi that has been as constant since antiquity as a pool of clear water. The fundamental endowment of life is present in both men and women. When the mind and nature are settled, the spirit-water becomes clear; only when it is clear can it reflect all things. Clear water gathers in low-lying places, where fish and turtles may then appear. A spring in the mountains may give rise to spirits; when the Qi of water gathers, it may also form demons and apparitions.

Popular tradition tells of people skilled in sorcery who enter another person’s home and, merely by gazing into a bowl of water, can cast a spell and steal. How much more might they do with “water imbued with Yin Talismans”—water used as a medium and invested with the arts of Yin Talisman magic?

When practitioners enter a state of empty stillness, with the mind settled in clear and quiet awareness, and possess an innate spiritual foundation, their intent may be single and lucid. They may then come to understand for themselves the methods of “turning the light back upon itself,” gathering the spirit and observing inward, and “returning to life’s root,” going back to the source of life. With closed mouths, they may make offerings to the spirit of Ao; with closed eyes, they may cross a bridge. They may also shift their spirit upward, leave the corpse and enter a shell, and travel without hindrance. In this way, they may attain the Way of the Ghost Immortals and personally realize the fruit of the Emptiness King, a state of empty stillness without obstruction. Yet among ten thousand, scarcely one can achieve this; it is truly exceedingly difficult.

Even if one claims to have succeeded in cultivation, what use is such an achievement if one cannot spare even a bowl of rice porridge to relieve someone’s hunger? When practitioners chase after external things and their minds waver, heterodox arts and strange techniques appear one after another. If they mistake the transformations revealed through clear-minded inward observation, or the words spoken by ghosts and spirits, for their own abilities, they will be left with regret. Once they fear losing these powers, calamity may follow. Who can guarantee that, before the end of their lives, they will never give voice to resentment over this? Alas, what a pity!

The Way of Heaven is always good at nurturing and protecting the myriad things, and so it does not lightly abandon anything. Ghosts and spirits do not remain unchanged forever; if their cultivation of the Way falters, they too will lose their former state. Some say that the path of ghosts easily leads astray and may even bring calamity. One should often reflect: after attaining the Way, Ghost Immortals can neither roam spiritually through the subtle, light realm of the Immortals nor remain in the deep, solid realm of physical things. They can only dwell between darkness and remoteness. What kind of condition is this, in truth?

Observe how the myriad things of Heaven and Earth come into being: first Yin, then Yang; from nonbeing to being, from the empty to the substantial. One leaves illusion behind in pursuit of truth, first passing through the realm of ghosts and then becoming a spirit; first one restrains force and cultivates civil virtue, first establishes merit and then seeks refinement, advancing gradually from the coarse to the subtle. Once things have taken form, they gradually wear away, break down, and decline, until they are finally destroyed and return to formlessness. Human beings and all things change with the movement of Qi: agitation can overcome cold, stillness can overcome heat, the yielding can overcome the strong, and reflection can overcome fear. In the Way of Heaven, Yin can often overcome Yang; in the human way, stillness can often overcome movement.

Human nature contains a strong Yin quality; hence the saying that people have “three hun and seven po.” Cultivating the Immortal Way usually tends toward good fortune, while cultivating the ghostly way usually tends toward danger. The Book of Changes speaks of transformation and also links fortune and misfortune with ghosts and spirits. Yet although the principles of worldly affairs are many, perhaps only one in a hundred is truly reliable.

Keeping the body active is also a way. When activity reaches its utmost, it returns to stillness; in stillness, the spirit can gather. Keeping still is also a way. When stillness reaches its utmost, activity returns, and when activity begins, Qi disperses.

When a hen broods on eggs, you can test them by pouring water over them: those that float and move show signs of life; those that sink and remain still show no life. To lack life is to lack spirit and Qi. This plainly demonstrates whether spirit and Qi have gathered. The scripture then reiterates that stillness at its utmost turns into activity, and activity causes Qi to disperse. It again uses the water test: an egg that floats and moves is alive; one that sinks and remains still is not.

The sages observed how things repeatedly cycle and saw them suffer damage and decay. They sighed, “Would it not be better if things had never existed? Then we would not see them perish.” Books of divination say that Heaven and Earth, and the years, months, days, and hours, each have “empty periods”—times believed to be devoid of Qi and inauspicious. How much more so is this true of human beings?

The mourning rites for ordinary people usually last no more than three years. But physicians, ritual specialists, diviners, sages, loyal ministers, and righteous people who have rendered meritorious service, aided the world, left tangible achievements, and benefited later generations are praised by the people of their country. Their reputations are linked with the spirits, and so they receive offerings. Even those who were loyal and upright, committed to justice, and courageous may leave a prominent reputation in the underworld after death. Others who aspired to lofty ideals and behaved wildly and carelessly, but left behind only the names of ancestral halls, gain no more than an empty reputation. In life they enjoyed stipends like officials in office; after death they are like ordinary people. They receive offerings but enjoy no real blessings, and in the end return to impermanence. How is this any different from being left alone to cling to Yin stillness?

“Water Melody”

Thunder hidden beneath the earth symbolizes the Return hexagram; a spring welling up from beneath a mountain symbolizes the Youthful Folly hexagram. When the crucial moment arrives, one should act. Only a noble person can understand the right timing. The first nine line says, “Hidden dragon: do not act.” The top nine line says, “Arrogant dragon will have cause for regret.” Both warn people to know when to advance and when to withdraw, and not to remain still at all times or act to excess.

Thunder, the power that stirs and sets things in motion, lies hidden beneath the earth as life begins to recover. A spring wells up below the mountain, symbolizing how understanding gradually awakens amid ignorance. When the crucial moment arrives, only the noble person can grasp its meaning. The Yijing says that the submerged dragon of the first nine line should remain hidden and still, while the overreaching dragon of the top nine line flies too high and comes to regret it. At this time, quietly nourish the bodily fluids and let Jing and Qi gather in the Yellow Palace, the region of the body’s Dantian.

The Great Accumulation hexagram symbolizes storing strength: taking action at the right time brings benefit. By skillfully carrying on the Dao lineage, one can cultivate the vigorous Qi of primordial Yang. Cast off ignorance and seek the essence within the cauldron; following the Cantong qi, a classic on Neidan cultivation, contemplate the transformations of Yin-Yang. When the heart is filled with sincerity, like water filling a jar, the Dao-Qi will flow naturally, abundant and flourishing. After undergoing the many trials of eating, living, and dealing with affairs, one should ultimately withdraw into quiet simplicity and follow the just Way. Take in the simple principles of the Dao through the gateway, and its movement can continue without end.

Grasp the secrets of cultivating as a celestial immortal and penetrate the pivotal teachings handed down by the patriarchs; then Kan and Li, symbols of water and fire, or Yin-Yang, can be reversed and brought together. Returning to the root and restoring one’s life, one can quickly return to life’s source. This requires neither fasting and observing precepts nor deliberately arranging when to advance or withdraw, speak or remain silent. Nor is it necessary to sit in meditation in pursuit of perfection. For this very reason, fellow practitioners seek it so intently that they forget to eat and sleep.

Seeking Yellow Sprouts, subduing one’s own Mercury, and forming the Returning Elixir are not obstructed by everyday relationships, worldly duties, or the demands of social life. There is no need to pursue concubines, abandon one’s children, resign from office, or retreat into seclusion. Even amid ordinary life, one can understand the mysterious Dao, and everyone may hope to ride a phoenix and become an immortal.

The source of the great medicine, the Golden Elixir, lies before Heaven and Earth and all things have divided into forms. Firmness and softness emerge from primordial chaos; though they have different names, both ultimately arise from Mercury and Lead, terms in Neidan that symbolize the essential energies of Yin and Yang. Understand that when things reach their extreme, they return to their source, and you can refine and nourish the divine water of the Flower Pool—the bodily fluids and Jing and Qi gathered through cultivation. Following the principle that things of the same kind respond to one another, bring Yin and Yang together in mystery. Grasp the crucial moment of “two and eight” and reunite the Yin-Yang partners. At noon, make the exchange with the hour of the Monkey; let the hour of the Tiger arise from the hour of the Rat, and circulate them according to the movement of the celestial cycle. When the line images combine, they form the state of Already Fulfilled, symbolizing the harmony of water and fire. Yin must wait until Yang reaches its utmost flourishing before it begins to take up the leading role. When Metal of the Geng stem arises and Wood of the Jia stem is full, gradually nurture the Elixir embryo through Inner Sincerity. After ten months, the sacred embryo is complete. Inner and outer radiance glow red, as though responding to Qian’s primordial power to create the myriad things.

Within forms, Kunlu—the Buddhist Vairocana Buddha, symbolizing the illumination of the Dharma-realm—gives birth to all things. When cultivation and realization are complete, one reaches the state of Pratyekabuddha, a Buddhist term associated here with spiritual practice and attainment. All beings in the great thousandfold world, along with the self, may be called innumerable asamkhyeyas, a Buddhist term for an immense quantity. For men, examples include the Buddhist causes and conditions of Jeta Grove and the kingdom of Shravasti; for women, they include the Universal Gate and the Sea of Awakening. Beings are born through desire and attachment. If one delights only in Lan-na, a form of practice referred to here, one’s blessings may still be slow to reach completion. One should give generously, accumulate good merit, and visit teachers in many places. Through especially favorable causes and conditions, one may suddenly cross beyond birth and death, as if scooping up the Dharma water of Caoxi, where the Chan tradition’s Sixth Patriarch, Huineng, transmitted the teachings. The Buddha spoke of the fruit of Stream-Enterer; I, in turn, attained the path of Arhat. In this way, one can realize Bodhi. Listen carefully and reflect on the foremost Paramita, the supreme practice for reaching the other shore.

Even an ancient tree can be transplanted and grafted when it grows old. How, then, can people simply let their bodies decline and wither as they age? When the Primordial Mystery—the source of the Dao—joins with the Mother of Nourishment, the root that sustains all things, they can be refined into the Returned Elixir, formed through Neidan cultivation. Taking it by mouth is an excellent way to prolong and nourish life. Obtain red wine from the western household and two jars of white wine from the eastern neighbor, then combine them in a gourd. Place it in my cauldron, the vessel used for alchemical work, and refine it until the Jade Rabbit (Metal) and the Golden Crow (Fire) unite. This can remedy weakness and restore an elderly woman to a state like that of a young girl, with abundant Jing and Qi and full marrow. It keeps body and mind vigorous, and is a good method for nourishing life.

People commonly say that immortals have cut off desire, and make the absurd claim that perfected beings have no thoughts at all. Even celestial immortals can be stirred by a calculating mind. What I speak of is an extraordinary Dao; practitioners need not confine themselves to a life of isolation.

In the workings of creation, falsehood floats about; the Heavenly Net is spread everywhere like an open snare. The turning point of life and death lies at the gate controlled by King Yama. Living beings cycle through the Six Realms, devouring one another; a single Qi circulates, while fate assigns high and low status. Lifespans are entered in the Register of Life and Death. To hope to escape rebirth as an animal by sheer luck is difficult, and it is hard to find good parents. Even with many friends and broad experience, one may be deceived, make mistakes, and lose one’s way amid confusion. Heaven and hell are real; Shen Buhai, Lü Buwei, Ju Wu, Han Fei, and others are often cited as witnesses. Teachings about farming, famine, avoiding faults, and having few regrets are mixed with uncertainties and omissions, yet in dealing with things one must respond flexibly and take proper responsibility. To transcend the interweaving of Yin and Yang and the cycles of life and death, one must refine lead frost in the Golden Cauldron.

Diagram of the relationship between substance and function, with Wood and Metal apart

Diagram of the generation of Primordial Qi

On Primordial Qi

When Primordial Qi first came into being, it was as tiny as a grain of millet, a drop of dew, or a bead of water. Throughout the immeasurable kalpas since the beginningless beginning, dark mists have obscured it, and the currents of Qi have knotted together…

When primordial Qi (the original vital energy of the universe) first began to arise, it was like a grain of millet, a drop of dew, or a bead of water. Since the beginningless aeons—vast ages without a beginning—it had gathered within a murky, mingled breath, concealing a trace of watery substance. Like an egg held in a basket, it gradually grew from the bottom and began to take shape. It can only be called the “Dao” by approximation; it is also called the “Numinous Treasure.” It arose by receiving Yin Qi. Within, it was pure white; without, it was dark and obscure. This is the root by which the Mysterious Essence, the deep and subtle vital energy, establishes the transformations of Yin and Yang, and is the principle described in the Beidou Jing.

Thus the white Qi within can transform and give rise to the Po, the Yin spirit that forms the body, and so belongs to Yin. The black Qi without can transform the Hun, a person’s Yang spirit, and so belongs to Yang. This means that Yin Qi is contained within while Yang Qi encircles it from without. When the inner Yin Qi is stirred by Yang Qi, it flows outward; as it flows, it becomes a faint, elusive breath. The outer Yang Qi waits for Yin Qi to settle, then enters inward; as it enters, a breath begins to form in which things intermingle and sprout.

When Yin Qi first begins to flow outward, it cannot be seen by the eyes and is called “Huanghu”—a state of indistinctness—as when cold emerges from within mist. When Yang Qi first begins to enter inward, it cannot be heard by the ears and is called “Yaoming”—a state of obscurity and darkness. It is like an image that seems visible but cannot be clearly identified, and from it warmth arises. Once Yin and Yang have joined, they blend into substance and return to an undivided simplicity. What begins small gradually accumulates into something large: within, it is not pure Yin; without, it is not pure Yang.

Yin’s nature delights in unfolding and spreading gently, as if it meant to flow entirely outward. As it gradually flows out, it is unwilling to abandon its own child Qi, and so forms Peihui, the nascent, nurturing state of Qi, appearing like clouds and mist and giving rise to moisture. Yang’s nature, by contrast, delights in nurturing and harmonizing, as if it meant to enter completely. As it gradually enters, it too cannot leave the mother Qi, and so shows the signs of an emerging beginning. Yin and Yang grow warm and bright, sometimes separating and sometimes joining, and give rise to heat.

The outer Yin Qi gathers ever more densely, while the inner Yang Qi becomes ever more tightly condensed. At last they form chaos, returning in shape to the beginning, and the celestial pattern is established. This is like blackness enveloping yellow: black belongs to Water and is the most refined part of primordial Qi, accumulating until it is full; yellow belongs to Fire and is the spirit Qi produced by the residual breath, encircling it and shining brightly. From this we may infer that within chaos, it is as though a sunbeam were sinking beneath the water. Yin Qi lies on the outside of Heaven and therefore cannot remain still. It seems continually to fan and shelter what is within, like a mother gently patting a child to sleep.

Yang energy is enclosed within liquid and cannot move freely, so it continues to stir faintly, waiting for its moment, like a fledgling waiting for a female pheasant to hatch it. After a long period of gestation, dryness arises within the yellow. Once this dryness takes shape, the Mysterious Essence—the subtle, profound vital essence—gradually dwindles and is exhausted. The water dries up and the breath grows weak, giving rise to wind. When dryness gathers within and reaches its limit, thunder occurs.

Thus, within the Celestial Embryo—the chaotic body that existed before Heaven and Earth were divided—are the four signs of wind, water, fire, and thunder. Each seeks to stir into action, yet all are obstructed: wind would rise but cannot billow; water would surge but cannot flow freely; fire would blaze upward but cannot ascend; thunder would shake but cannot break forth. So they gradually collide and restrain one another, even fighting among themselves. Wind strengthens the force of water, making it surge and churn; thunder intensifies fire, making it more fierce. When their collisions grow violent, the chaotic body is broken open and divided: this is the opening of Heaven. Thunder shakes and cleaves it open; wind raises the empty air; fire is able to ascend and descend; and water is able to flow.

The ancients who understood the principles of transformation secretly called wind and thunder “Pangu,” so that later generations would not easily see through the mysteries of creation. After Heaven and Earth separated, primordial Qi underwent change: the light, clear Qi rose from below and condensed into the Brahma Realm, the celestial realm; in the liquid formed from the gathering of primordial Qi, the heavier part sank to the bottom and became true water.

From the first appearance of the heavens to the time before chaos had been broken open, the expanse of Heaven and Earth was only about a hundred li. Generally speaking, people today can also travel a hundred li in a day, so the sound of thunder seems to extend across about the same distance. Only by steadily nurturing the force of a hundred li can one produce the shaking power of ten li; this is because fire is the source of thunder. A flame burns for a day and reaches no more than a hundred li before going out. From this we can understand that the effects of thunder and fire each have a fixed range.

Water can travel ten thousand li in a single day, and wind can blow across the same distance. From this we can see that neither water nor wind moves under fixed constraints. When lightning strikes an object, it leaves it scorched and blackened; when wind blows against clothing, it can make it damp. Such changes occur because each thing receives the Qi of its own source.

The celestial realm extends from a hundred li to a thousand, then gradually reaches ten thousand. Wind spreads in keeping with direction, while thunder shakes according to its position. Residual Qi spreads outward; primordial Qi within becomes manifest and moves. These forces pass through time and respond to change. The distances over which they travel—perhaps tens of millions of li—are difficult to determine precisely.

Someone asked, “Wind and thunder come from the same place. Wind can blow for ten thousand li, yet thunder shakes only a hundred. Why is this?”

The reply was: “Wind responds to cold Qi and sets water in motion. When primordial Qi is present in excess, it is called Yin Qi, and also foul Qi or deviant Qi. Yin Qi readily gathers and is hard to disperse. Thus, when Yin spirits—spirits who govern Yin Qi—administer the world, they often act recklessly. Thunder uses dry Qi to shake fire. It is the impartial portion of residual Qi, called Yang Qi, and also called anger or righteous Qi. Yang Qi is not easily roused, but readily settles. Thus, when Yang spirits govern the world, they usually keep faith. As thunder extends outward, its sound weakens; after the shaking, its force gradually subsides.”

Water, fire, wind, and thunder are four kinds of manifestation: wind is the soul, thunder is sound, fire is light, and water alone has substance. The sun is fire and light. In the vault of heaven, only water can reveal form through its own power. Water corresponds to the Northern Dipper’s celestial pole, the stars near the North Pole. Thereafter, water Qi reflects the sun’s image and, responding to change, gives rise to the moon. Water is therefore the mother of all things, both before and after the creation of heaven and earth.

Water gives rise to wind, and wind in turn stirs water, raising waves and foam. Thunder shakes water, making it churn and boil until it becomes duckweed. The sun dries water, and its coagulated residue becomes brine. The moon shines on water, stilling and clarifying it until it becomes mud. As the mud accumulates, crawling creatures arise along with it, and eventually it becomes earth. Wind lifts dust, and the blazing sun turns dust into sand. Clear dew descends and moistens the soil, allowing moss to begin to grow. Brine then forms again; moonlight shines on the water, turning its still and clear places into mud.

Earth accumulates, and decaying matter and tiny insects dissolve into it, eventually becoming soil. Wind raises dust, and the blazing sun dries the soil into sand. Dew falls and moisture nourishes the ground, so moss begins to grow. Then grasses and plants such as mowu appear. They gradually flourish, grow, and wither, while the layer of soil thickens. Later, grass becomes bamboo, and luxuriant branches grow into trees. After a long time, grasses produce ears, wood grows into trees, and flowers and plants bear fruit. In spring the vegetation flourishes; in autumn it withers. Once rotted, it turns back into soil. The soil layer gradually thickens and rises, forming regions and open plains.

Later still, tree roots become entwined with soil and stones, crossing and binding together until, over time, they turn into rock. Thus, beneath the covering and above the bearing of Heaven and Earth, the only things with form and shape are wood and stone. Ancient wood absorbs the gathered breath of clouds and vapors between Heaven and Earth, producing vital essence and sap. Over a long time, it may transform into a bird, a dragon, a jie—a kind of strange creature mentioned in the scriptures—or a man, gradually acquiring spiritual powers. Set in motion by su, a driving force described in the scriptures, a person’s limbs and hair are formed from wood. This allows him to leap, dance, pull, and bend: these are the natural qualities of wood.

Ochre, a reddish-brown stone, responds to water and earth and is nurtured by the sun and moon. It, too, produces blood and milk. Over a long time, it may transform into a toad, tiger, sheep, or woman, gradually becoming endowed with spiritual awareness. Set in motion by thunder, a person’s head, abdomen, and bones are formed from stone. This allows her to sit or lie down, squat, embrace things, and remain still and steadfast: these are the qualities of stone.

Men transformed from wood and women transformed from stone unite and conceive sons and daughters, bringing bodies to completion. Once people and other creatures appear, the ways in which life reproduces and transforms also diverge. Humans and insects do not arise through mating; each reproduces through a womb. Generations follow one another, allowing descendants to continue. Their kinds differ, and their forms are varied. Some creatures eat little in the wilds and, following their nature, fly or run. Others feed around hearths and settlements, and so appear clever and eloquent, with differences in appearance between beauty and ugliness. Tracing things back to their source, men and women arise from wood and stone: living beings with feelings are transformed from things without feeling.

Stone is moist by nature, so human teeth are replaced; wood is dry and withered by nature, so humans eventually die. All things with form have their own particular tendencies and are neither complete nor balanced.

The human body is supremely subtle and wondrous, endowed with the complete form of Yin-Yang primordial Qi—the fundamental energy through which Heaven and Earth bring forth the myriad things. The celestial gods and terrestrial spirits are all governed by human beings.

The scripture also says: Since Heaven and Earth were first opened, Heaven has been shaped like an earthen basin. Primordial Qi transforms and generates within it; the various breaths rise and gather, collecting along the basin’s rim to form a dome, like soot clinging to the bottom of a pot. The breaths rise from below and gather in layers of varying thickness. Over time, they take shape in successive hanging layers. Tempered by the Qi of the sun and moon, cold and heat, they gradually solidify into ores containing gold and jade within. Some ores, assailed by turbid Qi, fall and form landforms such as hills and caves. When Nüwa smelted stones to mend Heaven, she drew upon the primordial Qi within them. The stone material left behind remained in the human world and became the various metals and precious stones. Those not refined include cinnabar, lead, alum, and saltpeter.

Over time, the breaths gathered in the dome solidify and grow increasingly heavy, gradually sinking. Above them, Kongtong—the vast, open expanse of Heaven—comes into view, and thus emptiness takes shape. The breaths that rise from all things day and night uphold this whole arrangement, suspending it atop the flames and radiance of the many kinds of Qi. When blazing, formless Qi condenses, it becomes the spirit of the sun. Below, the liquid breaths of all things intermingle and become the numinous Qi of the stars and the sun. When generative Qi becomes visible, it forms the lesser stars. These lesser stars are also called “solar lodgings,” because they can retain their light at night.

Observe the Way of Heaven: at first it has no spirit; it is simply an appearance that contains the myriad forms. The light flowing within it becomes spirit. At first it has no gods; it merely gathers the Qi of all things and displays blazing radiance outward, thereby becoming divine. The gods have no form outwardly, nor can images of them be seen within. Even the most sacred cannot see their countenance; only the worthy can attune themselves to their intentions.

Some say that heaven and earth are destroyed for no other reason than that the generative activity of Yin and Yang is too vigorous: the power of water weakens, and the soil becomes hollow. Here, what is called primordial Qi (vital energy) refers to water; the other forms of Qi refer to earth. Water flows day and night, wearing away rivers, lakes, and marshes. River sources therefore often shift, and riverbanks have no fixed position. Thus, the terrain Yu the Great established when controlling the floods shaped the fortunes of regions in the north and south, while changes in the sediment of the Qiantang River shifted with the gathering and dispersal of earth from east to west. As the sun and moon make their circuits, the world’s appearance changes with the transformation of hills and ravines. When water reaches the end of its course, its force, too, wanes.

Moreover, the myriad things growing on the land flourish excessively, leaving the soil hollow and unable to support itself. In mild cases, parts of it sink; in severe cases, the whole earth collapses. As its force is spent along with the course of events, its allotment of Qi vanishes with its breath. Even if the earth collapses, there must be a bottom where it falls. Yet the light of the sun and moon is shaken and scattered by the earth’s trembling collapse. When the earth begins to fall, its vitality is cut off and cold Qi prevails. With nothing left to support it, the sky, too, is in danger of collapsing. Darkness fills the depths of heaven and earth; people and other beings perish, and in the end all turn to soil, leaving no filth behind.

This state lasts for three hundred and sixty years. Yin reaches the utmost stillness, and Yang begins to stir again. Cold transforms, and warmth arises. When cold and warm Qi meet, they generate moisture. Once formed, the moisture rises and spreads in all directions, soaking and permeating the vast, high reaches of heaven and earth, until they too crumble and disintegrate. After another three hundred and sixty years, heaven and earth are still destroyed by prolonged exposure to moisture.

When examining the contours of hills, one often sees layers of soil piled over layers of stone. From this, it is clear that the destruction of heaven and earth has its causes. When heaven and earth rest, the creative transformation of things rests its strength and nurtures primordial Qi. This, too, is the way of Yin and Yang coming together, and the meaning of returning to the root and restoring one’s life.

Although Heaven and Earth can be destroyed, this refers only to things formed when acquired Qi disperses and coalesces, which eventually return to the soil. Primordial Heaven, however, cannot be destroyed, because its original Qi is always present: it cycles without end and can generate anew.

When dampness is abundant and heat begins to appear, heat at its peak turns to dryness. Yang Qi then arrives, clear Qi separates from turbid Qi, and light becomes visible. From this, the myriad things begin to come into being. This process continues for another eighty-one years. Each time Heaven and Earth undergo a period of rest, the whole cycle lasts about eight hundred years. I once heard an elder say that Earth came into being ten thousand and eight hundred years after the opening of Heaven. By this account, Heaven accumulates original Qi for ten thousand years, then rests for eight hundred. In all, Earth comes into being after ten thousand and eight hundred years. This also shows that when Qian Heaven collapses, Kun Earth takes shape.

A day in Heaven has twelve double-hours, just as the human body has twelve meridians. A person’s falling asleep from weariness and waking again correspond to one of these periods, in keeping with the pattern of rest. Though Heaven and Earth may be destroyed, the spirits within them do not perish. Thus, the scripture’s statement that the Fuli Yuanshi Tianzun, a revered Daoist deity, and the Yuanshi Tianzun are separated by many kalpas and a great distance has a basis in fact. After Heaven and Earth collapse, Heaven becomes higher and more distant, Earth lower and thicker, and the mountains grow taller through accumulation, like stones revealed when the water recedes.

If Heaven and Earth did not rest, they could not begin anew; if infants did not sleep, they could not undergo bianzheng, the periodic fevers and changes that ancient people believed accompanied an infant’s growth. Someone asked, “Why can primordial Heaven endure?” The reply was: “Look at the shape of Heaven: it resembles a basin. It has no gaps on the outside and no openings at the sides; its dark and bright regions, and its quiet places, are all within it. Original Qi moves and rests inside it, so it can endure. Heaven contains all things as though gathering them within this basin.”

Heaven embraces all things and nourishes them by drawing on the Qi it generates within itself; thus, all things are able to grow. The Qi Heaven draws on does not come from another heaven but arises within Heaven itself, so the myriad things are neither harmed nor made to go against their nature. This is the way of drawing on what is available in accord with nature.

People, too, can do this. After all, people and the myriad things belong to one whole: we can draw on what we possess within ourselves, as well as on the Qi of other things. Yet the human body has nowhere to lodge its original Qi except in the internal organs, and all food and drink must be obtained from outside. If one seeks long life, it is difficult to sustain oneself through the body alone. Thus, Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor) practiced the art of harnessing women—a method of chamber cultivation for gathering and nourishing Jing—and, it is said, lived for 1,200 years. Qian Keng (Peng Zu) mastered the art of nurturing infants and lived to the age of 800.

Consider grafting peach, apricot, and mulberry trees; gathering velvet antler; eating livestock meat; wearing leather; and eating meat. These practices all use the Qi of other things to replenish one’s own, through the resonance of similar natures. Things may differ, but their original Qi is the same. The sages of old said, “Take what is near from your own body, and what is far from things beyond.” People often recite these words, yet rarely reflect deeply on their meaning.

If one hopes to make progress in cultivating the Dao, one must understand the way of “drawing on what is available”; hence it is called “theft.” Eating grains is also a form of drawing on what is available, as is eating meat. To cultivate until one takes Shen and Qi as nourishment is to carry this practice to its utmost; no other method of drawing on what is available can compare. If one can draw on one’s original Qi and return it to its source, one will understand that the path to long life is not far away. Why, then, seek another path and commit the inhumane act of plunder?

What, then, is a person’s original Qi? At first, it is a spark of life Qi emerging from the primordial Qi that has no beginning. It gives rise to Heaven and Earth, and through things such as wood and stone, it also gives rise to human beings.

Tracing life back to its source leads to one’s ancestors: one’s biological parents. The innate Qi of life within the human body comes from parental inheritance and is stored as a subtle spirit-energy between the two kidneys. When Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth meet, all things unite and come into being; when a man and woman come together, their Jing and Qi combine, and life begins.

The parents’ Jing and Qi descend into Guanyuan and the point called Nurturing Yang, areas associated with reproduction and conception. There they become the deep, unfathomable root of life, hidden and not yet manifest, as subtle as a dewdrop. This is called original Qi. Its form is indistinct and hard to discern; concealed within the seminal fluid, it takes water as its substance and is governed by the kidneys. It nourishes the Yang soul and gives rise to the Qi of the heart. The heart’s Qi in turn gives rise to the spirit of the pupils, enabling a person to distinguish the clear from the turbid.

The clear Qi of the right eye transforms into spirit-water and returns to the heart, where it becomes fluid. The heart’s fluid transforms into blood, which returns to the left kidney and becomes Jing. Jing transforms into Qi, and Qi protects Shen; this is called nature. The turbid Qi of the left eye responds upward, producing the brain and skull, then descends to form the spine and the right kidney. The right and left kidneys work in tandem, transforming Qi and protecting Shen to form the root of nature and life. This is also called the Gate of Life, or is associated with the female womb, and it governs the combined souls.

The ethereal soul gives rise to the liver, heart, tongue, gallbladder, pericardium, small intestine, bladder, and penis. The corporeal soul gives rise to the lungs, throat, stomach, spleen, colon, large intestine, anus, as well as nutritive Qi and defensive Qi. Together, the two generate the Triple Burner—the upper, middle, and lower burners in Chinese medicine, a concept that encompasses the body’s Qi-transforming functions. The ethereal soul governs the circulation of blood, nourishing the sinews, back, and channels. The corporeal soul transforms into Qi and circulates defensive Qi, giving rise to the muscles, bones, hair, and skin. From these, the torso takes shape, followed by the limbs.

The text says that women’s formation follows the reverse of men’s because conception occurs while facing north. A mother’s condition is assessed by examining her pulse. Yet although men and women differ, the pulse at the wrist near the forearm can be used to judge life and death and to infer a person’s condition.

The movement of original Qi has its root in the kidneys. It passes through the heart and corresponds with the eyes, rising and descending in a cycle among the three centers of the kidneys, heart, and eyes. Thus the kidneys correspond with the bladder, the heart with the small intestine, and the eyes with the brain. These paired organs and bodily regions are also places where the movement of Qi gathers and circulates.

When people understand how the internal organs work together—that is, how they correspond to and belong with one another—they can see that Qi moves through the body by entering and leaving, sometimes meeting obstruction, sometimes waxing and waning, and also differing in clarity and turbidity. Thus the kidneys correspond with the bladder, the heart with the small intestine, and the eyes with the brain. The places where these correspondences meet are where the activity of Qi gathers. Understanding these relationships makes it possible to recognize Qi’s movement in and out, its intervals, its waxing and waning, and its clarity and turbidity. This is a sign of understanding the heart and seeing one’s nature.

When Original Qi transforms, it divides into two forms: Qi and liquid. Qi is called “life,” while Shen is true mercury (a Neidan term for awareness or the mind-spirit). Shen responds outwardly to a person’s activities: when awake, it roams in the eyes; when the eyes are closed, it returns to the heart; when asleep, it rests in the kidneys; and in silent stillness, it gathers between the eyebrows. This describes the rising and descending movement of Qi.

Liquid is called “nature,” and is also known as Jing, or true lead (a Neidan term for essence-Qi). Through quiet cultivation, inner balance is restored to the body: in the kidneys, liquid becomes Jing; in the liver, it becomes the hun soul; in the heart, blood; in the spleen, the fatty substance that nourishes the body; in the pericardium (the network of channels surrounding the heart), nutritive blood; in the lungs, the po soul; in the Triple Burner (the body system that circulates Qi and liquids and links the organs), defensive Qi; in the spaces between the skin and muscles, the Qi that drives bodily activity; and in the brain, the spring of Shen. Descending, it becomes jade fluid in the nose and numinous liquid in the throat and mouth. Once it enters the stomach, it again corresponds with the heart.

After nutritive Qi and defensive Qi—the two kinds of Qi that circulate throughout the body to nourish and protect it—spread through the whole body, they also gather again in the heart and combine with the various fluids formed from food and drink. They reach the large intestine, then the lan intestine, where the clear and turbid are separated. The clear Qi is sent into the small intestine, then conveyed to the kidneys and seeps into the bladder. The Qi of the bladder returns to the Original Sea, where Original Qi gathers, and the Original Sea generates Qi anew. This cycle continues day and night, again and again. At this stage, it is called “Shen returning to Qi”: Qi is fully replenished and gathers again in the heart, where Qi and liquid reunite.

Practitioners must carefully guard their inner state, especially when alone. What is gained through cultivation is called the “Lesser Return.” When a man and woman share a room, something within the body is given two names: the Yang concealed within Yin is called the “Yellow Sprout”; the image of Yin contained within Yang is called the “White Snow Spirit Talisman.” Taken together, they are called the “Knife and Point”—a term used in Neidan (internal alchemy).

In cultivation, when the body’s Yang energy stirs, nourish it with an extraordinary kind of water, then set it in motion with the fire of nature. Here, “nature” means following the right moment. After a short time, something can emerge from nothing and congeal into the “sacred embryo,” a symbol in Neidan of the elixir’s initial formation. This is called seizing the workings of creation.

Without seeking oral instructions or receiving the aid of a “kindred” counterpart, one cannot refine even the Jade Liquor, let alone the Golden Liquor. To rely only on visualization and contemplation, waiting through Wuwei (non-action) for Yin and Yang to unite and form the elixir, is truly wishful thinking. When people lose the foundation of cultivation, their bodies become unbalanced and depleted, Qi (vital energy) can no longer be retained, and there is nowhere for fluids to gather. In old age, Qi grows weak, the body withers, and fluids dry up. If one cannot cultivate the Great Dao, one must fear illness, suffer hunger and thirst, and lament aging and death; worse still, one’s lifespan is drained by the killing force of Yin and Yang.

Someone asked, “What does it mean to seize?” The alternation of cold and heat harms the blood vessels and weakens the spleen and stomach. Thunder and lightning startle the soul and unsettle the spirit. Rainy weather depletes the spirit, causing people to breathe in Yin energy in their dreams. Frost and snow harm the skin, disturbing dreams and causing the loss of Jing (essence). Famine weakens one’s vital constitution, stifles the chest, and makes one’s breath foul. Plague destroys life, rotting flesh and blood and cutting short the lifespan. War damages the body and the will, bringing terrible pain and tearing families apart. People often lose their youth without noticing, gradually growing haggard; all of this is the harm caused by the killing force.

Some say that Heaven cherishes life and abhors killing. Is Heaven not compassionate? Heaven cherishes life because it takes the earth’s Qi as its foundation: when things have life-giving Qi, they are nourished; when they have deathly Qi, they decline. It is like a person’s belly, which cannot contain anything rotten and foul.

If people can nourish and control their original Qi—the fundamental energy behind the body’s vital activities—they will understand why it is often said that Heaven cherishes life and abhors killing. Is Heaven not compassionate and patient? Heaven brings all things to life, with the energy of the Earth as their foundation. When living things possess vitality, they are nourished; when they are filled with deathly energy, they decay. It is like the human stomach, which cannot tolerate putrid things.

To nourish the original Qi, people must take stomach Qi as their foundation. Set aside coarse, inferior food and take in food that is fine and wholesome. Do not eat at improper times; choose fresh food. Discard food that is stale or sour, and select meals that are tasty and nourishing. When stomach Qi is full, original Qi will be abundant. Confucius said, “At a public sacrifice, the sacrificial meat was not kept until the next day.” When the Qiang people encounter a sheep on a journey, they first kill it with a knife. Someone once said that they ate freshly slaughtered meat every day and discarded the blood after it had congealed. That had once been mere hearsay; now I have seen it with my own eyes. This, too, comes from cherishing the body and valuing life, and knowing what benefits and what harms it. In this way, one can begin close at hand in seeking the Dao.

Going to mourn in a household struck by death, visiting the sick, or being present at childbirth or the burial of the dead; hearing the sorrowful cries of prisoners being punished; sitting where animals are slaughtered and blood covers the ground; or needlessly putting oneself in a position to be arrested and bound—all of these disturb and scatter a person’s spirit. Yet people do not know that original Qi dwells in the body like mist resting briefly on grass. Even when carefully guarded, it is difficult to keep for long. Nourish it, and it can be preserved; offend against it or damage it, and it will dissipate. When original Qi disperses, a person becomes dizzy and disoriented; in severe cases, they may collapse.

Those who are able to protect their original Qi have clear minds and sincere hearts. They are thoughtful and compassionate, yet also resolute. Even if they become terribly drunk, or have an arm severed or a foot cut off, their original Qi can still remain hidden and steady, with no change in their expression. In the end, they may die of a sudden illness; others may perish simply from a sudden surge of joy or anger. In such circumstances, one may still survive; even if one dies, the spirit will not disperse.

Those unable to protect their original Qi are shallow in understanding and stubborn in their delusions. They are easily discouraged, suspicious, and readily misled. Their Qi has no fixed place to rest, and their spirit has nowhere to settle. Some take their own lives out of grief and anger. This is truly the height of foolishness.

The key to the original Qi discussed here is to keep it firmly within. This Qi is also called upright Qi and the Grain Spirit, and it is bound up with a person’s nature and life.

What is expressed outwardly from the residual Qi within the human body is called “vast Qi,” “responsive spirit,” and “sound and appearance.” Thus the Pulse Diagnosis Formula of Wang Shuhe says: “When the pulse still responds to the spirit and Qi, the hun and po souls are at peace; even after many pauses, life does not yet end.” This refers to the pulse at the point of responsive spirit: as long as the pulse of life remains, a person will not die. This is also what Laozi meant by “nature and life enduring.” When Buddhists say, “Sound and appearance are empty,” they are speaking from two aspects: the “valley” and its “response”—on the one hand, emptiness; on the other, what appears as its response.

Some confused people in the world do not investigate the profound principles involved, but recklessly accuse Buddhists of pursuing the joy of extinction. Do they not know that the Lu Commentary, another name for the Analects, says: “When a bird is about to die, its cries are mournful; when a person is about to die, their words are kind”? Is this saying that something is being mourned? Alas!

Some ancient sages spoke of the Dao’s limitlessness; some explained the Supreme Ultimate of the Changes; some studied astronomy and geography; some learned the arts of ritual, music, archery, charioteering, writing, and arithmetic; and some traced the waxing and waning of the myriad things. Yet many of them did not begin their accounts from primordial Qi, the fundamental energy that forms life, Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. When investigating principles and probing the depths of human nature, they should have explained the root more fully. Instead, they spoke only in general terms about ordinary principles. They did not take this matter as their responsibility, and the body’s sinews, bones, and muscles are intertwined and bound together. Such teachings do nothing to help cultivate the self.

Thus, Meng Ke spoke only of skillfully nurturing vast Qi, while Zhuang Zhou spoke only of calmly following and expressing the spirit and Qi. It seems that neither truly understood the root of primordial Qi. Can this be called understanding the Dao?

Only “the One” speaks directly of primordial Qi. The One is the common root of the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and the foundation on which life is established. It has substance and form. It is each of our original nature, and the name given to the root to which the myriad principles return. Returning to the source and restoring one’s life-nature also means returning to this One. From the One onward, all movement back and forth, advance and retreat, remains within the One. How, then, could it be called two? This is why we should point out the principle of returning to primordial Qi.

Moved by my master’s transmission of the oral formula, I composed this piece in the “huxi” rhyme.

The instructions for the Golden Elixir returning to the origin—a Neidan method for refining Jing into Qi and condensing the elixir—teach how to cultivate the elixir within the Void. Only after receiving my master’s guidance did I truly grasp its key points; I lament that the people of the world can scarcely understand them. Hold fast to the practice of returning to the root and recovering the true, so that spirit returns to itself. In daily life, at every moment, act in accordance with the principles of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang. When meeting others, there is no need to ask about the Great Dao; simply focus on taking a measure of the elixir, a tiny dose of the elixir medicine that can also refer to the essentials of Neidan practice.

Learn to forge the Pure Yang Sword, a ritual implement symbolizing pure Yang Qi or a metaphor for cultivation. Geng Metal, the Yang metal of the Five Phases, is hard and sharp, and can serve its purpose. Even at the utmost softness, one can still subdue mercury; sheer hardness will inevitably be damaged and broken, so lead must also be added. Cross the sea without sinking; pass through the barriers, and the mystery grows profound. The immortals fear nothing: wearing their ritual implements, they go to pay court in the celestial realm.

Within the Daoist tradition, some lineages are pure and upright, while others are muddled and corrupt; false accounts are often the most absurd. In distinguishing the ingredients, examine whether they are young or mature; in setting up the furnace and cauldron, harmonize Yin-Yang. Understand the source from which the Dragon and Tiger, symbols of the two forces of Yin and Yang in Neidan, arise. Husband and wife, often used as a metaphor for the pairing of Yin and Yang, can easily lead one to lose one’s original mind. The records say that the alchemical process takes twelve years, after which one jin of the great medicine—a name for the Golden Elixir—can be refined.

When primordial chaos first opened and Heaven and Earth took shape, the Qi of Heaven and Earth began to reveal its azure hue. To cherish this is no shallow or lesser path; alas, the people of the world dislike its outward appearance. The two luminaries, the Sun and Moon, move in cycles within the cauldron, while the Five Sprouts, the budding Qi of the Five Phases, settle the numinous essence of all things. The name “yearly elixir” comes from this; the alchemical instructions are recorded in the Yellow Court.

To cultivate nature and life, one must use the Golden Cauldron. Though it is said that there is no spirit within it, it possesses its own wondrous efficacy. Chi Geng, Gang, Xiang Yi, Na Jia, Mei, and Feng Xin are terms for arranging cultivation according to the sexagenary cycle, directions, and dates. External medicine can easily disturb the mind and nature, while the inner elixir can hardly relieve poverty. From afar, I have heard of Master Lü of the Tang dynasty, usually identified as Lü Dongbin, and hope to deliver a thousand people.

Volume Two of the Gushen Pian