《吕祖志》Vol. 2

He threw a clod of earth at Ni’s face, then walked out the door. Looking up, he saw a red cloud drifting in from the northeast. He clapped his hands and laughed, and soon vanished. Ni examined the wall and found that the ink had seeped several inches into it. When he looked again at the clod of earth, it had turned into gold. From then on, the restaurant prospered, and Ni finally understood that “pure Yang” meant “Pure Yang.”

A Tea House in Bianjing

In the final years of the Later Zhou, a man surnamed Shi ran a tea house in Bianjing. His young daughter, whose hair was still tied in a child’s topknot, served tea in the shop. Lü Dongbin, dressed as a beggar, came every day, claimed the best seat, and asked for tea. His clothes were ragged, and he was covered in filth, so people could scarcely bear to go near him. The girl, however, showed no disgust and served him the finest tea. Her parents grew angry and beat her, but she continued to serve Lü Dongbin without tiring of it for over a month.

Lü Dongbin asked her, “Can you drink the tea I leave behind?” The girl thought it was too dirty to swallow, so she poured it onto the ground. Suddenly, she smelled an unusual fragrance. She quickly licked up a little and at once felt clear-minded and refreshed. Lü Dongbin told her, “I am Master Lü, not a beggar. It is a pity you could not finish my leftover tea, but I can still grant you a wish. Would you choose wealth and rank, or long life?” The girl replied, “I was born poor and know nothing about rank. I only ask for wealth and a long life.”

After Lü Dongbin left, he never returned. From then on, the girl’s family grew wealthy, and she herself attained high status. She lived to the age of 135.

The Changxi Inn

In Changxi County, Fuzhou, an elderly woman ran an inn. During the Qiandao era, a Daoist came to eat there. After his meal, he used a purple brushstroke, as if seared by fire, to write the four characters “Lü Dongbin came” on the wall. The writing shone brilliantly and seemed uncanny. When the prefect heard about it, he rode over to see for himself, but the characters had already vanished, leaving no trace on the wall. People believed the writing had been left by an immortal.

In Yanzhou, a courtesan surnamed Hou ran an inn where she received travelers. Lü Dongbin, an immortal in Daoist legend, came to lodge there in disguise. He went out early each day and returned late, always dead drunk. More than a month passed, and he had not paid a single coin.

Madam Hou invited him to drink tea. Lü Dongbin said, “I once met Master Zhongli, who told me you might be ready to hear about the Daoist teachings.” Madam Hou did not understand, so she offered him wine. Lü Dongbin kept asking for more, and she grew increasingly displeased.

Lü Dongbin held out his arm for her to see. Faintly visible on it was the pattern of a gold hairpin. He took off one of the pins and told Madam Hou to sell it and buy wine. Seeing that it was valuable, she asked, “After you finish drinking, will you sleep here?” Lü Dongbin said, “Certainly.” He immediately lay down on the bed and began breathing heavily. In the middle of the night, Madam Hou approached the bedside. Lü Dongbin held her back with his hand, and she had no choice but to hurry away.

Just before dawn, Madam Hou discovered that Lü Dongbin had vanished. She examined her body and found that the place he had touched was clearly marked with the character “Lü.” Only then did she understand. “So this is Master Lü. Could it be that a misguided thought in a former life brought me to my present state? Perhaps he came to save me.” She cut off her hair, cast aside her fine clothes, and went in search of Lü Dongbin. What became of her afterward is unknown.

The Courtesan House in Guangling

In Guangling, there was a courtesan named Huangying, whose beauty was renowned. Wealthy patrons often came to call. One day, a scholar surnamed Lü asked to stay there. Seeing his shabby clothes and filthy appearance, Huangying refused him.

The scholar wrote two poems on a screen. The first read: “You and I now share the beauty of Xi Shi. Alas, a thousand years divide youth from old age. One day you will become an old woman, white-haired as a crane and with skin like a bird’s feathers; yet today your face is like jade and your beauty like a flower.”

The second read: “Flowers bloom and fade; life, too, knows joy and sorrow. The fate of flowers and people is much the same. When a flower blooms on the branch, it must guard against a visitor plucking it; when it falls to the ground, who would still care to admire it?” After finishing the poems, the scholar soon disappeared.

The Courtesan House in the Eastern Capital

There was a courtesan named Yangliu, a famous beauty in the Eastern Capital, Kaifeng, the Northern Song capital. A Daoist often visited her home and repeatedly gave her gold, silver, and other valuables, yet never became intimate with her. One night, emboldened by wine, Yangliu approached him. The Daoist said, “I bring the precelestial Kan and Li into union within myself. Yin and Yang mingle like husband and wife; the sacred embryo has already formed, and the infant is about to be born. How could I still long for beauty outside myself? The joy of inner union far surpasses the pleasures between men and women.” Yangliu was both puzzled and astonished by his words.

At that time, Xiao, a guest of the prime minister Zhang Tianjue, had long been acquainted with Yangliu. She told Xiao what the Daoist had said, and Xiao in turn told Zhang Tianjue. Zhang went at once to visit the Daoist. The Daoist cried out loudly, hurried away, and went straight into the cloud hall of Qiyun Abbey, refusing to come out. After a long while, the others pushed open the door to look for him, but he had vanished. Only a poem remained on the wall:

“With one breath, the phoenix flute rends the Great Clarity;

The green-robed boy’s steps resound in empty space.

The Jade Tower awakens a dream of a thousand years;

On a branch of blue-green peach, a golden parrot sings.”

Later, a fire destroyed Qiyun Abbey and everything inside it, yet the wall bearing the poem remained unharmed. This too was a strange marvel.

The Pingkang Brothel

One night, a man came to the Pingkang brothel, where several courtesans gathered around and tugged at him. The man kept shouting, “Murder!” Night patrol officers seized several courtesans and the man and brought them all to the authorities. The courtesans said they had committed no murder, while the man being held declared that he was Lü Xian, Lü Dongbin. He wrote two poems. One read:

“The beauty, sixteen years old, has a body soft as cream;

With a sword at her waist, she slays foolish men.

Though no head is severed,

In secret she can wither the marrow in your bones.”

The second read:

“Six red skirts form a screen that reaches the ground;

Within it lies a perilous pit set to entrap men.

Princes, nobles, and ministers all fall in;

Only the Master remains, clear-minded and alone.”

When the poems were finished, everyone turned to look, but the man had vanished. Only then did they realize that he was Patriarch Lü, Lü Dongbin.

Seven Accounts of Visits to Abbey Halls

Huizong’s Purification Gathering

During the Xuanhe era of Emperor Huizong of Song, the emperor held a vegetarian banquet for a thousand Daoist adepts, but one place remained unfilled. Just then, a Daoist with a severe skin disease came to ask for a meal. The gatekeeper did everything he could to turn him away. Huizong was speaking with the Daoist Lin Lingsu in a side hall when the Daoist suddenly appeared at the foot of the hall steps. Huizong quickly sent someone to bring him to the banquet.

The Daoist wiped one of the hall pillars with the sleeve of his cloth robe, then left. Huizong, puzzled, rose to inspect the pillar. Written on it in white powder were the words: “You speak at length as though no one were there. What a pity that a wise ruler has not met the true one. Your servant asks Your Majesty about the days to come: look to the spring of Bingwu and Dingwei.” Later, in the Bingwu and Dingwei years—that is, during the Jingkang era—Huizong and his son Emperor Qinzong fell into calamity and were captured by the Jin and taken north.

The Crane Gathering at Mount Qingcheng

At the end of the Shaoxing era, Lü Dongbin, the legendary Daoist immortal, was on his way to a crane gathering at Mount Qingcheng when he stopped to rest at the home of a family who sold cakes and fruit. The shopkeeper did not recognize him, but sensed that he was no ordinary person. Lü Dongbin wrote a poem in bold strokes, using thick ink on a large tree beside the door: “Only fear the heart that removes the needle; true copper becomes gold when changed by water. No white hair at the temples; once the horse gallops away, it cannot be found.” The poem concealed the four characters “Lü Dongbin has come.” His strokes were powerful, and the writing shone with an extraordinary brilliance. The shopkeeper tried to scrape the characters away with a knife, but they had sunk deep into the wood. By then, Lü Dongbin had vanished.

A scholar named Guan Yunxiang witnessed the event and painted a portrait of Lü Dongbin, depicting a slender Daoist. From then on, the family’s cake-and-fruit business prospered greatly.

The Crane Gathering at Tanzhou

On the fourteenth day of the fourth month in the ninth year of the Chunxi era, Zhao Bu Wen, military inspector of Tanzhou, held a crane gathering. A Daoist, whose identity was unknown…

In the fourth month of the ninth year of Chunxi, on the fourteenth day, Zhao Bu-wen, Military Commissioner of Tanzhou, held a Crane Gathering. During the banquet, a Daoist appeared from nowhere. Lifting the hem of his robe, he climbed into the kitchen without greeting anyone, walked straight into the room of the banquet hall’s steward, and then vanished. The only thing people found on the table was a sheet of paper bearing this quatrain: “Our meeting this time is not without its destined bond; the courtyard’s beauty is like a small realm of immortals. A sword suddenly appears, then flies away; Dongting Lake is roused from sleep, and the old dragon awakens.” At the end were the words, “Written by the Guest of the Valley.”

The Daoist Gathering at Shaoxing

When the Daoist Gathering at Mount Kuaiji was held in the guichou year, a Daoist arrived wearing a shabby bamboo hat. After the gathering ended, he hung the hat on a wall. Though there was nothing on the wall to hang it from, the hat did not fall. He wrote a poem: “By chance I rode the Green Emperor’s springtime chariot from Penglai; throughout the Nine Provinces, swords and spears stand in grim array. I am right before your eyes, yet people of the world do not recognize me. I leave this hat behind, hoping it will not be forgotten.”

The Purification Gathering of Chancellor Jia

Jia Pingzhang (Jia Sidao) held a purification rite for his mother, the Lady of the Two States, and made offerings to itinerant Daoists. Suddenly, a group of Daoists arrived, surrounding a pregnant woman who was about to give birth. Before the rite had ended, she delivered a child in front of everyone. The Daoists then helped the woman leave, leaving only the child on the ground. When people lifted it up, they discovered that it was a sword bag. Only then did they realize that Lord Lü had used magic to make sport of ordinary people.

Taking Lodging at White Cloud

In the past, there was a White Cloud Hall in Jizhou, near Longqing Temple. A Daoist once took lodging there—that is, stayed temporarily at the temple—and had another mouth growing below his throat, said to be for blowing a sword bag. Only then did people realize that Lord Lü had used magic to make sport of ordinary people.

Taking Lodging at White Cloud

In Jizhou there was once a White Cloud Hall near Longqing Temple. A Daoist stayed there for a time. Below his throat was another mouth, which he could use to play an iron flute. Afterward, he would seal this mouth with paper. Two lines of poetry were inscribed on his bamboo hat: “One note blows beyond the slanting sun, / Awaking a heart that ranges ten thousand miles through rivers and lakes.” Children often followed him, and he would scatter copper coins on the ground for them to scramble over.

Later, he wrote a poem in the rear hall: “The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl / remain as before at White Lotus Hall.” Then he left, and no one understood what the poem meant. Later, Kou Li Yuanli of Bangzhou raised troops in rebellion. To prevent spies from slipping in, White Cloud Hall closed its doors and stopped lodging Daoists. Three years later, the hall reopened; the day its doors opened was the day after the Seventh Night Festival. Only then did people understand the poem, and realize that the “two mouths” he had mentioned combined to form the character Lü.

Lodging in Jiangzhou

At the Daoist retreat of Pan, the pacification commissioner of Ruichang County in Jiangzhou, a Daoist arrived seeking lodging. He had neither a bundle nor an umbrella, only a bamboo hat, and his clothes were plain and worn. The zhitang, the person in charge of receiving guests at the retreat, looked down on him and said, “You have neither an umbrella nor a bundle. How can you stay here?” The Daoist replied, “If you won’t let me stay, give me a cup of tea. I’ll drink it and leave.”

The zhitang went inside to arrange a seat for him. When he came back out, he found the Daoist sitting in the host’s place, facing the wrong way. Angrily, he said, “If you don’t understand the courtesies between host and guest, what kind of Daoist are you?” The Daoist said, “You said I had no umbrella or bundle, so I couldn’t stay. Then give me a cup of tea, and I’ll drink it and leave.” The Daoist left without bowing, leaving his bamboo hat behind. The zhitang could not lift it, no matter how hard he tried, and had to summon everyone to recite scriptures and make amends. Only then could they lift it. On the ground, they found the character Lü. When local people fell ill, they would take some earth from the spot, boil it in water, and drink it; their illness would then be cured at once.

A few years later, a well formed there. Bubbles rising on the water’s surface would gather into the character Lü. When broken apart, they would gather again. This still happens today.

Eleven Accounts of Elixirs That Helped People

The Wensi Institute treated the sick and saved lives.

While Zhao Yingdao was serving at the Academy of Literary Thought, a household officer developed severe convulsions. Everyone thought he could not be cured. He came to bid farewell to the academy officials, then told his companions, “I will die before long. No one will care for my elderly mother. What can I do?” They tried their best to comfort him, and some even wept.

As soon as he had stepped outside the academy gate, a Daoist appeared beside him. They had not gone far when the Daoist said, “This illness is easy to cure.” He told the man to buy two sheets of paper, place thin gold leaf between them, and cut out two square holes about three inches across. He handed them to the man and instructed him, “At night, burn one of the papers to ashes, mix the ashes with an infusion of frankincense, and apply it to the affected area. Keep the other paper to use in treating someone else.” The man went home and did as he was told. After applying the medicine, he lay down to rest. When he awoke, the sores on the affected area had vanished completely, without even a scab remaining.

He immediately went to see the academy officials and told them of this strange event. Only then did they realize that the two square holes, joined together, formed the character “Lu.” Some guessed that, as the man lay near death, his concern for his mother and his filial devotion had moved the immortal Lu Dongbin, who had intervened to save him.

Zhao Prefecture: Curing a Lame Man

In Zhao Prefecture, a poor man named Liu had been lame for twenty years. Every night, he burned incense before the stove and prayed to Heaven. One day, a Daoist carrying an iron ladle said to him, “Come with me.” Liu followed him for about two li. The Daoist pointed to the ground and said, “A little over three feet below this spot is a five-colored stone.” Liu began digging, and sure enough, he found a strangely colored stone about the size of a pellet.

The Daoist told him, “Take the stone home and leave it outside for nine days. Then grind it into a fine powder and swallow it with a decoction made from quince peel. Once you have recovered, go to the third room of the east corridor at Zhuyun Hall, east of the city, and come find me on the left-hand wall.” Liu’s lameness soon healed. He went to find the Daoist, but saw only an image of Dongbin on the wall, holding a ladle.

Jiangling: Curing an Eye Ailment

In Jiangling, there was a poor man surnamed Fu who made ritual paper for a living. By nature, he liked to befriend Daoist priests who traveled from place to place. Whenever he met one, he invited him home and offered whatever hospitality his circumstances allowed. The people of his village therefore called him “Daoist Fu.”

In a small room behind his house, he kept an image of the Elder Lü, an honorific for Lü Dongbin. The figure sat on a flat stone, with a little ink basket made of clay and bamboo strips beside it. Several ink sticks lay in the basket. Every morning and evening, Fu burned incense and bowed in worship. Afterwards, he locked the door, removed the ladder, and would not let even his wife and children enter.

On the first day of the first month in the first year of the Qiandao era, Fu was sitting alone in his shop when a visitor came in, wearing a square headcloth and a cloth robe. The two talked for a long time. At last, the visitor rose and said, “I happen to have a hundred coins. Shall we go to a tavern for a drink?” Fu agreed. From then on, the visitor came every few days, sometimes staying for a drink and sometimes for a meal.

Fu’s eyesight had grown dim, and his eyes often watered. The visitor told him to slice and dry raw and prepared Rehmannia, then take Sichuan peppercorns with the seeds removed, including some picked that very day while still tightly closed, and lightly toast them. He was to use equal amounts of all three ingredients, mix them with honey cooked down to a paste, and form pills. He should take fifty pills at a time on an empty stomach, washed down with salted rice broth. Fu followed the prescription for a month. His vision became clear, and he could see at night as well.

After they had known each other for half a year, the visitor suddenly announced his departure. “In two or three days I’m going to Xiangyang. Can you come with me?” Fu made excuses, saying family matters kept him from traveling. The visitor laughed. “I knew you wouldn’t come.” He wrote the four characters “Prosperity and harmony” and gave them to Fu to put up on the shop wall, saying that the business’s earnings would increase a hundredfold.

The visitor then invited Fu to a tavern to drink farewell. From his sleeve he took a paper packet containing several ink sticks. He said he meant to take them to Xiangyang as gifts, and asked Fu to keep them for him until he returned to collect them before leaving. After they finished drinking, Fu went home and put the packet on the ink stand.

Two months passed, and the visitor still had not appeared. Fu opened the packet and saw that it contained the image of the Elder Lü he had earlier made from bamboo strips. When he went to check the ink basket in the small room, he found it empty. Only then did he understand that the visitor had been the Elder Lü himself. He deeply regretted not going with him.

Later, Fu put the four characters “Prosperity and harmony” on the shop wall, and his business flourished more with each passing day. He lived to the age of eighty-nine, still with keen hearing and eyesight and abundant energy, like a young man.

In the final years of the Yuanyou era of the Northern Song, a courtesan named Sanxiang in Anfeng County fell gravely ill. No treatment brought any improvement. Her family was poor, and she had to make a living working at an inn.

One day, a scholar in shabby clothes came to stay at the inn and asked for its best room. Seeing his worn appearance, the servant turned him away. Sanxiang said, “Why should guests be judged by their wealth?” and invited him inside. A little later, the scholar heard someone groaning in pain and asked what had happened. When the servant told him, he said, “I can cure this illness.” Sanxiang was delighted.

The scholar sealed Sanxiang’s mouth with a pair of chopsticks and said, “Turn back, turn back.” At the time, she did not understand what he meant. Outside the door stood a large Chinese honey locust tree that had been dead for a long time. The scholar placed a pill in a hollow in the trunk and sealed it with mud, then vanished. That evening, branches and leaves sprouted from the tree, which grew more luxuriant day by day. Sanxiang’s illness, too, was suddenly cured. Only then did she understand that the character “hui” (turn back) referred to Lü Dongbin. She gave up her livelihood and set out to seek a master.

The local people built a shrine to the Perfected One there. In the fourteenth year of the Shaoxing era, Sanxiang suddenly returned to her hometown, still young and beautiful in appearance. Some of the local elders recognized her. The then commandery governor, Zize, a Military Excellence official, summoned her and questioned her, but she would not tell him much. After that, no one knew where she went.

When Lü Dongbin traveled through Yueyang, he assumed a false name and sold medicine, asking a thousand gold coins for each pill. For three days, no one bought any. So he climbed Yueyang Tower. (The following section tells another story of selling medicine in Yueyang.) While traveling through Yueyang, Lü Dongbin assumed a false name and sold medicine, asking a thousand gold coins for each pill. No one bought any for three days. He then climbed Yueyang Tower, took a pill himself, and suddenly rose into the air. The crowd watched in astonishment and admiration, scrambling to buy his medicine. Lü Dongbin laughed and said, “The Great Dao is right before you; Penglai is only a few steps away. Hesitate, and you will miss it while it is right in front of you.” He then recited a poem:

“At dawn I traveled through Beiyue; by dusk I had reached Cangwu.

A green serpent lies hidden in my sleeve, my courage bold.

Three times I have come to Yueyang, yet no one recognizes me;

I raise my voice in verse and fly across Dongting Lake.”

Holding the Elixir in Chengdu (title)

Every day at the Chengdu medicine market, a Daoist appeared with his face smeared in dust and grime and his clothes worn out. Holding a single pill, he called loudly to the people in the market: “I am Lü Dongbin. Whoever bows to me once more, I will give this pill to take.” Everyone thought he was mad. They gathered around to jeer and follow him. The Daoist walked back and forth several times, but no one ever bowed to him.

Later, the Daoist sat atop the large pond in front of the Wuxian Temple. Children competed to pelt him with roof tiles and stones. The Daoist smiled and said, “People so long to see me, yet when they do, they fail to recognize me. Such, too, is fate.” With that, Lü Dongbin swallowed the Golden Elixir. Before long, clouds of five colors encircled his body, and a moment later he had vanished. Only then did everyone deeply regret what they had done.

Medicine Wrapped in Fine Gauze

One year in the capital, the people widely fell ill with malaria, a recurring fever and chills. An old woman kept a tea offering and observed a fast at home, but her children and grandchildren all fell sick as well. One day, a Daoist came to visit. The old woman treated him well and told him about her family’s illness. The Daoist said, “Wait for me to come tomorrow morning.”

The old woman waited from early morning. The Daoist brought a small medicine pouch wrapped in fine gauze, as the original account describes the material used to wrap the medicine. He said, “When the illness strikes, have the patient hold this, and they will all recover. One pill can cure a hundred people; beyond a hundred, it will no longer work.” The old woman did as he instructed, and all her children and grandchildren recovered. Later, she used the medicine to treat a hundred people. When she reached the hundred-and-first, it indeed no longer worked.

The old woman opened the pouch and found the medicine gone. Only the three characters “Lü Dongbin” remained. Then she realized that she had encountered Master Lü.

A subprefect in Tonglu, whose name has been forgotten, had a mother suffering from a carbuncle on her back. He tried every possible remedy, but nothing cured her. He prayed with great sincerity, moving Lü Dongbin. One night, he dreamed that Lü Dongbin said, “Your devotion to your mother has moved Heaven. Heaven has sent me to heal her. If I had come one day later, no medicine could have saved her.” Lü Dongbin then gave him the recipe for Spirit-Treasure Salve: take five trichosanthes fruits and remove their seeds, then take five pieces of frankincense, each about the size of a date. Grind the two ingredients separately into a fine powder, then simmer them with one jin of white sand honey until they form a paste. Take three qian at a time, dissolve it in warm wine, and drink it. The subprefect bought the ingredients, prepared the medicine as instructed, and gave it to his mother. She recovered at once. Later, he shared the medicine with others, and it proved effective for them as well.

Huang Ju’neng Obtains an Elixir

Huang Ju’neng was renowned for his poetry. One day, while seeing a guest off outside the Eastern Capital Gate, he met a Daoist on the road and invited him to share food and wine. After they had eaten, the Daoist raised his cup and used the water in it to write the character “Lü” on the table. He said, “I will see you in Jiangnan next year.” The following year, Huang Ju’neng was indeed transferred to Jiangnan, where he met Lü Dongbin again.

Lü Dongbin gave him seven large coins, ten smaller-grade coins, and three small coins, saying, “The number cannot be increased.” He also gave him several pills and told him to grind one in wine and take it on the first day of the first lunar month each year. This would keep him free of illness for the entire year. Huang Ju’neng followed these instructions and lived to the age of seventy-three. By then, the medicine was nearly gone, and he died in the Eastern Capital.

Li Decheng Obtains an Elixir

Li Decheng was skilled in medicine. In the bitter cold, he met a destitute Daoist. The Daoist wore only thin clothing, yet remained free of illness all year long.

Li Decheng was skilled in medicine. Once, on an extremely cold day, he met a poor Daoist. The Daoist wore only thin clothes, yet showed no sign of feeling the cold. He led Li Decheng into a tavern and sat down in the place of honor without hesitation. Li Decheng found this strange.

The proprietor said, “You have to pay before you can take the wine.” The Daoist pointed around the tavern and said, “Bring three wine jars. There is enough money for a sheng of wine in each one.” The proprietor checked and found this was indeed so, then gave him three sheng of wine. The Daoist poured and drank. Li Decheng took only one jar, while the wine in the other two jars was drunk up on its own.

The Daoist said to Li Decheng, “This is only a minor bit of magic. I am Lü Dongbin.” Li Decheng was both astonished and delighted. The Daoist wrote this quatrain:

“The Son of Heaven in his ninefold palace is surrounded by high officials;

Outside their gates, the feudal lords are held in honor.

Yet neither can rival a commoner, wildly drunk and free,

Whose life and nature are subject to neither Heaven nor Earth.”

In essence, the Son of Heaven in his ninefold palace is surrounded by powerful nobles, and the feudal lords are honored outside their gates. But none of this compares with a commoner, dressed in plain clothes and drunk with abandon, whose life and nature are not governed by Heaven and Earth.

Lü Dongbin gave Li Decheng a pill and said, “Take this, and you will live a long life.” Then he left. After taking the pill, Li Decheng’s hair never turned white and his teeth never fell out. He lived to the age of 107.

A Shrine Is Built, and a Formula Is Passed On

Sun Yingqi’s villa, left…

To the left of Sun Yingqi’s villa lay a vacant plot, surrounded by flowing water and trees of unusual beauty. He planned to build a shrine there to Pure Yang Immortal Lü Dongbin. Before long, a Daoist in worn clothes arrived. After bowing to Sun Yingqi, he sat cross-legged, took two old prescription books from his sleeve, and pointed one out to him. “You can take this ancient Liuwei Buxin Wan regularly. It works very well.” The Daoist also taught him cultivation formulas from the Cantong qi and the Wuzhen pian. He said his surname was Zhou, and that he was a wild immortal from Tianchang County.

Sun Yingqi invited the Daoist to drink. When the Daoist became drunk, he left, crossed a hill, and vanished. Sun Yingqi turned back to look for him, but could no longer tell where he had gone. He then built the shrine, made a statue of the Daoist to worship there, and named it “Qiyun.”

The prescription is appended below:

Pill for Strengthening the Root and Nourishing Yin. Stir-fry raw Rehmannia with ginger juice; soak prepared Rehmannia in wine, then dry it over low heat; remove the cores from Chinese asparagus root and dwarf lilyturf root. Take two liang of each, one liang of ginseng, and three qian of apricot kernels. Grind the ingredients into a paste, then use refined honey to make pills about the size of parasol-tree seeds. Take seventy or eighty pills at a time on an empty stomach, with warm boiled water or wine. If preparing it as a decoction, use equal amounts of all six ingredients. Taken over a long period, it works quickly and is highly effective.

Four accounts of karmic encounters

Maoshan Converts an Old Soldier

In the twentieth year of the Shaoxing era under Emperor Gaozong of the Song, a large Zhaijiao purification ritual was held at Maoshan to pray for blessings and ward off disasters. Zheng Qingqing, the Jiangdong circuit transport commissioner, went to watch with Wang Yiyan. At noon, they rested in a thatched hut and met a Daoist. He wore a shirt of white ramie cloth and a blue cloth headscarf. His eyebrows were long, his beard handsome, and his bearing refined. Zheng and Wang said to each other, “Could this be Immortal Lü?”—that is, Lü Dongbin. They invited the Daoist over to talk, asked him to sit, and poured him wine. After several rounds, both hosts were drunk.

The Daoist asked them, “Can you drink more?” Zheng and Wang replied, “We can.” He asked, “How much can you drink?” They said, “There’s no telling.” So he told an attendant to pour two pots of wine into a silver basin and let them drink freely. They kept drinking, cup after cup. Zheng Qingqing asked, “If you have an immortal medicine, could you give me a few pills?” The Daoist said, “I do.” He rubbed dirt and sweat from beneath his left arm, shaped it into a blue pill, and gave it to Zheng, saying, “Only smell it. Do not eat it.” Wang Yiyan also asked for medicine. The Daoist rubbed dirt from beneath his right arm, shaped it into a red pill, and gave it to him with the same instruction.

When the wine was gone, the guests left. Earlier, an old soldier had been guarding the official storehouse for grain and other goods, while another veteran of the grain transport service slept beneath the eaves. It was already late, and he had not woken. The transport veteran played a prank on him, placing the two pills in his nostrils. Their scent was immediately drawn into his body, but he remained unaware. Someone woke him and asked how he felt. He said, “My whole body feels so light, as if I’m about to rise into the clouds.” The next day, he soared into the sky. The two transport veterans looked at each other, full of regret that they had not received the immortal medicine themselves. As it turned out, Immortal Lü had used their hands to guide that old soldier to transcendence.

How an Immortal Met the Dao.

He Xiangu was a Daoist woman from Lingling. When she was thirteen, she went into the mountains with her female companions to gather tea leaves. Suddenly separated from them, she lost her way and wandered alone. Beneath a mountain peak, she met a man with a long beard and narrow eyes, wearing a tall crown and a light Daoist robe. This was Lü Dongbin. He Xiangu hurried forward to pay her respects. Lü Dongbin took out a peach and said, “You are young, so I imagine you like fruit. Eat all of it, and one day you will ascend and become an immortal. If you cannot finish it, you will have to remain in the human world.” He Xiangu ate only half. The long-bearded Daoist pointed out the way home.

When He Xiangu returned, she thought only one day had passed, but more than a month had gone by. From then on, she no longer felt hunger or the burdens of everyday life, and she could foresee the good and ill fortune of human affairs. Later, she departed by the method of “corpse liberation”—in Daoist legend, a way of leaving behind the physical body and attaining the Dao to become an immortal.

Lü Dongbin once told He Xiangu, “I once traveled through the market in Huayin selling medicine. I mixed a single numinous elixir among many pills. When someone came seeking medicine, I would casually take a pill from my medicine gourd and give it to them, to see whether they had an affinity for immortality. After several days, people had taken fifty thousand of the other pills, but the numinous elixir was picked only eight times—and each time, as soon as it reached someone’s hand, it fell away.” Lü Dongbin lamented that people in the world with an affinity for immortality were so rare.

The Lame Immortal Meets the Dao

Liu the Lame Immortal of Changsha met Lü Dongbin on Junshan and learned the “method of the numinous tortoise’s breathing,” a way of describing breathing practice through the image of a tortoise. After mastering the practice, he returned to live in seclusion on Mount Yuelu and called himself Xiaoxiangzi. He often accompanied Lü Dongbin on visits to Baohuang Cave. Lü Dongbin traveled through the city many times and once wrote in a poem, “Among the seventy-two peaks of the Southern Mountain, I love only Dongzhen Ruins.” Later, a man named Zheng Si met Liu the Lame Immortal outside Qingtaimen, and the two became immortals together.

Daoist Friends Discuss a Scripture

Chen Danran was a wealthy Confucian scholar who admired Daoist arts. For many years he invited Daoist priests traveling from place to place to visit him, but never met anyone who truly suited him.

Lü Dongbin disguised himself as a laborer and tended the gardens at Chen’s home for more than a year. He worked with greater strength than an ordinary man. Chen Danran took a liking to him, but still regarded him only as a laborer.

One day, Chen Danran and a fellow Daoist were discussing the Scripture of the Hidden Talisman (Yinfu Jing). When they came to the line, “Heaven releases the killing impulse, and Heaven and Earth turn upside down,” Chen did not understand what “killing impulse” meant. Lü Dongbin, standing nearby, called out, “It can make the living no longer cling to life, and the dead no longer cling to death. Though one has already been born, one can cast off attachment to life; though one has not yet attained Wuwei (non-action), one can learn the way of stillness and death. In this way, one can attain long life.” Here, “killing impulse” is explained as breaking attachment to life and death in the pursuit of longevity.

Chen Danran shouted at him, “Aren’t you a laborer? Who taught you to say such things?” He then asked him to explain further, but Lü deliberately spoke so vaguely that no one could understand him. The fellow Daoist said, “He’s just a country bumpkin from the fields. He probably happened to hear that phrase somewhere; he doesn’t really understand it.”

Not long afterward, Lü Dongbin suddenly took leave of Chen Danran, saying that he was going on a long journey and would return at noon on the fifth day of the fifth month the following year. Then he quietly departed.

A fellow villager of Chen Danran’s, who was staying in Baling, met Lü Dongbin. Lü asked him to pass this message to Chen Danran: “I am Lü Dongbin. At first I thought you could be taught the Dao, but after observing you closely, I found that you could not. I will not return.” Having said this, he walked into the bamboo grove at Lüxian Pavilion and disappeared.

At noon on the Dragon Boat Festival the following year, Chen Danran suddenly died.

Records of Patriarch Lü, juan 4, “Treatise on Arts and Letters”; also recorded in “Five Auspicious Mysteries: An Ancient-Style Poem.”

For many years I lived in quiet, secluded places, hoping to escape the trials of cold and heat. I sought neither fame nor wealth, yet still feared that things outside myself would burden body and mind. With devoted effort I longed for the Huangting Jing (Yellow Court Scripture), and eagerly sought the paths of cultivation. In secret I accumulated hidden merit—good deeds done without seeking recognition—and for a long time continued to do good. Later, in the human world, I met a master whom no one of that time recognized.

The master acted discreetly, was deep in thought, and had a proud, solitary nature. He knew how to set the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) in motion and how to harmonize the Four Images, a Daoist summary of the transformations of Yin and Yang. He transmitted to me the gateway to creation—the key to understanding how Heaven and Earth come into being and change—and only then did I begin to grasp the principle of the subtle and imperceptible Dao. Following his instructions, I refined and ingested two true substances, and at last found the fundamental path of cultivation. I carried out the alchemical work in the pot of sun and moon, always within the bounds of Heaven and Earth.

The Great Dao is right before us; in truth, it is not far away. True emptiness is not a state of nothingness, and actual forms are not fixed and unchanging. Tip over the jade gourd and draw out the golden liquid; grip the head of the red dragon tightly and strive to draw in the pearl of Li. Swallow it into the viscera, and you will gain the powers of an immortal. In the end it condenses into a tiny millet pearl—the Neidan pill—which is said to grant long life.

When fellow cultivators hear me sing, they can draw closer to the Great Dao. If they still do not understand the true yellow sprout, a symbolic term in Neidan cultivation, then even walking through bustling streets will be a waste of effort. Grasp the soul of the red crow, and reveal the spirit of the silver toad; if you have not understood their mystery, you may easily mistake them for ordinary things. There is a path leading to the Three Heavens, the higher celestial realms of Daoism; even from the Nine Earths, the deepest places, one may ultimately be free of disaster and calamity. Hold fast to the Great Dao and for now conceal your brilliance; forget cunning and blend with the common world. Do not look down on the multitude: you, too, belong among the immortals of Penglai.

Two Seven-Character Ancient-Style Poems

Presented to Liu Fang, a Reclusive Scholar

Watching the six states rise and fall fills me with sorrow. Carrying my zither, I let out a long cry and leave the dusty world behind. I had meant to go where mist and rosy clouds swirl, and there refine white stones, as in the Waidan practice of making elixirs. By chance I came into the city, where I encountered Danqiu, a realm of immortals or their dwelling place.

I received from Jinhua a teaching that leads beyond the world, and hope one day to ride the clouds into the Purple Court, the celestial palace of Daoism. In recent years I have gathered the emerald hues of Yellow Cliff, where jade trees of the immortal realms grow in uneven ranks, stretching without end toward the Earth’s Lungs, the depths of its veins or a blessed grotto-heaven.

Dew falls on fragrant field ridges, nourishing the jade-like seedlings; the moon rises above green peaks, and the faint cry of a crane drifts from a boat. News from the immortal realm says that spring is in full bloom. Immortals travel back and forth along their celestial paths, while ordinary people find it hard to follow.

A sudden impulse came over me. Riding on white clouds, I descended to the human world and met you by chance amid the dust of mortal life. When we met, we spoke little of mundane affairs, sharing instead only the aspirations that have resonated since ancient times.

We played the jade qin and jeweled se, raising cups to one another and offering each other nectar and jade wine. In our cups, we also spoke of the rise and fall of worldly affairs, saying that those who cultivate the Dao are not entangled by official rank or title.

Life in this floating world is brief; in the blink of an eye, it is gone. Life is like sparks from striking stone or a flash of lightning, vanishing in an instant. The beauty of youth does not last: flower-like faces and jade-like features will, in the end, turn to dust.

Better to keep raising our cups and enjoy ourselves from dawn to dusk; such pleasures have never run out, from ancient times to the present. Yet more important still is to understand the profound mystery of the Dao. The Dao is distant and elusive, and calls for careful contemplation.

A single pill of elixir within the pot can bring forth wondrous things. The thousand-year art of cultivation that transcends the mortal world is subtle and profound. If one can refine the “flower within water,” bringing Water and Fire into harmony, one can form the Golden Elixir. Here, “Water and Fire” refer to the Yin-Yang Qi that must be harmonized in Neidan practice.

Once the elixir is refined, one need not remain long in the mortal world: a celestial decree will come of its own accord from the blue empyrean. Xuanzhou and Yanggu are both immortal realms where one may dwell, enjoying a long life that endures as long as Heaven and Earth.

Riding in a luan-bird chariot or on a crane, one can fly with the clouds; even the distant Jade Pool is not hard to reach. The ear hears how war brings ruin, while the eye sees beauty and splendor decay.

The former lands of the Tang are now entirely desolate, and the tombs of Han emperors are left with nothing but white grass. The human world is indeed sorrowful, and life is short; do not delay making your plans.

A house filled with pearls and jade does not mean happiness, and chests packed with silk only add to one’s danger. Since ancient times, people of purpose have prized freedom from greed. Those who understand the Way also let go of desire, refusing to let private cravings rule them.

Liu Fang, Liu Fang, listen carefully to what I say: time flies and passes in an instant. If pernicious Qi is decisively removed, one will not bring disaster from corpse-demons upon oneself through delay; “corpse-demons” here refers to malign forces that obstruct body and mind in the language of cultivation.

You should understand the “Eight-Jade Secret Formula” for yourself. Do not wait until the carriage breaks and the journey is blocked before regretting it. A broken carriage and damaged travel gear are bound to cause alarm. If the moment is missed, it may be too late even to meet Boyang—the legendary Laozi—again.

If one is always worrying about family and state affairs, one will exhaust the primordial Qi in the Three Fields. The “Three Fields” are the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, the places where Jing, Qi, and Shen are gathered and nurtured in Daoist Neidan practice. If you wish to open the Mysterious Pass, which lies close at hand and where Jing, Qi, and Shen meet in Neidan practice, you must unlock the golden lock yourself.

When I met Second Lord Qiao in the capital, we talked and drank together with abandon, often staying drunk for an entire year. In my drunkenness, I often delighted in withdrawing from the world to cultivate the Dao; I did not do so for fame or profit.

I urge you not to cling to the splendor and wealth of worldly life. You should quickly set out on the path of retreating to the mountains and forests to seek the Dao. How does one enter the realm of mist and rosy clouds? First, cultivate “guiding the Golden Crystal through the elbow.” This is a term from Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy), referring to using intention to guide the movement of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) within the body.

When the Golden Crystal reaches the upper palace—the upper Dantian (energy center) in the head—the upper and lower palaces, or Dantian, connect with each other, and radiance appears. Then Jade Liquid trickles downward and rushes back to the Sea of Origin, the Dantian, with a sound like thunder.

After cultivation, Yin and Yang unite between husband and wife, filling them with joy. Water and Fire harmonize and balance one another; the transformation brought about by cultivation is like the “Peace” hexagram in the Book of Changes, symbolizing the free and harmonious exchange of Heaven above and Earth below.

Yang energy rises and falls, refining Yin energy. Only when Yin energy has been entirely dispelled can one understand the profound meaning. What, ultimately, is the root of it all? At its heart, it is “Metal in Water”—a metaphor in Daoist Neidan for the Jing or original vitality within the body.

Lord Qiao, Lord Qiao, begin your cultivation at once. Do not let the sun and moon turn and the years fly by. Why not cultivate yourself into a perfected being? Life in the mortal world is brief, after all.

The Great Dao and long life are not easily attained. Since ancient times, people have continually sought them.

Four Five-Character Quatrains

Presented to Li Xiyu of Qizhou

Drink less of the wine that clouds the mind; do not covet wealth gained unjustly. Good fortune comes from compassion and good deeds, while disaster is invited by deceit and crafty gain.

Inscribed at Ziji Palace

I stroll at leisure into Ziji Palace and lean on the rail by the water. No one knows I have come here; only the red-crowned crane’s cry sounds especially urgent.

Two Poems for the Recluse Shen Zhenji

Riding on a crane’s back, I sing aloud; my clear voice rings through the woods. Dongting Lake stretches for thousands of miles. It is autumn, and moonlight shimmers on the water.

The moon has gradually dimmed; as the poem is finished, dawn is near. The lone crane suddenly vanishes, leaving only idle clouds to drift freely back and forth.

Once she understood the principle of long life, the autumn lotus bloomed everywhere. The Golden Boy ascended the splendid canopy, while the Jade Maiden descended the fragrant steps. The Heavenly Hun settled amid the whistling, and the Earthly Po returned with the dragon’s cry. Whoever understands this principle can at once return to an infantlike state.

The Maiden (a term in alchemy for Yin essence and energy) dwells in the south, and the sun emerges beside her. In the Moon Palace (a symbol of the moon or the Yin side in alchemy), Jade Liquor is brewed; within the Kan Gate (a symbol of water, the kidneys, or the Yin side), fine nectar is refined. The elixir once consumed by immortals has now come for me to taste. One cup can extend life for ten thousand years, allowing one to roam freely beyond the mortal world.

I suddenly understood the principle of Yellow Sprout (a Neidan term for nascent true Qi or the elixir): Yin and Yang move in accordance with nature’s patterns. It is refined in the furnace of Heaven and Earth and simmered in the cauldron of sun and moon. From wood comes the mercury that grants long life; from metal comes the lead that renews life. Whoever understands this principle can at once regain a youthful face.

I suddenly understood the principle of Yellow Sprout: Yin and Yang move in accordance with nature’s patterns. It is refined in the furnace of Heaven and Earth and simmered in the cauldron of sun and moon. From wood comes the mercury that grants long life; from metal comes the lead that renews life. Whoever understands this principle can at once regain a youthful face.

Yellow Sprout is born between Heaven and Earth, then tempered in the furnace until it becomes cinnabar. Yin and Yang brew the five-colored Qi, while water and fire refine the Three Flowers (Jing, Qi, and Shen). In the cauldron, dragon and tiger unite; within the vessel, tortoise and serpent respond to one another. Once the work is complete, one transcends the mortal world and enjoys freedom among the clouds and rosy mists.

To seek the path of long life, one must recognize the source. In the end, long life lies in a single ingredient, yet it can transform into a thousand wondrous uses. Mercury is brewed in the alchemical cauldron, and lead is refined in the red furnace. Take one pill at the appointed time, and one can ascend to Heaven in broad daylight.

The Maiden dwells on the Jade Terrace, where immortal flowers bloom across the land. Golden shoots grow from this place, and the Jade medicine descends from Heaven. The phoenix dances to the melody of long life; the luan sings as it raises the cup that renews life. Whoever understands this principle has witnessed the world’s transformations a thousand times over.

Since ancient times, the immortals have all grasped Jia and Geng at their root (terms in alchemy for cycles of time, directions, or changes between Yin and Yang). In water, one hears a tiger’s roar; in fire, one sees a dragon move. The advances and retreats of transformation unfold through the Three Phases (the three stages of Neidan practice); Yin and Yang consume and take in one another, according to the Eight Cords (a symbol for the eight directions or the principles governing changes between Yin and Yang). When one’s work is complete and one ascends into the sky, one is no longer subject to the changes of cold and heat.

I have returned.

Since ancient times, the immortals have all grasped Jia and Geng at their root. In water, one hears a tiger’s roar; in fire, one sees a dragon move. The advances and retreats of transformation unfold through the Three Phases; Yin and Yang consume and take in one another, according to the Eight Cords. When one’s work is complete and one ascends into the sky, one is no longer subject to the changes of cold and heat.

I have understood the principle of long life: the sun is concealed within the Great Yin. White jade emerges from the Li Palace (a symbol of fire, the heart, or the Yang side), and gold is produced within the Kan Gate (a symbol of water, the kidneys, or the Yin side). To let ruler and minister each remain in their proper place, one must preserve the relationship through which child and mother engender one another. Within the Ninefold Spirit Chamber (a Neidan symbol for the levels of the inner elixir palace), the tiger’s roar and the dragon’s cry answer one another.

The miraculous elixir is born in the Great Void, the source of the cosmos and realm of emptiness. After nine cycles of transformation, it is placed amid layer upon layer of furnace flames and tempered. Repeated washing and refining form it into a pill like a red lotus, which is then fired into a pearl like white jade. Take one liang of Lead from Water and three zhu of Mercury from Fire and combine them in the refining. Swallow this treasure of the Jade Terrace, and you can ascend to Heaven, free from the suffering of age and decline.

The Lady Mother dwells in the Palace of Li, the direction that symbolizes Fire in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). By her side, the Yin and Yang energies take shape. The furnace’s seven-return refinement is complete, and the cauldron’s nine-return refinement has also come to an end. Those who realize the Dao are as free as fish returning to water; those who lose their way are like crows shut in a cage. Take a single pill in old age, and in an instant you can regain your youth and become a vigorous young person.

Dao and De are the foundation of Heaven and Earth; Yin-Yang is the basis of cultivation. The heavenly soul gives rise to the White Tiger, and the earthly po gives rise to the Azure Dragon. In internal cultivation, these represent complementary substances such as Lead and Mercury. Carry the refined precious Qi to the Muddy Pellet, the upper Dantian in the head, then transfer the Jing and Qi to the Upper Palace, a site of cultivation within the head. Those who understand this method can preserve their youth for a long time.

To seek the foundation of cultivation, Yin-Yang is the most essential basis. The heavenly soul gives rise to the White Tiger, and the earthly po gives rise to the Azure Dragon. Carry the refined precious Qi to the Muddy Pellet, then transfer the Jing and Qi to the Upper Palace. Those who understand this method can preserve their youth for a long time.

To explore the principles of the Golden Elixir, one must know that its true source is not easy to encounter. The Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—and the seven-return refinement must be complete; the Four Images, the Yin-Yang transformations of Metal, Wood, Water, and Fire, and the nine-return refinement must be finished. Through washing and refining, the elixir gradually turns white; continued firing makes it slowly turn red. A single pill can extend life for ten thousand years, freeing one from the mundane world to roam at ease.

Everyone longs to attain long life, but its foundation is not easy to find. To obtain the treasure of Heaven, one must set aside worldly treasures and seek the true formula for cultivation. Refine Fire within Water, then fire it further to produce Yin within Yang. The words handed down personally by the patriarch come down to this one medicinal substance: Gold in Water.

All things arise from their essence, just as a person must attain their own original nature, the root of life. The essence of the Azure Dragon is Mercury; the water of the White Tiger is Lead. Those who realize the Dao understand how the child Qi returns to the mother, like a child turning to its mother. Those who lose their way mistake Earth for Heaven and confuse the root. In time, all who transcend the mundane world can use this to nourish the Dantian, the body’s storehouse of Jing and Qi.

The twenty-four inner deities spoken of in Daoism are calm and settled, and three thousand meritorious deeds have been completed. Cold clouds circle across the earth, and sacred sunlight illuminates the whole sky. The Jade Child, a symbol of the essence gained through internal cultivation, is fit to be nurtured; the Golden Field, a symbol of the Dantian, is not obtained through farming. A true and wondrous principle lies here. Who can say that cultivation cannot grant long life?

Within gauze there is finer gauze; within the mysterious lies an even deeper mystery. Whether speaking or acting, one expounds the Dao; even in silence, one enters the realm of the immortals. In the palm it is wondrous as a pearl; in the sky it shines like a full moon. When merit is complete, one can enter directly into the Great Luo Heaven, one of the highest celestial realms in Daoism.

In a quiet chamber, gather the spirit and visualize, harmonizing Yin and Yang until each is balanced. Refine the liquid of the Maiden of Li, a symbol of the essence transformed from the Heart’s Fire, then swallow the fluid of the Youth of Kan, a symbol of the saliva transformed from Kidney Water. The body gradually becomes light, strong, and carefree, and one attains a transcendent freedom of body and mind. Complete one’s merit, and a celestial crane will lead the way to pay homage to the divine immortals.

Once one has penetrated the Great Dao and brought one’s practice and deeds to completion, one can enter the Great Luo Heaven—the highest heaven in Daoism—directly.

In a quiet room, focus the spirit and hold the inner image in mind, bringing the two Qi of Yin and Yang into unity. Refine the female fluid of the Li trigram and swallow the male saliva of the Kan trigram—images for the fluid produced by the union of Yin and Yang in Neidan practice. The body will gradually become a body of freedom and ease, transcendent and unbound. When the work is further perfected, banners and immortal cranes will guide the way to an audience with the True Immortals.

To understand the Great Dao is also to understand its mysteries, and one’s reputation can then spread in every direction. In company with friends and family, one carries only a staff, with empty hands, and treats others with kindness. To attain the fruit of the Dao, one must leave a seed, consider it carefully, and nurture it step by step. Cultivation is like slowly brewing tea; it requires patience. Who would imagine that coming into this world is only a temporary stay, and that before long one must return to the heavens?

Forty-Two Seven-Character Quatrains

Grasp the Golden Essence—the precious Jing and Qi of Neidan practice—and secure the foundation of life. Unite the Sun Soul with the radiance of the Moon. From this, refine the medicine of long life; once it is taken, one may endure as long as Heaven and Earth.

Do not wonder why news from the Jade Pond—the dwelling of the Queen Mother of the West, often a name for the immortal realm—is scarce: worldly affairs obscure Heaven’s secrets. If someone can find “fire within water,” an image of water and fire refining one another in Neidan practice, a Yellow Boy, symbol of the Neidan or primordial spirit, will ascend to Taiwei in the celestial court.

At the bottom of the Primordial Sea, a symbol for the source of Neidan practice within the body, lies the root of life. There dwells the Jade Emperor, called the Yellow Boy. The White Tiger’s divine talisman lies hidden within the Old Woman, while the numinous origin guards the place of the Seven Primordial Lords.

Though there are three Dantian in the body, no seed is ready-made. To sow one, the Red Dragon must plow the field. In the past, I taught someone else to plant this seed; but unless one knows the method that follows the edge of the pool, the seed will not grow.

The spirits of Tiger and Dragon flash and dart like a shining divine sword. In cultivation, body and mind must accord with the Dao and never go against it. To transmit this method, one needs the aid of Heaven and Earth; then one can penetrate the Three Pure Ones’ heavens and enter Purple Tenuity, the dwelling of the Celestial Emperor.

There is no need to seek outward through an intermediary: the Golden Elixir is gathered and refined within oneself. Do not say the Great Dao is hard to attain; it is only that one’s practice has not yet reached completion.

Drink until you have had a hundred cups; travel east, then sail west, and progress will come as if climbing a ladder. When the Sun’s essence and the Moon’s radiance unite, a luminous pearl will rise.

Do not fail the light of Sun and Moon, nor fail other people. Do not deceive the gods, or those who are poor and weak. If someone asks me how to cultivate, I say only: tend the field of the heart and nourish yourself.

Those in the world who wish to journey to Yingzhou, the legendary island of immortals in the sea, must first pass through its towering Eighteen Towers. As thunder and lightning roar, their force shaking all around, a pool of Golden Water flows eastward.

In Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, the elixir within the body is golden, like gold and jade. It rises and descends, circulating through the body and keeping the radiance of Shen (spirit) flowing without interruption. The Three Primordials meet only after many years of practice. At this stage, it is as though one dwells in the heavens, where even the sun and moon seem especially slow to pass.

The student of the Dao must pass through lofty realms, as if climbing an imposing eighteen-story tower. During cultivation, tremors like thunder and lightning arise of their own accord, and a pool of golden water flows eastward.

Those who study the Dao must be content with poverty, carrying only a few coins in their pockets. When someone asks me how to practice, I point far off toward the sun and moon at the edge of the sky.

I forget distracting thoughts, and my heart and spirit grow joyful of themselves. I cross water and pass through clouds to come and meet you. I will not speak of Yellow Sprouts, an important term in Neidan cultivation, or the Elbow-Back Method, a secret practice. How could one put into words the principle that penetrates the hidden and subtle?

The secret art of Neidan has been passed down at the elbow for a thousand years. I recite the two scrolls, upper and lower, of the Scripture of the Yellow Court. Beside the ancient Daoist temple and altar, pine shadows fall; all around, no trace of human presence remains, and the gates have long been shut.

Alone, I climb to the summit and gaze toward the capitals in all eight directions. The dark clouds disperse, but the moon still hangs solitary in the sky. In this boundless universe there are countless people; how few can truly be called great men?

I can travel the whole world in half a day, without riding a phoenix or mounting a dragon. On a whim, as if at play, I send my spirit sword flying and demolish the highest peak of Zhongnan Mountain.

I turn the gourd upside down and pluck the strings of the qin in reverse. Walking backward, I ascend straight to Outer Ox Ridge. Water splashes from the rocks like snowflakes; standing, I gaze up at the sky, and sitting, I compose poems.

My home is in the land of Celestial Qi. White clouds drift apart, and the stone steps seem worn away. I travel eight thousand li and back in half a day. When I return, I still know the way home; I have never lost my way.

The Daoist of Yellow Peak is noble and exceptional, and for many years has never left the Lotus Palace. At night, he bows to the stars, his jade hairpin cold; at dawn, he opens the Golden Cauldron, and the Qi of the dragon and tiger rises. The Golden Cauldron and dragon and tiger are symbolic terms in Neidan cultivation.

We suddenly meet east of East Mountain. We clasp hands and exchange earnest words, our voices ringing like bells. Your swordsmanship is complete; take the sword and go. If you meet a flood dragon, cut it down.

At dawn I sail on the Cangwu; by dusk I have returned. Within the cave, the sun and moon turn, and I make a world of my own. The treasured sword lies hidden in its case, ringing from time to time. If I do not meet someone who shares my aspirations, I swear I will never pass it on.

The immortals, like idle clouds and wild cranes, clap their hands and dance. Leaning on their staffs, they cross mountain ridges and pass through the clouds, as if their staffs could fly too. A journey of eight thousand li from here and back takes only half a day; south of Jinzhou stands a pinewood gate.

I tend my elder brother until he is just like me, while I myself resemble a dead, withered catalpa tree. Only my son is full of vigor. Generation after generation, the pattern continues. How can this compare with attending to one’s own cultivation?

Nourish the numinous root—the symbol of life’s foundation in cultivation—with Jing and Qi; use Qi to care for the spirit. Beyond this, there is no other true Great Dao. The immortals refuse to speak plainly, and so countless thousands are left confused.

I serve no lords and princes, nor do I farm the fields. Even when the sun has climbed high, I still sleep with my lute in my arms. When I rise, I casually take gold to buy what I need, and let no one press me to explain where the money for my living expenses comes from.

People from the ends of the earth come looking for me, yet they could search the whole world and never find me. Practice loyalty, filial devotion, righteousness, and compassion; make a habit of helping others. Then there is no need to seek me—you can naturally cultivate the true Way.

Do not say that a recluse does nothing. In leisure, there is a quiet practice of cultivation. By day, I shut the door and finish reading my books; then I sweep the floor and burn incense, passing the hours in silence until evening.

Gather Jing and regulate the breath to nourish the spirit; use Jing to nourish the Dantian, the place within the body where vital essence is thought to gather, and use Qi to care for the body. Those who learn this method can live forever and never die.

Taking a bamboo hat for a sail and a fan for a boat, I roam wherever I please across the Five Lakes and Four Seas. In the blink of an eye, I can reach the vast, boundless world. Even stones weather away and pines grow old, yet I no longer know how many years have passed.

At times I am a Daoist priest, at times a Buddhist monk. I move among ordinary people and associate with them without showing my edge, yet possess abilities beyond the usual. I can turn the sea of suffering into a road leading to heaven; Kunlu—perhaps a person’s name or a deity’s—often lights hundreds or even thousands of lamps.

Crossing Dongting Lake at Junshan

At midnight, the moon turns above Junshan. In a small garden nearby to the west, green lotus flowers are opening. A delicate fragrance drifts through the wind and dew, luminous and crystalline. The buds are still beneath the blue sky; the cranes have yet to arrive.

Presented to the Tianqing Abbey in Fengxiang Prefecture

I attained the Dao eight hundred years ago. I have never used a flying sword to take anyone’s life. The Jade Emperor has yet to send down a heavenly talisman—a decree from the Celestial Emperor—so for now I make my way in the human world by selling black metal.

Drawing a Sword in the Snow at Xiangyang

On Mount Xian, the bitter cold of night feels as if a jade dragon were frozen. Among the thousand trees of Fenglin, the pear blossoms have withered. Few in Xiangyang city know of this scene, while the mountains and rivers beyond its walls are beautiful.

Meeting Zhao Tong at Sea

I must bring harmony to the water and fire of the Southern Palace; I must also arrange the marriage of husband and wife at the Northern Pass. The little dragon in the cave is lively and endearing, while the young attendant before the mountain wanders back and forth in delight.

Five Poems Presented to a Swordsman

Sir, sir, your fierce face strikes fear into the heart. You draw your sword and sweep it through the air, and at once the sky darkens. You command it three times: “Quickly, quickly, go!” Suddenly, a human head falls from the sky.

Once the sword leaves its sheath, it speeds like a shooting star and flies like a pearl, reaching a distance of ten thousand miles. Thunder and lightning, wind and rain follow in its wake. The head carried away was not that of a living person. Why, then, do you sing so loudly as you roam the Five Lakes?

Your thick brows and thunderous words announce your presence. When you hear of injustice, you set down your wine cup. You send your sword flying through the sky, and it travels a thousand miles. When we parted, the first watch of the night had begun; when I saw you again, another watch had passed.

Your brows are thick, your bearing fierce; with a single leap, you soar ten thousand miles into the sky. In the sword case on your back lies a three-foot sword. For now, let it show the world what it means to stand up against injustice everywhere.

Sir, sir, there is no need to seek beyond yourself. The Great Dao must be passed on; the sword should be put away. Today we have met beside rivers and seas. Come, have a cup of country wine, and rest awhile.

Presented to Master Cao

The crane does not fly west, and the dragon does not move. The dew has dried, the clouds have dispersed, and all is quiet around the grotto. A young immortal speaks of idle matters; from beyond the distant colored clouds comes a sigh.

With a Preface: To Chan Master Huijue of Zhidu Temple in Tanzhou

I once traveled through Shaozhou and Binzhou, following the Xiang River downstream. Now I have met Master Jue and seen his profound, clear understanding of Chan, and the purity and stillness of his mind and nature. We sat quietly together, knees close, as he gathered his spirit and turned his gaze inward. Apart from the monk’s robe he wore, he had no extra clothing; apart from the food in his alms bowl, he had nothing else to eat. He has crossed the threshold of life and death and broken free of the bonds of affliction. Now the Buddhist Dharma is silent and still, its transmission nearly severed; the principles of Chan stand high above us, seemingly on the verge of being lost. Perhaps it is my teacher who can uphold the Dharma and bring it to renewed flourishing.

Those who have truly attained understanding carry the world in their hearts and seek to aid all beings; the teachings passed down by sages never depart from what is true. I ask the teacher to reveal the true meaning of the Chan tradition brought from the West. Among the seven patriarchs today, it seems no one can yet explain it clearly.

A Casual Poem

I travel alone and sit in stillness alone; so many in the world do not understand me. Only the spirit of the old tree south of the town knows that an immortal has passed this way.

The pines are gnarled with age, the rocks have endured the years, and the stream winds around in bends. It is not an easy place for worldly people to reach. I raise my eyes to look beyond the mountains: the wind blows fiercely, and yellow dust swirls through the air, obscuring the view.

Sixty Seven-Character Regulated Poems

The two gates at the spine can open a passage to the crown of the head; this is the fundamental path of cultivation. The waters of the Flower Pond—the saliva in the mouth—should be swallowed often, and the Primordial Lord of the Purple Palace, where the spirits dwell within the body, will come to offer aid.

Keep the breath moving, carrying it through the joints; Jing and Qi will naturally grow abundant, and the Grain Spirit—the subtle, hidden spirit within the body—will unfold and emerge. If one can attend the gathering at the Jade Pool in the future, one should remember with gratitude the person who first offered guidance.

A Formula for Regulating the Breath

The breath moves without cease, in a chaos not yet divided; who knows how many ages have passed? In a single cycle of inhalation and exhalation, it seems I have grasped the meaning of five thousand words. I go to a beautiful place on South Mountain to refine elixirs; by absorbing Qi and swallowing rosy clouds, I seem able to travel throughout the Nine Seas.

I have seen my appearance change many times, and have watched the sea turn into mulberry fields. When Your Majesty asks how old I am, I reply: my life is older than Heaven and Earth.

Composed for You

The highest Dao I cultivate has always been the Dao of Wuwei (non-action). In the cinnabar vessel, white snow is joined with Kan and Li, symbols of Yin-Yang and Water and Fire, to refine and nurture body and mind. I often enjoy three leisurely cups of wine, then sit at ease over a game of chess, placing my pieces without competing for victory.

Gathering Lead and adding Mercury refers to harmonizing body and mind through the symbolic Lead and Mercury of Neidan practice, concentrating Jing and Qi, and preserving the true substance of life. Returning to the root and restoring the origin means returning to what is fundamental and restoring life’s foundation. Once these two forces are understood as converging in one place, one can finally climb the ladder leading to the Heavenly Dao. This work investigates the mysteries of the Dao.

The Great Dao moves on its own, beyond the ordinary myriad things. Silent and profound, it has endured since ancient times. It has no form, yet unseen it brings the myriad things into being and transforms them; it also seems to have a gateway, existing between Heaven and Earth.

At the boundary between the formed and the formless, who can investigate it to the end? Within emptiness that is not wholly empty, one may understand the root. This principle cannot be obtained from the outside; no amount of speech is more than empty talk.

The numinous Golden Elixir, the refined substance of life produced through Neidan practice, is not located at some distant edge of Heaven or Earth. Even discussion and close study of the scriptures cannot fully fathom it; climbing mountains and approaching rivers will not reveal its traces.

Light lies hidden within the subtle realm of Xiyi, beyond the reach of sight and hearing; the radiant red Elixir stands high at the beginning of Chaos. If people knew where it resides, it would not be difficult to transcend the ordinary and attain the sacred.

After wandering through the dust of the world for forty years, I have practiced Wuwei, taking no contrived action and keeping faith with the natural and the true. The foundation of cultivation lies entirely in the Cauldron of Qian and Kun, which symbolizes Heaven and Earth and the human body’s Neidan furnace. The work depends wholly on the Wheel of the Sun and Moon, a symbol of the principles governing Yin-Yang’s movement.

The precious treasure lies concealed within the Qi of the Bagua, while the original Shen is hidden in the radiance of the Five Phases. Even as seas turn to fields and the world changes, it remains, enabling one to dwell for a long time beyond the ordinary world.

Alone amid the myriad forms of Heaven and Earth, I carry the primordial method clearly through its course, from beginning to end. My mind’s craft ranges freely, like a hand commanding the Northern Dipper; my courage is so strong it seems able to overturn the Southern Dipper. The Golden Cauldron forms the Elixir, as though ghosts and spirits cry out in alarm; the Jade Furnace refines emptiness, as though a parrot takes flight and a dog transforms into something strange. How could ordinary people easily find this? Without entering the subtle, hidden realm of Xiyi, its mysteries cannot be fully understood.

Who can believe that the path of the Flower Pool is the most profound? It is neither far away nor close at hand, and its mystery is hard to find. After nine years of gathering and refining, the Elixir is like red jade; when the work is perfected in a single day, it is like purple gold.

Once the Dao is attained, one is no longer harried by heat and cold. It is said that consuming the Golden Elixir can free one from the intrusion of life and death. I urge those who cultivate themselves amid worldly life to set their minds straight and devote themselves to contemplating this Dao-heart.

Seek Lead in the Water Palace and unite it with Fire Lead; black and red mingle and transform in profound mystery. From Qi arises still finer Qi, transforming the skin; within Jing is contained still purer Jing, concentrating nature and life as one.

Only after the medicinal substances have been successfully refined again can one be called a true adept who has attained the Dao (the Way). Once the elixir is complete, it is already a sacred embryo and immortal body. If talk of the spirit leaving the body and entering meditation is nothing but empty delusion, then countless years will have been wasted.

Repeatedly refine the nine-turn cinnabar in the Nine Cauldrons, carefully distinguishing the firing times at every stage and allowing no mistakes. Jing (essence), Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and blood return to the Three Essentials—the three fundamental elements central to alchemical practice. North, south, east, or west, all return to the same Great Dao. The energies of Heaven and Earth mingle and transform into a scene like white snow; when Yin and Yang unite, golden blossoms arise, subtle signs of Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. At last, the music of the phoenix descends from the sky, and the practitioner rides a tiger and mounts a dragon, their form shining amid the purple clouds.

Contemplate this after the hour of the Rat and before the hour of the Horse: a single stream of saliva comes from the upper end of the spine. The Golden Palace within the body conceals the Mysterious Valley Master, a symbolic figure in Neidan practice; in the Jade Pool, where saliva gathers in the mouth, sits the Official of Supreme Harmony. Then use only the most refined three cycles of firing to refine the numinous nine-turn elixir. Practitioners of the Dao should grasp this essential teaching and, in every movement, advance, or retreat, never stray from Tiger-Dragon Shoal, the symbolic place where Dragon and Tiger meet and Yin and Yang harmonize.

After returning to the root and restoring the origin, the Qi of the Dao becomes calm and balanced. Within emptiness, material form gradually becomes manifest. In water, white snow slowly congeals; in fire, a golden lotus gradually emerges. Sacred Mercury, a symbolic alchemical term, has no fixed form when considered in relation to time. True Lead, another symbolic alchemical term, has no fixed name when examined closely. Now I tell practitioners: do not ask only how to smelt metals and minerals; seek the most refined principle within.

Set the cauldron and the Ao, both alchemical symbols, and cultivate the mysterious root. Understand the gates of Mao and You, which stand for the timing and sequence of alchemical firing, as the fire advances and recedes. Turn with the speed of lightning and rushing clouds; command the Dragon and employ the Tiger, sending them between Heaven and Earth. A single pill of elixir can preserve youthful beauty; after nine transformations, it can even reduce white hair. This Dao is deep and subtle, and few understand it. In the vast world of dust and toil, who is there to speak with about it?

Brew a cup of the essence of the sun and moon; command the Dragon and drive the Tiger, sending them between Heaven and Earth. A single pill of elixir can preserve youthful beauty; after nine transformations, it can even reduce white hair. This Dao is deep and subtle, and few understand it. In the vast world of dust and toil, who is there to speak with about it?

Brew a cup, and set it down as a poem; drink at dusk and recite at dawn, unaware of the passing years. The Qian horse, a symbol of Yang energy, comes again and again to the Nine Earths; the Kun ox, a symbol of Yin energy, sometimes travels through the Three Heavens. In the White Tortoise’s grotto, husband and wife meet; in the Azure Phoenix’s nest, mother and child are complete. Taking the numinous child by the hand, one climbs a mountain and gazes into the distance, seeing only layer upon layer of golden coins—the precious fruits of cultivation.

Once you understand the “East-West art and Fire”—the principles of Wood and Fire associated with the eastern and western directions—you can naturally understand the scene of the Dragon and Tiger singing to one another within the furnace and cauldron. By following the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang in Heaven and Earth, you can discern the signs of their interaction.

With the left hand, reach toward the southern stars to draw down a crane’s feather; with the right, grasp the handle of the Northern Pole and split open the tortoise’s heart. The immortals left these essential teachings in their own words. Why remain so attached to seeking outward?

The mysteries of this celestial book are unfathomably deep. Empty talk of enduring ten thousand kalpas or paying a thousand pieces of gold cannot bring understanding. In the depths of winter, a mysterious inner fire is present; in high summer, the outer appearance is cold and Yin.

Only when Metal Qi rises can one’s nature become apparent; only after Wood Qi descends can one know the original mind. The Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—rise and fall in reversed transformations, allowing one to discern the signs within. Returning to the root and restoring the origin ultimately means seeking within oneself.

The Tiger generals and Dragon troops surge forth in strength, wearing talismans and armor as they rush into action. Swords and halberds spread out like flashing lightning; banners array themselves like a swift wind sweeping past.

Seize the Three Corpses—the spirits said in Daoism to dwell within the body and obstruct cultivation—and burn their lairs. Capture the Six Thieves, a common metaphor in Daoist and Buddhist texts for sensory desires that disturb the mind, and storm the demon palace. Rivers run clear, seas lie calm, Heaven and Earth are at peace, and generation after generation dwells securely within Dao and De.

I diligently cultivate the fields of my own household, where there is a numinous seedling that can endure for ten thousand years. Its flowers are like gold, yet small; its fruits are like white jade, each one round and smooth.

Its cultivation depends entirely on the soil of the central palace—the Earth Qi of the spleen and stomach, or of the body’s center. Its irrigation requires the spring of the upper valley, a Neidan term for the body’s fluids. When nine years of cultivation are complete, pull it up by the roots, and ascend together with it to the Great Luo Heaven, a high celestial realm in Daoism.

Those who ordinarily study the Dao often say they seek the Yellow Sprout, a Neidan term for the true Yang Qi that arises through cultivation. Yet they cross mountains and rivers searching everywhere, and so turn in the wrong direction. Whatever has sound and form, whatever is fully formed, cannot be sown; that which has no roots or feet can blossom on its own.

Cook it in the Nine-Three cauldron, as though boiling curds; let it congeal in the Six-One furnace, taking on the shape of colored clouds. Before long, the Golden Elixir will be complete, transforming the body as if casting off an old shell and allowing it to ascend, pointing the way to the Jade Emperor’s palace in the heavens.

Once you have reached the Forty-Six pass, the road ahead is already level, and travelers need not be alarmed. Let the calf cart rumble and turn as it will, and the sheep cart creak and roll along as it will.

Crossing seas and rivers rarely brings obstruction; ascending to the heavens or descending into the earth carries no fear of falling. When cultivation is complete, one can enter the Hall of Immortality directly, draw a spirit pearl from one’s sleeve, and shine its light in all directions through the night.

When Nine and Six unite, the Dao’s Qi is harmonized. The River Chariot—the method of cultivation that describes the movement of Qi within the body—turns day and night, sending forth golden radiance. As you exhale, the flow of Qi passes through each of the inner gates in turn; as you inhale, it courses layer by layer along the meridians.

Lightning flashes at the Li Gate, the direction associated with the heart and Fire, illuminating mountains and seas. Thunder roars at the Zhen Portal, the direction associated with the liver and Wood, shaking all things. Reflect carefully: this path of cultivation is indeed long. Yet many who study the Dao are lost in sensual desire, as though drowning in a river of passion.

The Golden Elixir is no ordinary pill. The Yin Cauldron and Yang Furnace, metaphors in Neidan cultivation for the conditions of body and mind that bring Yin and Yang into harmony, are both within oneself. People say that finding mercury at Mount Shu is easy, but they do not know how difficult it is to seek lead in the Western Sea.

The cavern where the Mysterious Pearl—the symbol of the inner elixir or the true essence gained through cultivation—lies is not far away. Once you reach the banks of the Red River, the way forward is clear. If you understand the true path indicated by the numinous stalk, a metaphor for the essential method of cultivation, why worship the moon, climb an altar, and perform outward rites?

The essential teachings of cultivation have been made plain since ancient times; it is simply that people lack the strength to follow them. They always seek tangible things among tangible objects. Who can apprehend the principle of the intangible within the intangible?

To chase after names such as true lead and sacred mercury is ultimately futile; the Jade Chamber and Golden Gate, metaphors for the inner gates of cultivation within the body, cannot truly be opened. One overturns the original pill gourd, yet still swallows pills, hoping in this way to prolong life.

What is there to cherish in fleeting fame and profit? Looking back and returning to the mountains tastes all the sweeter. It is hard to find anyone in the world whose mind is in accord with one’s own; who, then, can engage with the Dao in mutual inquiry?

Before grasping even an inch of the principle, one hastens to speak of a foot; unable to understand “One,” one forces an explanation of “Three.” Carrying scriptures, a gourd, and a staff, one returns once more to old Jiangnan, as though all that wandering had yielded nothing.

There is, in truth, no fixed posture for sitting, nor any fixed form for inquiry.

Before grasping even an inch of the principle, one hastens to speak of a foot; unable to understand “One,” one forces an explanation of “Three.” Carrying scriptures, a gourd, and a staff, one returns once more to old Jiangnan.

In truth, there is no distinction between sitting and walking; once you cling to the outward forms of practice, you fall into delusion. Laozi’s words still leave principles unsaid, and what the Buddha meant beyond his words is even harder to explain.

The numinous stalk has joints and can reach to Heaven; the supreme medicine has no root, yet can grow from the Earth. Today I have told you these principles without reservation: when cultivation is complete, the realm you attain will be like Penglai and Yingzhou, the legendary immortal isles of the sea.

Who in the world can understand a clear explanation of the fire phase, the fire seed, and the daogui—the small measure used to compound elixirs, and also the crucial rules of alchemy? The eldest son on the mountain rides a white horse; the young woman by the water herds a turtle. Images of men and women, dragons and tigers, turtles and horses symbolize the two forces of Yin and Yang in alchemical practice and their transformations.

The emergence of substantial being from emptiness symbolizes the formation of the Returning Elixir, produced through the union of Yin and Yang in Neidan (internal alchemy). Yang arising within Yin is the foundation of the Great Dao. Reversing the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)—bringing their Qi into a new union according to alchemical principles—depends entirely on mastering the secret. Never attempt it without a teacher who truly understands that secret.

There are more than three thousand methods of cultivation, but the path of alchemy is the most direct. One must obtain the Yang substance from the Kan trigram and then the Yin substance from the Li trigram; both are precious. Kan and Li are trigrams from the Classic of Changes, commonly used in Neidan to symbolize water and fire, and Yin and Yang.

After refinement comes cinnabar containing mercury that does not die; after congealing, silver forms in the waters of long life. If you complete the work of the nine transformations and nine returns—the successive transformations and cycles of restoration in the alchemical process—you can restore youth to an aging body.

To plant the foundation of long life and immortality, cultivate the Yin soul and the Yang spirit, terms for the Yin and Yang aspects of the soul in Daoism. First let the Mysterious Maiden, symbol of Yin power, return to the Li Gate; then let the Empty King, symbol of Yang power, guard the Kan Gate. When the tiger reaches the Jia position, the wind rises fiercely; when the dragon dwells in the Geng position, the water’s Qi is gentle. How could those who have lost the way easily reveal its secrets? This principle must be explained by someone who has mastered it.

Close the eyes and preserve the spirit, gazing inward toward the Jade Gate, a bodily aperture in Neidan practice. When the time arrives, the fire phase passes along in sequence. Clouds sweep across the sea like a dragon swallowing mercury; wind strikes the mountain peak like a tiger crouching over lead. Through the alchemical images of dragon, tiger, mercury, and lead, this describes the union of Yin and Yang and the movement of the fire phase.

Once the body’s treasure has been refined, one can explore the mysteries of the Dao at any time. Take a small measure of the elixir, and the alchemical register—a document recording the achievements of cultivation—will descend. From then on, you transcend the dusty world, rising like a dragon into the nine heavens.

Cultivate for a thousand days, without a moment’s slackening. Use the River Cart, an image in Neidan for circulating vital essence and Qi, to carry it upward to Kunlun Mountain. The tiger strikes white mercury and places it in the furnace; the dragon stirs red lead and sends it into the cauldron. The immortal court records your name, and the elixir is complete; the underworld cancels your name from its register, and your lifespan is restored. Colored clouds lift your feet: where will you go? Straight into the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), to pay homage to the holy countenances.

Harmonize true Yin and proper Yang. When three years of work are complete, they congeal into frost. The spirit turtle comes and goes in the Geng and Xin directions; the cinnabar phoenix soars in the Jia and Yi directions. The Nine Cauldrons first release two auspicious breaths; among the Three Origins—understood in Daoism as Heaven, Earth, and Humanity, or as the upper, middle, and lower vital energies—five-colored radiance then shines forth.

The Nine Cauldrons, symbols of the vessels used in cultivation and refinement, first reveal two auspicious currents of Qi. Among the Three Origins—the Daoist triad of Heaven, Earth, and Water—five-colored radiance then interweaves. If someone in the dusty world shares my understanding, we may dwell together in an immortal realm wreathed in clouds and mist.

The Way of cultivating life and nature is most difficult at this crucial point. Those who are confused only bury themselves in volumes upon volumes of books. Only when Water and Fire are brought into balance can the medicine be refined; if Yin-Yang moves in disorder, the Neidan cannot take shape.

Hold fast to the yielding Yin without losing its root, and the firm Yang can settle. Dwell in darkness without depletion, and pure Yang Qi will naturally become manifest. If you can recognize this truly subtle secret, why worry about being battered by wind and rain or worn down by decay?

As soon as one pill of the Elixir is taken, one is safe and unharmed. The Twelve-Storied Tower—the body’s cultivation gateways, including the throat—and the Nine Bends, symbolizing the winding Qi channels within the body, join together. The Geng Tiger, an image in Neidan symbolizing Geng Metal and the White Tiger, circulates as though swallowing sharp frost and snow. The Jia Dragon, an image symbolizing Jia Wood and the Azure Dragon, twists and rises, and the numinous spring wells forth.

“Lü Two” corresponds to the celestial measure of three thousand days, extending through the number nine-nine to ninety thousand years. One must meet someone who is fated to receive the teaching before passing it on; it is never divulged lightly to others.

Who knows that within the Pool of Divine Water and Jade Florescence, symbolizing the gathering place of Jing and Qi in Neidan cultivation, lie the foundations of longevity and the cultivation of life and nature? To use it, one must rely on the joining of Dragon and Tiger; its increase and decrease are governed entirely by Kan and Li, the names of the trigrams that symbolize Water and Fire in the Book of Changes.

Refine the golden medicine without cease, morning and night, and soon the jade-like essence will be complete. After a thousand days of fasting and taking the elixir, one can ascend to the clouds with ease.

Above the Nine Heavens, the clouds are still and the wind light. Immortal cranes fly with talisman slips in their beaks, departing lightly from the Great Clarity, the lofty celestial realm of Daoism. The sights of the red-dust world beyond the body can be transformed at will; in an instant, the white stone in the furnace is refined.

The Nine-Plumed Phoenix, an auspicious sign, dances in the sky, while five-colored clouds rise beneath its feet. Turning back, it flies to Heaven again, and is willing to send down sweet rain to save the drought-stricken people.

A child gradually descends from the jade steps of the immortal realm, holding the Mysterious Pearl, a symbol of subtle, profound Qi or the Neidan, and comes straight to the human world. At midnight, purple clouds veil the child’s white form; several times, red clouds shine through them.

A faint smile sets the key processes of cultivation in motion; a light step opens the doors, gates, and windows. This is the true “One Child” of my school, symbolizing the numinous nature or Qi gained through Neidan cultivation. How could the foolish and ordinary easily fathom it?

As soon as the Celestial Talisman, a mandate bestowed by Heaven, descends upon the Jade Capital, cultivation work begins to accumulate over three thousand days. One petitions Heaven and Earth to open the Golden Cauldron, gather in Yin and Yang Qi, and seal it within a jade flask.

Then one realizes that even the mortal body can undergo transformation, and knows that the mysterious Great Dao is no empty claim. When the time comes, one may ask an old person in the dusty world: does this subtle secret truly exist in the world?

Who can recognize the person in this world who has attained the Dao? Throughout his life, he has known how to use silver from the water—a term in Daoist alchemy that often refers to mercury or to substances used in alchemical practice. He carries a staff, as if able to bind Yin-Yang and guard the Jade Flask, a symbol of the body or the place of cultivation.

He therefore believes that even the mortal body can be transformed, and knows deeply that the subtle methods of the Dao are no illusion. When the time is right, one might ask an elder in the dusty world: does this mysterious truth truly exist?

Who can recognize the person in this world who has attained the Dao? Throughout his life, he has known how to use silver from the water. The staff in his hand supports Heaven and Earth; a three-foot Kunwu sword, a legendary divine blade, can slay ghosts and spirits.

After drinking, he sleeps peacefully in the moonlit grotto. When he chants aloud, he faces the red dust with pride. Since awakening fully to the Dao and completing a lifetime of cultivation, he has been able to dwell forever on Penghu, the fabled mountain of immortals, and enjoy spring without end.

He devotes himself to refining golden essence in the red furnace, and a single numinous pearl can illuminate the whole room. He sets Heaven and Earth in motion and reveals the power of the Dao; he transcends life and death, and the fruits of cultivation become clear.

He wanders freely across the four seas, leaving traces behind. Having returned to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), he leaves behind an immortal name. He climbs straight onto a steady cloud road laid with clouds of five colors, where the purple luan and vermilion phoenix will come to welcome him.

Those in the world who wish to learn the art of long life must first keep the vital workings of body and mind turning day and night. They focus the spirit amid obscurity and subtlety, and guard the original essence—the vital essence at the root of human life—in emptiness and stillness.

Dragon and tiger meet and vie with one another through three cycles of refinement. The rabbit runs and the crow flies—the moon and sun, symbols of Yin-Yang’s transformations—through nine revolutions until the work is complete. Once a furnace of sacred elixir has been refined, the return path to the clouds of five colors becomes clear.

With no thoughts of gain or loss and no attachment to words, one practices when active and rests at ease when still. One drives the red ox to plow the cosmos and scatters jade grains across the mountains and rivers, using plowing and sowing as images for cultivation and the nurturing of the inner elixir.

Nurture the work of cultivation without fearing a thousand days of toil. In taking the elixir, understand the aspiration for long life that it represents. I tell you these truths today and hope you will believe them, so that you too may cultivate yourself into an immortal while still in the human world.

Do not cling to numbers such as two and three. The key lies in Kunlun Mountain’s First Crag, which in Daoist practice often refers to the root of cultivation. When one encounters moist, gentle Qi, the mind naturally settles; when one encounters hot, forceful Qi, one often fears the nature of the mind will be difficult to subdue.

At times one enters directly through the gate of the Three Origins, the Daoist energies of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, or of the upper, middle, and lower realms. At rest, one returns to the Nine-Bend River, a symbol of the winding transformations of cultivation. If someone in the world can tend the elixir fire and keep it burning, their life can match the span of Heaven and Earth, with nothing in the world to compare.

Both the foundation and the culmination of cultivation depend on the Jade Capital, an immortal realm or dwelling place of the divine. The adept, too, once lived in the world like an ordinary person. Absorbing essence and regulating the breath to nourish Qi begin with methods that have form; understanding the Dao and returning to one’s original nature lead into the formless realm.

When Water and Fire harmonize naturally, they form “Already Fulfilled,” the state in which Yin and Yang, Water and Fire, join and balance. Yin and Yang unite in effortless accord. In the furnace, the elixir that prolongs life is refined, allowing the body to pass from flourishing to decline and from decline to renewed flourishing.

Seeking neither fame nor profit, one wanders freely; when wine and song appear, one joins in as the mood takes hold. Though one has not entered the palace halls of the immortals for many years, it is as though one has dwelt in the immortals’ realm for a thousand.

In ordinary practice, Water and Fire circulate back and forth three times, while Yin and Yang gather together like husband and wife. Once the elixir is refined and the work complete, the body can take flight like an immortal’s, leave the world, and rise beyond the common.

Deep and far-reaching, its bounds are difficult to inquire into; for a thousand years, it is as though one has dwelt in the immortals’ realm.

In ordinary practice, Water and Fire circulate back and forth three times, while Yin and Yang gather together like husband and wife. Once the elixir is refined and the work complete, the body can take flight like an immortal’s, leave the world, and rise beyond the common.

Deep and far-reaching, its bounds are difficult to inquire into. Clever studies of calligraphy and seal carving are only outward ornamentation of the Dao. Keep the heart centered and let go of deliberate scholarship, and the profound meaning will become clear. Hold fast to “the One,” an inward state of undivided focus; without many words, its wonder will show itself.

There is something natural, like the heart of a yellow chrysanthemum. It has no fixed color, yet surpasses the blue-green peach blossom. Do not waste your strength boiling iron and smelting gold to make elixirs from external substances; that will only take you farther from the Dao.

After the Returning Elixir has been perfected, before paying homage in Heaven, one may for a time remain among humankind and guide those who are ready. With a staff that seems to bear the sun and moon at either end, and a gourd in hand, one is like a recluse dwelling among mountains and rivers.

When poetic inspiration comes, one writes lines one delights in during a quiet moment. After drinking, one often gives away money freely. If you ask what subtle method I use in cultivation, it is simply the use of mercury and lead within the body, terms for Yin and Yang’s vital energies in internal alchemy.

Half red and half black: this is an image of the Dao’s mystery. Use Water to nourish true Gold, and Fire to warm Lead. Understand how to continue the breath of essence from before, and guide it in circulation along the circuit of the heavenly cycle within the body.

Refining depends entirely on the power of Yin and Yang; advance and retreat in practice should follow the rhythms of the sun and moon. With this practice perfected, one can rise beyond the three islands, the legendary sea mountains where immortals dwell, and ride securely on a phoenix to pay homage to the assembled immortals.

Returning to the root and restoring the origin, one has reached Qian, the trigram of pure Yang in the Book of Changes, also denoting a state abundant in Yang energy. Able to rise and descend, one is therefore called a flying immortal. The first stirrings of Yang mark the time to begin cultivation; only after nine transformations, the repeated stages of internal alchemical refinement, is the Dao attained.

To refine the elixir, seek it in “Water wrapped in Gold,” an image for the alchemical substance. In setting up the furnace, first establish it in “Heaven within Earth,” an image for the inner pivot formed where Yin and Yang meet. This is the principle of the Returning Elixir. Unless an extraordinary adept has transmitted it to you, do not speak of it lightly.

The Flying Dragon has risen to the ninth-five position and soared into the heavens. Next, the Red Emperor—the Daoist god of fire and sovereign of the south—should rightfully take charge. It is fortunate that the mercury pearl condensed at midday, and that the Lead Mother formed the qi of profound depth. Here, mercury and lead are terms from Neidan practice, symbolizing the convergence of Yin-Yang essences.

The wild monkey in the heart naturally settles; there is no need to force it into submission. The restless horse, too, can be brought to order on its own, without a whip. Once a pill of heavenly elixir has been refined, the mind becomes firm at once and remains so for the long term.

Who in the world can understand my path? My path has its own glory: in my chest are stored the registers of those who ascend to immortality, and my rooms are filled with fire-subdued cinnabar, refined through alchemy. I drink the heavenly wine of long life and often cultivate the undying flowers of the grotto. If ordinary people ask how I make my living, they see only five-colored auspicious clouds drifting all around.

Saliva is enough to quench thirst, and breath is enough to serve as food. My home is in the immortal realm where the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) and the Jade Emperor reside. The elixir refined in the golden cauldron is white on the outside; when cooked in the Palace of Jade Void, its interior shines with a clear yellow light.

Only then do I know that the Azure Emperor dwells in the Palace of Li, the southern seat of Fire, and only then do I believe that Metal Essence is hidden in the Water Palace. When worldly people seek the profound principles, the Cantong qi (a Daoist classic on alchemy and the transformations of Yin and Yang) offers no more than two or three lines that point to the heart of the matter.

A purple decree descends from the Jade Capital, the abode of the Celestial Emperor, borne by a luan bird; the Primordial Lady, a revered female immortal, summons me to the realm of the Three Pure Ones. So I take the cinnabar refined in the golden cauldron, often brush the rosy-cloud robe, and ride forth on a crane.

Two heavenly attendants lead the way, carrying jade pendants, while a moon maiden receives me with ritual vessels. Now my practice is complete, and I may meet the perfected immortals. Only then do I believe that my name truly appears in the register of immortals.

One must cultivate without cease until reaching the state of pure Yang symbolized by the Qian trigram; only then can one be called an earthly immortal, drunk with delight. The passage of time in the world hastens the shortening of daylight, while the flowers and trees in the grotto endure the years, remaining green for ages.

My form flies over steep cliffs and is no longer that of an ordinary person; my spirit roams the Mysterious Palace, as though in another world. I only hope that you, Master, will come often to offer guidance, so I may inquire further into the mystery within the mystery.

Sitting alone in stillness, free of all attachments, I put into practice the inner cultivation taught in the Huangting Jing. I do not follow worldly people in their pursuit of fame and gain. To rescue oneself from decline and old age, one need only preserve the qi of the True One; to cultivate life, one keeps the myriad spirits at peace over the long term. Day after day, I refine and nourish saliva, returning it to the Jade Palace, the body’s storehouse of essence and qi. Night after night, I pay homage to the Primordial Spirit and nourish the Jade Essence, the finest essence formed from qi. Do not lament the old man’s contentment amid poverty: when ten years of practice are complete, he will ascend to the realm of the Three Pure Ones.

Farewell, traveler.

Human beings receive the Qi of Yin and Yang from Heaven and Earth. The body, too, is born of Qian and Kun—Heaven and Earth—and so everyone possesses the foundation for long life. People could originally extend their lives, but because they neglect their primal source, the root of life, they ultimately decline and perish.

The body’s three palaces—the upper, middle, and lower Dantian—each have their own methods for turning Qi back and keeping it flowing. All things, too, have their own patterns of movement. Close at hand, Mount Kunlun—the name here for a place of cultivation within the body—holds something as precious as fine jade. How many people know that this is the most precious of medicines?

Few travel the road to the Azure Heavens, the distant celestial realm. Do not speak idly of rise and fall, for in the end such matters are difficult to bring about. Why is your name absent from the Golden Register? Surely the Jade Capital, abode of the immortals, contains the names of the immortals.

Cloud Qi returns to the sea, while a great dragon stretches for a thousand feet. The bright moon fills the open sky, and a crane’s clear cry rings out. Deep thanks to the wise ruler of the Song dynasty, who issued an edict summoning the master.

The Dao of Heaven is vast as a net, and all things move within it. I came to Mount Hua in person. Once the cold clouds dispersed, only a waning moon remained; when spring snow drifted down, I sought answers from the Great Void, the boundless expanse.

The perfected beings of the Six Grottoes return to the Purple Palace, abode of the immortals. Luan birds and cranes spend a thousand years on Mount Cangwu. Since the master was lost to us, the land between north and south has been bereft of a true great man.

Among the Daoist priests of Mount Luofu, who shares his aspirations? Clad in grass and living on plants, he holds princes and nobles in contempt. He pays no heed to the passing years of the human world; within his gourd lies a world of its own, and so he lives in freedom.

As the river moon sets and dawn approaches, he is still counting the unfinished moves of a game of chess. Among the sea and mountains of autumn, a long whistle rings out. After drinking, he turns to speak of the road home, then raises his hand to point toward the white clouds on the horizon.

I am a homeless wanderer who has traveled three thousand miles, and I have drifted among clouds and waters for seven hundred years. Once cultivation is complete, the immortal realm of Penglai becomes my guesthouse; once the Dao is attained, even tiles and rubble turn to gold.

I keep wine in my sleeves to offer to guests. In the medicine furnace, the cultivator refines elixirs; within the furnace is another kind of life and warmth. If you accumulate De and seek a teacher with sincerity, why worry that you will not find a good guide? Heaven and Earth have always treated all alike; they show no preference for certain people.

Heaven and Earth give birth to one thing, which transforms and manifests as the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Yin and Yang interact and congeal into the Sacred Embryo, the nascent form of the internal elixir spoken of in cultivation. When the Dragon and Tiger follow their natural course, the Yin ghostly Qi recedes; when the Tortoise and Snake move against their natural course, the Fire Dragon appears.

Each day, the infant (the Neidan or primordial spirit generated through cultivation) draws nourishment from the essence of the Yellow Matron, an image representing the harmonization of Yin and Yang and the connection between inner and outer. The Old Woman, a symbolic figure associated with cultivation, constantly enjoys the jade nectar in her white jade cup. When the work of cultivation is complete, one naturally transcends the world, whatever the changes of season and passage of time among humankind.

Records of Lüzu, volume four, ends.

Records of Lüzu, Volume Five

Collected Writings

Sixty-One Seven-Character Regulated Verses

The stars gather and lead one into the realm of the Li trigram; the waxing and waning of the sun and moon aid the refining of the medicines. The fire is tended through the Three Phases, burning the treasures in the Golden Cauldron; with the water of the Five Talismans, jade nectar is made in the jade vessel.

Heaven and Earth turn over, and the dragon gathers clouds and mist; Mao and You join, and the tiger releases its radiance. In the chamber of cultivation, one applies the essential method to seize and gather in the medicine. A single pill of elixir transforms body and mind, returning them to pure Yang.

Hair bristling, eyes wide and round as rings, one breathes out clouds and mist and glares angrily at the human world. Yet how can one endure the countless injustices in this world? One must obtain a formula to sweep away the wicked and obstinate.

When slaying a flood dragon, one churns the blue sea; when vanquishing a tyrannical tiger, one tugs at distant mountains. If someone does evil and betrays what is right, the flash of the sword brings punishment, its blade streaked with blood.

Rain and snow sweep down as evening falls; wine fills the golden bell, while one fingers the scorched paulownia, an old name for the qin. A poem has barely been recited at the banquet when the sword dance before the feast is already swift as the wind.

Why raise a cup to drink in the middle of the night? Suddenly one glares with wide eyes and leaps into the air. Who could have betrayed loyalty and filial duty, to the point of bringing a human head into the feast?

Two Poems Presented to a Swordsman

A single Golden Elixir can make a person immortal, but one must first obtain true lead, the key medicine in alchemical practice, and refine it through Jia and Geng, alchemical terms referring to the relevant cyclical signs and timing. The marrow of the southern red phoenix is taken as fire; the essence of the northern black tortoise is sought as water.

The energies of the four seasons and the center gather in the cauldron; the medicine is refined in accord with the workings of the Three Origins and the Eight Trigrams. One fasts and begins cultivation, passing through the nine transformations. When the elixir enters the mouth, even ghosts and spirits are astonished.

Deep in a blue-green pool dwells a perfected one, with a face as lovely as peach blossoms and a body white as silver. His hair and beard have not yet turned gray because he has mastered the art of longevity; his youthful appearance endures because he has penetrated the wondrous Dao.

Now, wishing to go to Penglai, he sets out at once; the yellow robe on its stand turns into a cloud. Let mulberry fields become seas: after taking a single pill of elixir, one may endure for a thousand years.

Refining and nurturing cinnabar in the alchemical furnace can turn white hair black, preserve a youthful face, and ultimately bring one into communion with the spirits.

If you wish to go to Penglai, the legendary immortal mountain in the sea, set out on your journey; the yellow robe hanging on the rack transforms into clouds. Let the fields become an ocean: even an ordinary pill can grant a thousand years of life.

Refining and nurturing cinnabar in the alchemical furnace can keep hair from turning gray. I remain in the human world under the pretext of pursuing fame and profit. Now I have met a person of aspiration and passed on a wondrous medicine; I am also glad to laugh with someone who shares my interests.

Laozi’s Dao scripture has been transmitted to me, and the Purple Tenuity Star, a symbol of the Celestial Emperor’s abode, has granted me leave to climb up and meet him. I am fortunate to have received the support of a person of great insight. As for living at ease in the world, I surpass you. A gift for another.

Who can understand that I have cultivated the way to longevity? Refined, true Qi gathers at the Three Terraces, a constellation that also signifies a place corresponding to the heavens. Everyone knows of those who ascend to heaven in daylight, yet I alone follow the mortal world and come among humankind.

Where the Black Tiger passes, rain and dew pour down; where the Red Dragon plows, treasures like fine jade emerge. Swallow a single Golden Elixir, and you will fly into the blue sky, never to return.

Among piled clouds, the stars reveal themselves, and I recognize the great man who seeks hidden mysteries. I lie drunk amid green wine, passing the days and months in ease. When the river wind dies down, I fish on a lake thick with white duckweed.

I always let my bearing accord with the Way of Heaven, and do not ask worldly people about words. The mountains and waters lie far away, beyond the reach of others; I already know the latest news of Lord Mao, the legendary immortal.

With cranes for steeds and wine for provisions, I am drawn only by longing for the immortal land where life never ends. If the veins of the earth can be shortened, surely human life can be lengthened too.

The stars often appear inside the pot, and I do not ask worldly people about words. The mountains and waters lie far away, beyond the reach of others; I already know the latest news of Lord Mao.

With cranes for steeds and wine for provisions, I am drawn only by longing for the immortal land where life never ends. If the veins of the earth can be shortened, surely human life can be lengthened too.

One can often see the stars inside the pot, while the sun and moon seem at times to be hidden in one’s sleeves. If you wish to see such things with your own eyes, stay beside the mercury day after day.

Lingzhi grows without seed or root. Understand the way of eating and drinking, and the hun and po souls can return. With rosy clouds for company, let the years pass as the sun and moon travel through heaven and earth.

The infant clings only to its mother within Yang; the old woman, a Yin symbol in cultivation, must pay homage to the honored spirit above her head. Once the Dao is attained, there is no turning back forever, and no need to leave a grave for descendants to mourn.

Who in the world can understand these words? Do not keep fame and profit in your thoughts. Drink a great cup of wine to your heart’s content, then, in high spirits, recite a hundred poems aloud.

I take the clouds and rosy mists beyond the secular world as my companions, and let the sun and moon pass freely in the world within the gourd, at ease and content. When my cultivation and meritorious work are complete, where shall I go? I will ride a cloud chariot straight into the grotto-heavens, the Daoist realms of immortals.

A disciple of the mysterious gate sits upright at the center, cultivating the Way of luminous goodness and moving the Jade Emperor. Mountains, rivers, rain, and dew seem gathered beneath my pillow; the sun and moon, and the Xiao-Xiang rivers, seem to merge into the sound of my flute.

The Kan man, symbolizing the yang aspect of the Water trigram, meets the withdrawing-metal woman. The Li woman, symbolizing the yin aspect of the Fire trigram, unites with and weds the Wood Lad. Husband and wife sincerely hold fast to their shared purpose; the establishment and transmission of the teachings are bound up with the transformations of Yin-Yang.

I point toward a distant peak and laugh aloud; crimson clouds and purple mists rise before my eyes. In the streets and markets of the dusty world, people often fail to recognize me. Once I reach the mountains, cranes come to welcome me.

At times I play with the Jade Toad, an image associated in Daoist cultivation with the toad in the moon, and drive away ghosts and demons. At night I brew precious elixir in a golden cauldron. If one day I travel to the immortal grotto of Penglai, people will know that I, too, am an immortal with a name and title.

People of the world often ask with a smile where I live. I lean on my staff, carrying clouds and mist; between my brows lies a brilliance like fire and lightning. These are no empty words. I planted golden lotuses with my own hands, yet do not boast of them.

A three-foot scorched paulownia, another name for the guqin, is what I rely on to make my living; a pot of fine wine is my daily life. I ride a dragon on a distant journey to the three immortal mountains. Deep in the night, with no one around, I feed on moonlight.

I sit and recline beside the Nine-Bend River, gazing out; all I see is a long road leading to the horizon. Auspicious clouds gather around me as I pay homage at the cinnabar palace, the dwelling of Daoist immortals. Auspicious vapors curl upward like coils of white smoke.

At this time, lead and mercury are the most important ingredients of the elixir. Today, I unite Kan and Li—the two trigrams that also symbolize Water and Fire—and form the divine elixir. The fruits of cultivation can protect life and grant long life without aging. The key lies in the human heart; it is not difficult to accomplish.

The teachings of the mysterious gate are subtle and profound. The foundation for long life and deathlessness lies in lead and mercury. Know that this is the true method of holding fast. Harmonize the Six and One, a Daoist term for the balancing of Yin-Yang, the Five Phases, and other elements, and you will accord with the Way of Heaven.

Sheep bleat on Jade Capital Mountain, while a stone tiger sleeps beside the Golden Water River. The subtle secret lies in the human heart; it is not difficult to find.

The teachings of the mysterious gate are subtle and profound. The foundation for long life and deathlessness lies in lead and mercury. Know that this is the true method of holding fast. Harmonize the Six and One, and you will accord with the Way of Heaven.

Flocks of sheep chatter noisily atop Jade Capital Mountain, while a stone tiger sleeps peacefully in the Golden Water River. Grasp the subtle essentials, and your awakened nature will emerge. Practice with dedication, and wherever you go, you can remain at ease.

Even the highest rank among lords and ministers does not guarantee the rewards of an immortal; word has it that the immortals have already departed to roam the world. Seeking a stone liver, one travels to the Mirage Sea; searching for sweet snow, one passes through Yingzhou.

In a drunken haze, it is as though mountains and rivers have been gathered inside a flask; at leisure, it is as though spirits and ghosts have been tucked into a case. No one can recognize the scenes before us. Better to drink a cup of wine and mingle among ordinary people.

He once invited someone to visit an immortal’s home, then suddenly ascended Kunlun and held a banquet beneath the moon. A jade maiden led a blue dragon, while a mountain lad carried a white shrimp-spider. Here, they often pour sea wine that keeps for a thousand years, and are accustomed to gathering flowers from a flask that bloom in every season. Now he walks among the human world, yet no one recognizes him. In an instant, he sweeps his sleeves and departs into the rosy clouds.

When the firing process in the Dantian (energy center in the lower abdomen where internal cultivation takes place) reaches its proper stage, the Golden Elixir forms naturally, and tier upon tier of pavilions come clearly into view. Accumulate two thousand deeds of merit, and results will appear within a hundred days; Penglai, ten thousand miles away, will seem reachable in a single day.

Having transformed into an immortal, one is naturally removed from the registers of the dead; in the Jade Capital, the names of immortals are always recorded. Today I am able to attend the gathering at the Jade Pond, where a nine-jointed ritual standard welcomes me into the grotto.

After reading Lord Cui’s Mirror for Entering the Medicine, the mind becomes clearer. The Yang Dragon arises from the Li Palace, which symbolizes fire and the south; the Yin Tiger emerges from the Kan position, which symbolizes water and the north.

The meeting of these two forces is the foundation of Daoist cultivation. When the Five Phases complete their cycle, the alchemical method can be perfected. If those who cultivate the Dao understand this, they will surely mount the Red Dragon and return to Yuqing, the celestial realm where Daoist deities dwell.

The fleeting nature of life can make people neglect their practice. Through ingesting and refining, the body comes to contain a wondrous constitution. This does not mean that living in the human world leaves one untouched by its dust; rather, one must pass through it to reach the realm beyond and understand that all things return to emptiness.

Conversation with others often fails to express what one means, leaving the heart troubled and uneasy; practicing alone, however, brings ease and freedom. A tiny pill of elixir can give rise to five-colored radiance and fly into the grotto where immortals dwell.

Do not love only to chant poems about the heavens, for such poems are rare in the human world. It is said that he often ate food from the Jade Emperor’s palace and once wore garments from an immortal grotto on Penglai.

Riding a fine steed in pursuit of the sun, with red clouds billowing; a phoenix carries the crescent moon in its beak and flies into the deep green clouds. When will you once again take up the reins of blue silk and enter the Purple Tenuity Palace—the dwelling of the celestial emperor—wielding your golden whip?

Refining and nourishing the substances of the Daoist elixir, such as Yellow Sprout and White Snow, is like a shower of golden rain. You sing aloud as you travel, and even in your cups, verses come naturally. The sun and moon secretly support your years, while Heaven and Earth respond as though attuned to your heart.

With the Three Pure Ones’ sword, you cut away the traces of spirits and sprites. A single tune on the qin seems to send wind and rain soaring through the sky. Where, in the end, will this journey south lead? Keep the immortal crane from flying off, or you will have to ascend to Heaven in search of it.

Your temples are dark and glossy, and your body grows ever lighter and more agile. You say you have come in search of a crane, bound for Penglai and Yingzhou, the legendary sea islands of the immortals. You know the many flavors of medicinal herbs, and can name the immortals when asked.

The bells on your hairpin ring out; at night, it is as if a dragon passes through a green cavern. The chill beside your pillow at dawn is like a white tiger lying in a silver city. Come spring, you plan to take up your fishing rod and travel again, recalling the old tale of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan seeking the Dao at sea.

Dragon essence and tortoise eyes are brought into harmony; even a mighty man sixteen feet tall would find it hard to withstand them. With nine bowls of water, you decoct the Red Child; with a single round of fire, you warm and nourish the Yellow Matron. “Red Child” and “Yellow Matron” are symbolic terms in Neidan practice, referring to the harmonizing and cultivation of Yin-Yang essence and Qi within the body.

At the full moon, you naturally feel that you have escaped Heaven’s net. Only when your practice is complete do you realize you have left Earth’s snares behind. Half-drunk is just the right time to swallow the marrow of dragon and phoenix. I urge you not to regard Amitābha as the destination of your practice.

You make yourself stay here, though you have no true kindred spirit. The wild landscape is lovely, but there are too many partings, and it is not a place suited to composing verse. If your poems reach the ears of ministers and high officials, your name may well cause a stir in the emperor’s court.

You are too idle even to put on a Daoist robe or fasten a belt woven from climbing fig; you cannot be bothered with a hermit’s hat or leather cap, either. You need nothing else: just a pot of village wine and a qin.

In the mountains of Huayang are many fields of lingzhi mushrooms, and thanks to them the old man of Huayang has prolonged his life. Climb to the high branches beside the cliffs of green pines, and drink from the cascading spring where white clouds gather.

Your body feels neither cold nor hot, and your spirit is at ease. As your breath gathers inward, it moves westward, long and unbroken. When your three thousand deeds of merit are complete, it will be time to return. Do not tell worldly people of the immortal realms within the grotto-heavens.

In cultivation, the mind and spirit must remain undispersed before one can return to one’s original nature. Across the ages, success and failure have each had their causes. Once you find the right path, you should understand that it can lift you beyond the ordinary world. If you stray into a mistaken path, you will ultimately be left to sink by your own hand.

Within the body lie the “Supreme Medicines” that can be cultivated—the inner foundations such as essence and Qi spoken of in Neidan. You should devote yourself to gathering and refining them. The cinnabar outside the body, the mineral used in Waidan, should also be investigated with care. The immortal grotto chamber—the inner realm or elixir chamber of the cultivator—is in fact close at hand. Do not follow the crowd and squander your time.

I have lived in seclusion at Xuandu, a name for the Daoist immortal realm, for so long that I have lost count of the years. I have watched the seas turn to dust again and again. I once paid homage to the Heavenly Worthy of Primordial Beginning in the Hall of Jade Capital and visited the Most High Lord Lao in the Palace of the Golden Gate. When my heart grew troubled, I rode a thousand-year-old immortal crane on excursions; in my leisure, I reclined high among the nine layers of clouds. Though I have now learned the art of long life, I will not pass it lightly to the world.

The Northern Emperor and the Southern Dipper, Daoist stellar deities, govern the way of inner observation. This method of cultivation secretly connects with the transformations of creation and is transmitted in confidence from master to disciple. A golden hammer is hidden in the sleeve, while one dwells in the Root Abode, the foundation within body and mind. From the Jade Gateway Star Palace, a term in Daoist Neidan for the palaces within the body, descends the Supreme Mysterious Qi, the subtle Qi of primordial nature.

Everyone in the world seeks this Dao, but who can attain the Mysterious Pass, the pivotal gateway to entry and transformation in Neidan, without coming up empty-handed? The Great Dao is plainly before us, ready to be examined and understood. The sun and moon travel back and forth over the riverbank, too, symbolizing the ceaseless cycle of Yin-Yang.

The sun’s shadow returns to the Origin and joins with nature. Thunder rolls and lightning flashes into the Central Plain. Drive the red horse onward, a symbol of the fire or Yang Qi of cultivation; dwell in the Eastern Hall, open the vermilion gate, and let the jade-green spring flow. In anger, draw the sword and praise the holy virtue of Primordial Chaos and its transformations. In joy, keep company with the solitary moon and celebrate the new year. Only then will you understand: these methods are meant to keep the myriad things thriving without end, and only the benevolent are worthy to receive them.

The six dragons together celebrate their ascent to the position of Qian, which signifies Heaven, Yang, and strength. The cultivator must also perceive the force that secretly connects with the transformations of creation. The True Dao often appears in song, clear as the autumn moon; the highest principle flows on without end, like jade-green waves. By day, ride a white crane among the Three Isles, the legendary immortal mountains in the sea; by night, wear a golden crown and stand upon an ancient altar. One year of cultivation yields the medicine of a thousand years. Who could let the immortal art hidden in this sleeve be stained by worldly vulgarity?

The scene along the banks of the Five Sacred Mountains is renewed. Only the benevolent can penetrate the hidden and mysterious realm. The Way of Heaven turns, setting the Three Origins—the Daoist officials of Heaven, Earth, and Water, or the three kinds of primordial Qi—into motion through their interplay. The veins of the earth connect, and all things grow. Those who understand the Valley Spirit, the inexhaustible emptiness of the Dao described in the Dao De Jing, can penetrate this Way. Who can regulate their nature and cultivate themselves into a perfected being? The scripture states clearly that one must follow the path of Central Yellow, a Neidan term for the central route of cultivation within the body. Amid the crash of thunder, a wondrous response will naturally arise.

If you wish to keep company with immortals, first make your body light and agile, then fly across Penglai and reach Shangqing, the abode of Daoist exalted beings. A red-crested immortal crane comes from beyond the clouds to greet you, and a purple-scaled immortal fish rises from the sea to welcome you.

The blossoms on the cassia tree where Heng’e, the immortal maiden of the moon, dwells have begun to open; the Jade Mother, a female immortal, has gained her own reward.

If you wish to accompany the immortals in rising lightly through the air, you must fly beyond Penglai and reach Shangqing, the lofty celestial realm in Daoist belief. A red-crowned crane flies in from beyond the clouds to greet you, while a purple-scaled fish comes from the sea to welcome you.

The blossoms on Heng’e’s lunar cassia tree unfold, and the Jade Mother’s peaches of immortality gradually ripen. Looking down below, the sun rises and the sky begins to brighten. From this we know that the way to long life among humankind has endured for a very long time.

Across the four seas, everyone is busy; how many can find time to be at ease? These days, all people talk about is the turmoil of worldly fame and profit. I know you possess Daoist arts and came to the mountain to cultivate. If so, why still seek reputation in the world?

Within the twelve-tiered tower lie the secrets of cultivation, and the five thousand words of the Daodejing conceal wondrous gateways as well. Only then can one know that the cauldron is refining the medicine used by immortals. Please take a small portion of the elixir and let me see it.

Sever your ties to worldly splendor and renounce wealth and honor. To do so from the very beginning of cultivating the Dao is the path to long life. Once, you shed the world like a cicada casting off its shell at Jin River; then at Penglai, you took a new name.

Three times you remained in the world, experiencing both good fortune and hardship. Living among ordinary people, one cannot help but become entangled in human affairs. Yet who knows where you will return once your merit and practice are complete? I see only that you ride a dragon straight up to Jade Capital, the celestial realm.

In those days, your fame and standing reached great heights in the imperial capital. To leave it all behind and return west without regret—that is what makes a true man. Who could fail to possess ten thousand acres of white clouds for himself, or a single branch of cinnabar cassia?

In leisure, seek out the bends of the Wei River, with a fisherman to guide the way. After drinking, climb Lotus Peak, with a Daoist to support you. If one day we can meet there together, let us call to one another at night beside a thatched hut by Bamboo Creek.

A golden hammer flashes as it swings on the celestial steps; alone, he rides his dragon, coming and going freely. From among the high white clouds he gazes toward the Sun’s Cavern, where the sun rises. He lies at ease beneath the autumn moon, arms outstretched as though embracing the sky.

The Li Fire trigram, which symbolizes fire in Neidan cultivation, arises between Heaven and Earth like scattered petals. The Kan medicine, a substance symbolizing water, surges without cease, as though nurtured by the workings of creation. At dusk, drunk, he looks back toward Nine Forks; beneath Mount Beilang, he sees only heaps of bones.

People become friends because they share a deep affinity for the Dao. Day after day, one accompanies him as he comes and goes, ascending and descending. If you wish to reach beyond the clouds yourself and transcend the world like an immortal crane, you must diligently cultivate “metal within water,” the Neidan term for the vital essence sought through cultivation.

Once the Golden Elixir has been refined, one fears that Heaven and Earth may have no room for it. After taking the elixir, why worry about illness? Though not yet departed from the Jade Terrace, the immortal realm, he still mingles among ordinary people. In his leisure, he may as well drink and be merry.

For a time, circumstances made me put away my zither and sword and leave the misty mountain forests where I lived in seclusion. I never expected that today we would still have a happy moment together. My appearance is not bad, on the whole, but alas, acupuncture and medicine never seem to cure illness as well as one might hope.

I have read three thousand scrolls of the immortals’ scriptures, and once practiced the twelve forms of liturgy according to ancient methods. If you doubt that I have some spiritual attainment, you may as well let me try freely, and see what I can do on the golden steps of the Immortal Palace.

At Huayang, a Daoist sacred mountain, I drank freely and grew drunk again and again; at dusk, I rode a dragon to South Cliff. When I struck my sword, starlight and lightning seemed to flash between my brows. Resting among the clouds, I let my robes take on the blue-green hues of the mountain mists.

The Golden Elixir’s liquid became rain and dew. After returning to the Jade Capital, the Daoist realm of the immortals, I kept company with ancient pines and cedars. I once used an iron mirror to examine spirits and ghosts, searching far and wide as firelight illuminated a deep pool.

The iron mirror refined gold; flames soared into the sky. In the emerald pool, a dragon lay beneath the setting sun. The Qilin’s spirit accorded with Heaven and Earth; the subtle workings of its mechanisms were as unfathomable as the movements of the sun and moon.

A three-foot sword lay across the bank where two streams met. Wearing a Wuding Crown, a Daoist headdress, I seemed to command all the gods. At ease, I spread out my feather robe and dwelt in an immortal grotto, personally wielding the golden lotus to work the transformations of creation.

I follow whatever conditions and karmic consequences come, and let life rise and fall as it may. My mind is clear and free, like water and clouds. Beside me are two scrolls of Daoist scriptures, a three-foot sword, a flowered staff, and a seven-string zither.

In my gourd I keep elixir of immortality, sharing it with whoever I meet; in my belly I hold new poems, reciting them for any guest who comes. With single-minded cultivation, one can add a thousand years to one’s life. Give an ordinary person just a little elixir, and it can turn them to gold.

Zithers, swords, wine, and chess, along with dragons, cranes, and tigers, are all companions in carefree freedom. I wander without restraint, with no sorrow in my heart. I ride a white deer at leisure among the Three Islands, the legendary mountains of the sea; when troubled, I drive an azure ox to view the Ten Continents, the fabled isles of the immortals.

From my green grotto I watch the moon rise in the distance; in the heights of the blue mountains, I live in seclusion and watch the colored clouds drift by. If people in the world wish to live this way, they should let go of fame, profit, and worldly splendor.

The affairs of the Purple Pole Palace, a Daoist temple, are known to me alone. With my own hands I temper a divine sword, so that after thrusting it forth I can summon it back in flight. First I send the Jade Youth to open the Southern Hall, then dispatch the Azure Dragon into the Purple Tenuity, the celestial palace of Daoist lore.

Within the Nine Tripods, symbols of ancient authority and vessels for alchemical work, yellow sprouts, the first signs of the elixir, shelter an auspicious phoenix; the immortal’s body is nourished by lingzhi mushrooms. Penglai is no place ordinary people can reach. I fear only that fools will reveal Heaven’s secrets to the world.

Only after turning back does one truly leave the dusty world behind; the art of cultivating the transformations of Heaven and Earth lies entirely within oneself. Those as unyielding as the “Ascending Dragon” should long ago have broken free of the world’s snares—who could have known that the White Tiger would reveal its innate true nature?

Who can preserve for me the unbroken path of cultivation? In silence, without words, forgetting speech, one naturally joins with the divine. At midnight I strike with my sword: where shall I go? Cloaked in starlight and moonlight, I press on, cutting down fierce evils like the Qilin.

Spring is drawing to a close. I stroll at ease through falling blossoms, yet each time I dance with the sword, a sigh escapes me. I often fear that the daylight is too short and time flies too swiftly; I regret, too, how long the road to the azure heavens is.

My ambition seeks neither fame nor profit; my heart longs only for the shimmer of water and the glow of clouds. Amid all the world’s rises and falls, who among those who understand its workings can surpass my tradition?

The light of the sun and the radiance of the moon harmonize and refine into an elixir, while the princes of China see things only through ordinary eyes. The principles of benevolence and righteousness differ greatly from person to person, as far apart as the lands of the Hu and the Yue; the ways of the world are too complex to measure.

Once the Eight Immortals have completed their refinement, their divine powers emerge. Tempered across the Four Seas, the heart and will become clear and steadfast as a mirror that reveals the heart’s courage. With a laugh, I point out the world’s countless injustices, then ride a dragon with sword in hand, rising straight through the nine gates of Heaven.

It has been six seasons since I left Luoyang. My eyes are hazy with drink, and I am too indolent to write poems and express my feelings. Heaven and Earth seem to tremble; the golden sword rings out. The sun and moon are as if they were being refined in a jade furnace, its flames glowing red.

My staff shakes the land of Chu, as though it could stir three thousand kingdoms. A white crane flies over Qin’s misty clouds, where mountain ridges rise upon ridges. I have come especially to tell the immortal maiden of Jincheng: next spring, let us meet again on the peaks of Mount Kuaiji.

Before the returning elixir is refined, one must first cultivate the heart and nature. Only after the elixir is made does one perceive the profound source of the Great Dao. People often cling to money and fine wine. Who would believe that you can turn stone into gold without relying on substances?

The thunder and wind of the Grotto-Heavens are all within one’s command; the sun and moon in the pot are held within one’s breast. “The sun and moon in the pot” refers to the immortal’s world within the pot and its long, unhurried passage of time. The work of immortals is difficult for ordinary people to comprehend. Cultivating the heart and nature and seeking longevity are the aspirations of the practitioner.

An iron ox plows the earth and plants coins; as stone is carved, a boy strings the coins together. Within a single grain of millet lies an entire world; in a pot holding just two measures, mountains and rivers can be boiled. Here, what is tiny contains the vastness of Heaven and Earth, portraying the Daoist realm in which the small encompasses the great and the inner connects with the outer.

The white-haired Laozi—the realized elder—has eyebrows that reach the ground, while the blue-eyed foreigner points a finger toward the sky. Inside a pot are the sun and moon; within his breast, he holds Heaven and Earth. Ordinary people can scarcely grasp the state attained through the cultivation of immortals. The way of nourishing one’s nature and extending one’s years can only be experienced freely and expressed in song.

An iron ox plows the fields, yet what it sows is money. When stone is carved, a boy threads a rope through it. A single grain of rice can contain the whole world; in a two-sheng pot, mountains and rivers seem to simmer. These images use everyday things to evoke the Dao’s vast and wondrous realm.

The white-haired Laozi’s eyebrows hang to the ground; the blue-eyed foreigner points toward the sky. If you can understand the mystery within these images, you will see that beyond this mystery, there is no deeper mystery.

The stars Ji and Ang descend from the distant heights of the sky. There is no need to wonder if ordinary sights fail to astonish us: a dragon emerges from the water only when its scales are complete, and a crane rises into the clouds only when its feathers have fully grown. Cultivation takes time; only when one’s practice has matured does its complete state appear.

He taught a thousand people in the world, opening their eyes and helping them understand. Yet few among them understood these profound scriptures. Ordinary people have limited blessings and allotted years—how could he bear to impart subtle truths carelessly?

In his leisure, he swept his sleeves and stepped through the Gate of Heaven, lightly brushing his robe as if gathering colored clouds. In silence he gazed down at Huang Guzi, then smiled and bowed with clasped hands to Zixia Jun, a title of an immortal. Next, he intended to ascend to the Jade Hall and pay his respects to the Golden Mother, Xiwangmu, then return to Yingzhou, the fabled sea isle of immortals, to watch the sun. It happened to be the day Chang’e was hosting a feast; the immortal wine had just finished brewing, its fragrance rich and heady.

He had once traveled in a drunken ramble through the Peach Blossom Source with Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao, yet never asked anyone to pay for his wine. He had temporarily pawned a cloth robe, planning to redeem it after returning to the Nine Heavens.

A coat woven from phoenix feathers is hardly a treasure, and even a white fox-fur robe cannot compare with it. The truly priceless treasure is right here, yet it cannot be tested by putting it in the fire.

Remembering the past, he could not help but feel compassion and sorrow. He had once read the thirteenth chapter of the Immortals’ Scripture. Wu Shi should still have been a young woman when she died; after Chen Yu’s death, he was still a boy. By invoking the names and deaths of immortals, these lines describe a transcendence of worldly norms.

He lets the sun and moon revolve as they will, while bearing the mountains and rivers of the Nine Provinces on one shoulder. By day, no one speaks of such matters, so he drinks a pot of spring wine alone, content in a pleasant haze.

With sleeves hanging loose, he drifts serenely beyond the world; carrying a gourd, he wanders from place to place. Fame, rank, and wealth all lie outside him and, in the end, are not the Great Dao. At the Dragon-Tiger Gate, one must discern and recognize the true Dao.

On waking, he felt as though his dream had taken him somewhere familiar. For years, however, his whereabouts had remained hidden in the world. They met at last in the market at Huayin: he was no ordinary seller of medicines.

A myriad volumes of immortal scriptures and a three-foot zither are cherished by those who truly understand them. Liu An asked about the Dao; these are the true companions who understand the Way. A flask of spring wine hangs from the end of a staff, while flecks of the Golden Elixir are being refined in the cinnabar furnace.

When troubled, he lies drunk at a crossroads; in his leisure, he wanders the heart of Dongting Lake. Among all those he meets, who can recognize a true companion? He fears that once this one soars into the sky, there will be nowhere left to find him.

He once fought Chiyou before the jade throne, riding in a lofty carriage drawn by six dragons, its phoenix bells ringing to the heights of heaven. Behind the carriage of the Tathagata came golden drums; beside the Yellow Emperor’s troops stood one wearing an iron crown.

When drunk, his dark hair seemed to dim the Three Isles; when angered, he drew a frost-bright sword, chilling even the Ten Continents. After the age of the Yellow Emperor, Xuanyuan, had passed, he roamed the world unchecked. Later, he withdrew for a long time into the mountain passes, where he was hard to find.

His horns and brow were rugged, his voice rang like a great bell; his face was clear as ice and snow, his frame upright as a pine. The treasured sword in its case often rang out, and the golden hammer in his sleeve revealed its might.

He can drink in good company and share the pleasure, and when he composes verses, one can join him in realizing the Great Dao. Next year, he will surely attend the immortal gathering at Penglai, riding a mighty nine-colored dragon.

At dusk, immortals enter the golden palace, while ministers and generals close their gates and enter the city of white jade. Could the grotto realm lack beautiful sights? He attends to the human world only because he pities all living beings beneath heaven.

When he meets friends through the zither, he keeps the cranes company at ease. His treasured sword is often honed in its case, awaiting the moment to cut down a whale-like calamity. As he advances or withdraws, neither side has yet answered; I ask you to point out the road ahead.

Using the Nine Tripods—ancient ceremonial vessels that also serve as a name for the alchemical furnace—to cook cinnabar, one naturally masters the firing process, and flames like young blossoms arise. The stars shine upon the green-lotus-like elixir pearls, while the essence of the sun and moon is stored in pills like white horse teeth.

After seven rounds of refinement, the elixir becomes emerald sweet dew; after nine rounds of return refinement, it breathes forth red clouds. If someone obtains and swallows the Dark Pearl, the route to the immortal realms of the Three Isles will no longer be far.

Records of Patriarch Lü, volume five, ends here

Records of Patriarch Lü, volume six

Collected Writings

Ten Miscellaneous Pieces

Three Verses on the Art of Self-Cultivation

Human life is as precarious as a fine thread, and the breath passes back and forth as swiftly as an arrow. If you can recognize the Original Spirit (yuanshen, a person’s fundamental spirit), you should practice diligently after midnight and before noon. The Original Spirit can come and go at will. Heaven, Earth, humanity, and all things are together called the Three Powers; if a person can attain the One—the fundamental Dao—they should hold fast to it and never lose it. Once it is lost, it can seem impossible to find again. How sorrowful that in desolate fields and graveyards, countless people have been buried across the ages.

The splendor of worldly affairs vanishes like fireworks, while human concerns continue without end. Those who attain the Great Dao hold the original source within them as a single Qi. Those who lose the Dao return after death to the dark Yellow Springs. When the “Supreme Medicine” moves, the dragon dwells in the tiger’s place, and the tiger occupies the dragon’s palace. As Dragon and Tiger—the symbols of Yin and Yang Qi in Neidan practice—merge, one must discern the dim, mysterious path. Lightning flashes suddenly and thunder roars; even the intent of the spirit is hard to grasp. Cast aside external splendor and take up inner truth, using it to accomplish the work of long-term preservation. This is the subtlety of “transferring the spirit,” a practice that transforms and elevates the spirit.

First settle the “Child,” the root being cultivated, then seek the “Mother,” the source that nourishes the root. Take what is primary as your guiding principle, gathering and harmonizing it before taking it in at the right moment. Use Water to subdue Fire, and let the Dragon guide the Tiger. Begin the practice between the eyebrows; only then does it start to accord with the Mysterious Female, the Daoist term for the wondrous gateway of generation and transformation. Thunder shakes the heavens and lightning vanishes: these point to inner truth. Use them to accomplish the work of long-term preservation. This is the subtlety of “transferring the spirit.”

First settle the “Child,” then seek the “Mother”; take what is primary as your guiding principle, gathering and harmonizing it before taking it in at the right moment. Use Water to subdue Fire, and let the Dragon guide the Tiger. Begin the practice between the eyebrows; only then does it start to accord with the Mysterious Female. Sudden thunder and vanishing lightning belong to the “House of the Yellow Canopy,” an inner realm symbolized in cultivation. Golden liquid and jade nectar—images in Neidan for the precious fruits of transforming Jing and Qi—are all treasures of the Cinnabar Pool. Laozi’s art of cultivation lies entirely here. How sorrowful that even a hall piled high with gold and jade may not be kept secure.

This “Dao” is not the Dao in its ordinary sense. It is the foundation of human nature and life, and the key to life and death. It may sound unpleasant when spoken of, yet in genuine practice it has a marvelous effect. Others often dislike it and even mock it. The key to cultivation is to reverse ordinary views and practices: do not reject things that seem impure, and do not quibble over them. If you truly grasp the essential method, the results will appear quickly.

When cultivation is practiced correctly, Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang, can be brought into harmony, revealing auspicious signs. Bring mouth to mouth and join the apertures, then swallow what is obtained; the practitioner will naturally experience the resulting changes. The newly sprouted “medicinal shoot” is a sign that primordial Qi is manifesting. Examine the space between the eyebrows closely, and follow the method of cultivation that reverses the ordinary course. Use a moist, tangible substance as support, and continue to receive and nourish what cultivation has produced. Only after this, by harmonizing the two factors, does one reach the subtle essence of the practice.

Cultivation requires perseverance, and its process can be astonishing. Make Qi full and stable, and do not let Shen dissipate. Without actual practice, one will simply grow old in vain. Recognize the true method of cultivation, and even an aging body can regain its vitality. If you do not understand its secrets, do not pass them on carelessly. This method accords with the Great Dao; its key lies in Jing, Qi, and Shen, the medicines of longevity valued in cultivation. In stillness, preserve the wholeness of body and mind; when radiance appears, you can receive its effects. In the end, it is like soaring on a phoenix and luan, hearing music from Heaven.

One Hundred Words on Neidan

To cultivate primordial Qi, gather in your words and keep your attention focused; quiet your thoughts and do not act recklessly. Whether in motion or at rest, understand the foundations of cultivation; there is no need to seek elsewhere. In daily affairs, maintain steady clarity; when responding to external things, do not let your mind and spirit become lost. When the mind and nature are not confused, they can settle; once settled, Qi naturally returns. When Qi returns, the Neidan condenses. The body becomes like a crucible and furnace, in which Kan and Li—the trigrams symbolizing water and fire, Yin and Yang—are joined.

The Qi of Yin and Yang moves back and forth, like a peal of thunder, bringing forth life throughout the world. White clouds rise above the head, and sweet dew falls upon Mount Sumeru, a figure for a lofty realm in Buddhist and Daoist texts. The practitioner seems to drink the wine of longevity, though others cannot know the freedom of this state. Sitting in stillness, one hears a music without strings and can understand the workings of creation and transformation. There are twenty lines in all, truly a ladder leading to the Way of Heaven.

One Hundred Words on Waidan

Lead and mercury are placed in a cauldron and refined, ultimately forming a precious pearl of an elixir. In the end, it comes down to the two words “lead” and “mercury,” yet they can explain many principles of cultivation. As for whether lead should be used, and what counts as lead, the original text goes on to say “lead does not come,” then repeats “twenty lines, truly a ladder to Heaven.” The wording at this point is disjointed, so the meaning can only be understood as given here.

Lead and mercury are placed in the cauldron and refined into a priceless pearl. In the end, the essential point lies in just two words, “lead” and “mercury,” which suffice to resolve the principles discussed in many books on cultivation. It may be said that lead is used, and yet not used; still, lead and mercury cannot be dispensed with if the alchemical method is to reach its destination. Those who know how to take up lead can conceal it in darkness, convinced that cinnabar lies hidden within stone. The Great Medicine has neither form nor beginning, and the cauldron for refining the Golden Elixir has no ears. No other ingredients need be added: lead and mercury naturally harmonize and regulate one another. They work together like husband and wife, joining of their own accord. After one hundred days of tending the fire—adjusting the alchemical process to the proper times and seasons—the cauldron contains the image of Heaven and Earth. In a year, the Great Elixir is complete, and its efficacy truly appears. Many make use of lead, but how many truly value it and understand its mystery?

Admonition to the World

Even the slightest kindness should be used to make things easier for others; even the slightest malicious thought, I urge you, should not be acted upon. Take food and clothing as they come, and you will naturally live contentedly. Since fate is as it is, why bother to seek divination? Deceiving others brings misfortune; treating them generously brings blessings. Heaven sees everything clearly, and retribution comes swiftly. Listen carefully to what I say: spirits will show reverence, and ghosts and demons will retreat.

A Poem in Varied Lines

When you are down and out, live calmly through those hard days: spend the night in the countryside and wander through the town at dawn. In your spare moments, remember that treating others generously brings blessings. Heaven sees everything clearly, and retribution comes swiftly. Listen carefully to what I say: spirits will show reverence, and ghosts and demons will retreat.

A Poem in Varied Lines

When you are down and out, live calmly through those hard days: spend the night in the countryside and wander through the town at dawn. When you have nothing to do, stroll among the green hills; when you grow tired, go to the marketplace and sell elixirs. Do not count the money carefully after selling them. Buy fine wine and pour yourself a cup. Drunk, chant poems and sing songs, as though you could move ghosts and spirits; let the sun sink toward the west.

A Six-Character Poem

Spring is warm, and the flowers are half in bloom. At ease, I wander over the rocks, carrying alone the jade pitch pipe, the rules of musical tuning, and the alchemical formulas; I stroll across the green grass and moss. In an ancient grotto, I slept for nine years and drank thousands of cups of rosy cloud nectar, the fabled wine of immortals. When I meet others, there is no need to speak of anything else; I simply point to the white clouds and watch them come and go.

A Four-Character Self-Account

In the Tang dynasty I was still a successful candidate in the highest civil service examination; now I have become an immortal. Treading on purple mist, I returned to the grotto-heaven, the dwelling place of immortals. The moon shone bright, a gentle breeze arose, and an iron flute rang out once. Looking back toward Jun Mountain, I find no trace of myself anywhere across the four seas.

Two Couplets Inscribed on Jingfu Temple

Do not say that the Way of the immortals has nothing to teach. From ancient times to the present, how many have cultivated themselves to completion and ascended?

Nine Songs

“Song of Awakening to the Dao at Ezhou”

Like a carefree traveler roaming the sky, free of all restraint, he found himself at the Double Ninth Festival in late autumn. Dark clouds filled the heavens, and steady autumn rain nourished all things. The roads were muddy after the rain, so he stayed indoors. Then he happened to hear a neighbor speak of the art of the Elixir—the practice of refining and cultivating the Neidan (internal alchemy). He asked whether the neighbor would be willing to teach him. When the neighbor agreed, several strange writings came into his hands. By lamplight he read through the night, yet had not finished. He continued after dawn and reached the end by morning, reading as though in a trance, almost drunk.

In that hazy state, he saw something shaped like a brilliant, round sun. It called itself the essence of cinnabar, a subtle substance symbolized by cinnabar, and said it should be placed in the cauldron to refine away its mundane substance. Mundane substance cannot be refined directly into what is real; to become true substance, one must obtain the real thing from the “True.” The work of alchemy does not depend on using actual lead and mercury, but on planting the Returned Elixir—the refined Neidan—in the furnace. What is called “the mystery within the mystery” is true lead; yet in truly using lead, one does not cling to lead as a tangible substance. Sometimes it is called Dragon and Tiger, sometimes Infant and Maiden—names in Neidan practice that symbolize Yin-Yang essences and energies. A single grain of cinnabar has many names, but the “One” within it is the Mother of the Elixir, the root from which the Neidan is born.

In cultivation, the fire must not burn too fiercely, and the water must not grow too cold; the work must be undertaken with care and reverence. At last, the tiger roars and the mountain peaks tremble. The black dragon seizes the Mysterious Pearl, a precious Daoist substance, and toys with it. The dragon swallows the wondrous treasure, then suddenly rises into the sky. The poem goes on to say that he captures the flying dragon and rides it; with a single breath, he ascends to the Azure Heavens, the celestial realm of Daoism. The Azure Heavens stretch without end: they have no dawn or night, no years or months, no cold or heat, and no seasons.

Only after cultivating to the state of Wuwei (non-action), acting in accord with nature without forcing one’s will, does he feel that its wonder is truly beyond words.

“Song of Knocking the Yao”

I am a wandering adept whose travels between the late Han and Tang dynasties were elusive, and whose conduct was difficult to fathom. There were no fixed constraints on my coming and going, advancing or retreating: in stillness, I practiced Wuwei (non-action); in movement, I made my presence known. The poem speaks of drinking wine, eating meat, and frequenting the pleasure quarters, while also insisting that one preserve one’s innate nature and put an end to lust. Here, “flowers” and “wine” refer not only to ordinary relations between men and women and to drinking, but also serve as coded language for cultivation. A Dao cultivator must understand the principle of long life amid worldly circumstances, yet must not break the precepts or indulge desire. Lust damages one’s nature and destroys the foundation of longevity. Only one who remains free and unattached amid flowers and wine can be said to possess the power of the Dao.

A cultivator with profound Dao power takes wine as a close companion and flowers as a partner, seeking a perfected person in the pleasure quarters. Such a perfected person may also be found amid the ordinary routines of eating and living. Gathering flowers and drinking the wine of longevity symbolize realizing the Great Dao through things of this world. Though people may mock and doubt, the cultivator still regards “immortal flowers and immortal wine” as the realm of cultivating perfection. One who enters this realm is no longer an ordinary passerby. The poem uses “baby girl” to represent the pure vitality and joy gained through cultivation. Gathering flowers in all four seasons and having them bear the medicine of longevity means observing the growth of vitality through inner cultivation, refining Jing and Qi, and ultimately forming the “medicine of longevity.” These mysteries are difficult for ordinary people to understand; the oral formulas and inner methods are exceedingly precious.

Grateful to Heaven and Earth and to the empty expanse, the cultivator is fortunate to meet an immortal master, as though returning to the ancestral home. The master privately transmits wondrous formulas and guides the disciple up to the immortal realm of Penglai. The First Peak symbolizes a lofty level of cultivation; the “golden flower” that grows there is a sign of Jing and Qi congealing through Neidan (internal alchemy). The inner method is passed on by word of mouth and is not written in books. Cultivation must strengthen the spiritual root and fill the marrow. The springtime within the Peach Blossom Grotto represents vitality flourishing inside the body. “White Tiger,” “Azure Dragon,” “True Father and Mother,” “Wood Mother,” “Metal Lord,” “Lead,” and “Mercury” are all coded terms in Neidan for Yin-Yang, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the transformations of Jing and Qi; they do not refer literally to animals or metals.

When the moon’s toad spirit appears among the “Twelve Officials,” the earthly soul and heavenly Hun spirit meet, symbolizing the joining of Yin and Yang and their vital energies within the body. Lead and Mercury gradually form and are sent into the Original Palace; Wood Mother and Metal Lord unite gently. The phrase “Lead begets Mercury, Mercury begets Lead” describes how Yin and Yang transform into and nourish one another during Neidan cultivation. The Jade Furnace and Golden Cauldron refer to the body and mind as the place of cultivation. One man and one woman, and the union of Qian and Kun, use the pairing of man and woman, and of Heaven and Earth, to symbolize the blending of Yin and Yang. The heavenly stems and earthly branches, such as Geng and Jia, likewise mark changes in the movement of Yin and Yang. Gathering the root of Heaven and the marrow of Earth allows “white snow” and “yellow sprouts” to grow naturally. These too are metaphors in Neidan for the transformation of Jing and Qi and the formation of the elixir.

Refining Lead to produce Mercury, then refining Mercury to produce Lead, and finally cooking them together in one place: what is refined is not the sexual fluids of men and women, but the essence of Heaven and Earth, the sun and moon. The Yellow Matron symbolizes the medium that harmonizes Yin and Yang and brings all things into accord. The oral formulas must be transmitted at the proper time, without error. The changes of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the Five Phases, and the Four Images all depend on the Yin-Yang vital energies represented by Lead and Mercury. Understanding these principles makes it possible to grasp the transformations of Heaven and Earth. In cultivation, one must gather spirit and Qi in a hazy, profound stillness, so that Jing and Qi coalesce. The mind must be empty and quiet, and attention single-minded; it must not clamber about like a monkey. When the medicine first takes shape, it must not be disturbed. Place it in the “earthen cauldron” to warm and nourish it, without making arbitrary additions or subtractions.

The elixir is refined by warming it gently with a mild fire, while keeping the mind single and focused through all twelve double-hours. At this time, Yin and Yang unite and Jing and Qi gather in the Original Palace; they must not be allowed to leak away. As Qi moves, one must judge the firing times carefully and keep the Mysterious Pearl from leaving the Treasure Hall. Any increase in the fire must be made with great caution. The poem says, “At the first nine, the hidden dragon must not be refined,” reminding the cultivator that the fire is not yet sufficient in the initial stage and must not be hastened. As the firing times progress, the medicine gradually changes and yellow sprouts spread everywhere. After the first Yang arises, the firing times are set according to the twenty-four solar terms. Only when the medicine’s potency is sufficient is the elixir mature. At that point, the sounds of “dragon’s roar and tiger’s howl” may be heard—symbols used in Neidan to describe changes in the movement of Qi.

Of three portions of Lead, only one portion of true Lead is refined. Before the golden fruit and immortal sprouts have appeared, the furnace must be set up anew and the cauldron established. The poem portrays the cultivator riding a tiger and mounting a dragon, leaving the common world behind; this means that body and mind have surpassed the worldly realm. When the sun’s essence appears and the moon’s radiance gathers, Ren and Bing meet, Dragon Mercury congeals, and Tiger Lead is refined. The immortal realm of Penglai is then close at hand. Kun Lead, Qian Mercury, Dragon Lead, and Tiger Mercury are all different names for Yin-Yang vital energies. Only when their principles are understood can cultivation be said to have succeeded, with a host of spirit dragons protecting the crystal-like elixir.

The cultivator must observe the appointed times, discern the signs of the firing cycle, and remain focused and devout, gathering black Lead until it is pure and free of admixture. After Yin and Yang unite, the movement of Qi returns to harmony. Then the “three carts” transport the treasure into the storehouse, symbolizing Jing and Qi moving along pathways within the body and returning to their repository in the Dantian (energy center). Heavenly gods and earthly spirits protect and welcome the cultivator, as the essences of Yin and Yang, the sun and moon, merge into one. The poem’s images of dragons and tigers pursuing one another, phoenixes dancing in flight, cinnabar blending with mercury, and red clouds filling the sky depict the many changes that occur as the Neidan elixir congeals. Golden light appearing in the Lead Pool and a stream of Mercury fire entering the Imperial Capital are also metaphors for the movement and gathering of elixir Qi.

Even after the dragons and tigers unite, the cultivator must preserve the state of fullness and not let Jing and Qi escape. When the elixir is complete, purple clouds rise above the Golden Gate. Immortal peaches ripen and may be gathered and eaten, symbolizing the elixir’s completion and the fulfillment of cultivation. The cultivator fasts and waits for the first Yang to arise, then continues cultivating in accordance with principles found in elixir texts such as the Cantong qi. Water and fire steam together, opening and connecting the body’s passages. After two months of warming and nourishing, the spirit elixir congeals. The phrase “a man carrying a child” uses pregnancy as a metaphor for the elixir being conceived within the body. Neidan and Waidan (external alchemy) complete one another; in the end, they congeal into a purple-gold pill that transforms and soars, enduring forever between Heaven and Earth.

Once the elixir enters the abdomen, Yin gradually disappears and transforms into pure Yang. The cultivator undergoes feathered transformation and ascends, becoming an immortal guest in the realm of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing). Having completed the work and made a name, they rise to the heavenly realms. They ride in chariots and upon phoenixes, soar into the Great Void, and wander freely through the Three Realms. The cultivators who attain perfection above the Great Void possess a mind that is bright and complete, returning to the state of no-thing. This “no-thing” is still the manifestation of the Great Dao. True persons appear from the five directions, while immortal boys and girls arrive on colored clouds to welcome them and transmit immortal decrees at the Palace of the Five Radiances.

The profound teaching of these immortal decrees ultimately comes down to refining Mercury with true Lead. The levels of practice represented by the hearers and the solitary realizers, along with non-Daoist paths and the asuras, all vanish or retreat before the Great Dao. Even dry bones can be transformed into living form, showing that the Dao’s methods can restore vitality to withered things; the steps of cultivation may seem simple. Once cultivation is complete, even nine generations of one’s ancestors can attain release, so there is no need to envy worldly wealth and splendor. The poem urges readers to seek out people of resolve and worthy talent, join them in setting up the furnace and cauldron, and transform the mortal body. If one clings to wealth or secret methods, the immortals will not come to help.

Those who cultivate perfection do not disclose secret methods carelessly, for speaking a single word recklessly is described as an offense against Heaven’s Way. If one passes through countless calamities in the world without cultivating the Dao, all efforts will come to nothing. The poem uses “blood bursting from the eyes of the seven orifices” to portray the grave consequences of faulty cultivation. Even the poor, if they make a firm vow, can be guided to attend the immortal assembly at Penglai with everyone else; yet the torments brought by worldly sights and circumstances are endless. Time in the human world is brief, while in the grotto heavens the sun and moon seem to linger. With firm resolve and several years of arduous cultivation, one can attain long life. Once one understands the sacred Dao, weapons, fire and water, and flood dragons cannot cause harm; one can even laugh freely in the heavenly palace.

Such a wondrous method may be transmitted to the world, yet few may be willing to accept it. The foolish cling to women and wealth, so the immortals are unwilling to summon them. The true Great Dao makes no distinctions of status; it does not matter whether one is rich or poor, high or low. Even the sons of emperors must set aside their splendor and restrain their pride. The final phrase, “If anger is not removed and habits are not changed,” means that without putting aside anger and changing one’s old habits, it is difficult to complete the cultivation.