《金莲正宗记》

The Record of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus is a book recounting the deeds of Daoist immortals and eminent masters. It is included in the “Biographies of Immortals and Eminent Daoist Masters” category of the Chinese Daoist Canon. The book has five fascicles and records the following figures:

Fascicle One: Emperor Donghua; Perfected Zhongli of Zhengyang; Perfected Lü of Chunyang; Perfected Liu of Haichan.

Fascicle Two: Perfected Wang of Chongyang; Perfected He of Yuchan; Perfected Li of Lingyang.

Fascicle Three: Perfected Ma of Danyang.

Fascicle Four: Perfected Tan of Changzhen; Perfected Liu of Changsheng; Perfected Qiu of Changchun.

Fascicle Five: Perfected Wang of Yuyang; Perfected Hao of Guangning; the Reclusive Master of Qingjing.

“Preface to the Record of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus” is the title of the book’s preface.

The Great Dao has neither beginning nor end, while the teachings of Daoism have gone through periods of decline and flourishing. Someone asked, “Are the Dao and its teachings different?” The answer was: “They are. What is clear, still, constant, and unchanging is the Dao; what transmits methods and instructs and saves people is its teaching. The Dao’s essential nature has not changed in the slightest through countless kalpas. Its teaching, as the Dao put into practice, sometimes falls into decline and sometimes flourishes.”

Someone asked, “When did the teaching first arise?” The answer was: “After the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan cast the cauldrons, he rode a fire dragon up into the Great Void. Only then did people learn of the claim that one could live long and endure. Yet although this claim became known, only seventy-two people truly understood it and practiced accordingly.”

During the reign of King Wuding of the Shang dynasty, the Lord Lao appeared at Laiyang. He traveled east to Weiguan and west to transform the people of the Flowing Sands region, instructing the world for nine hundred and ninety-six years. Later, he mounted a white deer, ascended to Canghui, flew through the heavens, and went to the Jade Capital. Despite these wondrous manifestations, people still turned a blind eye and did not know to believe in or aspire to him.

It was not until the Han dynasty, when the Celestial Master Zhang Jingying appeared, that he personally received the Zhengyi registers—the credentials by which Daoist masters confer registers and transmit teachings. He battled spirits and demons, pacified the prisons of the ghosts, and transformed them into blessed lands. He also guided Daoist priests and served as libationer, an important office in Daoism. His teaching flourished greatly, its influence reaching across the Four Seas. After him, figures such as Kou, Hao, Du, and Ye carried on the transmission in succession. They drove out demons and evil spirits, prayed for blessings and averted calamities, supported the state and aided the people, and carried out Heaven’s transformations on its behalf. Across dozens of generations, temples spread throughout the land and received the reverence of emperors.

After the Zhenghe era, Celestial Master Lin repeatedly manifested wonders, praying for blessings and dispelling calamities. The emperor, too, put his faith in him, and the ritual teachings consequently flourished. Yet teachings on cultivating nature and life still received too little attention and study.

At the end of the Song dynasty, Perfected Chongyang appeared at Heaven’s appointed time and once again promoted the ritual teachings, focusing especially on the path of cultivating nature and life. He taught widely across three regions and gathered followers into five assemblies, with the Golden Lotus as their foremost symbol. Traveling east across the sea, he guided seven people. They made gentleness and humility their outward demeanor, stillness and emptiness their inner practice, and “nine returns and seven reversals,” a term in Neidan cultivation, their fundamental method. They also used expedient methods that could adapt to countless circumstances. The school’s name was therefore changed to Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), and its clothing was changed as well: its members wore patched robes.

Later, Immortal Qiu Changchun received the emperor’s summons and went to Yinshan. He urged the emperor to restrain his drinking and sexual indulgence, and warned him to reduce executions. His earnest words seemed to bring new life to the people of the realm; he also saved countless millions from punishment and death. People turned to him in faith as rivers flow into the sea, in a tide that could not be stopped. Near and far, people bowed to him with reverence, while the eastern Yi and western Rong peoples sang the Buxu, hymns chanted in Daoist purification rituals. In every household people spoke of Dao and De; everywhere they discussed the Dao of Xiyi, the subtle, unseen principles of stillness and Wuwei (non-action). People in Daoist robes, their hair tied in topknots, filled the roads. Jade-like temples and precious altars stood scattered across mountains, fields, and marshes like stars. Since the time of the Yellow Emperor Xuanyuan, the Daoist community had never flourished as it did now.

This teaching originated with Donghua, was transmitted to Chongyang, and spread into branches through Changchun. From now on, it will continue in an immense and unbroken flow, flourishing to an extent impossible to predict. For this reason, I have written the Record of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus. Written in the Xinchou year, by Huping Changchun of Hutian.

Donghua Dijun’s family name was Wang and his courtesy name was Xuanfu; his Daoist name was Shuhuazi. His appearance was remarkably unusual, and from childhood he admired the Way of cultivating the Real. Baiyun Shangzhen, an Immortal of the Heavenly Realm, saw him and took a great liking to him, saying, “This is an Immortal who has been banished from Heaven to the human world.” He then led him into the mountains and taught him methods of cultivation, including Azure Talismans and Jade Registers, Golden Precepts and numinous writings, the secrets of the Great Elixir, the celestial cycle and its firing times, and the Azure Dragon sword method. After receiving these teachings, the Master kept them constantly in mind. He devoted himself to practice for three years and fully grasped their subtle mysteries.

Later, he withdrew to Mist-and-Cloud Cave on Kunjianshan, quietly tending his spirit and cultivating his nature and life. After a long time, he built a thatched hut to live in and inscribed “Shuhua Monastery” on the lintel. He lived in seclusion, avoiding the world for more than a hundred years, and no one knew where he was. He later moved to the mountains south of Mount Wutai in Daizhou. Today, there is a Purple Mansion grotto-heaven there, with Daoren County below the mountain.

He lived in the human world for several hundred years, yet his appearance showed no clear signs of aging. He spread the Daoist tradition’s profound teachings, elucidated its deep principles, and secretly aided people through his merit and virtue. His mysterious De moved Heaven. The Celestial Immortals therefore bestowed on him the title Donghua Dijun; he was also known as Zifu Shaoyang Jun.

He taught and guided his disciple, the Perfected Zhengyang, Zhongli Yunfang, who inherited and spread the Daoist teachings. Because so much time has passed, his deeds cannot all be recorded. The Way of Quanzhen began with him, and he is therefore honored as its First Patriarch.

A worthy man said, “The Immortal Lord’s name is so illustrious and his reputation so exalted. Why, then, is he not mentioned in the History of the Han? His home, family, dates, and life story are all so obscure.”

I replied, “Those who follow the way of the immortals usually live in seclusion. Unless they are setting out to teach the Way and establish a tradition among the people, they are in no hurry to reveal their traces. The court historians therefore recorded little and left these matters out of the histories; Confucians, moreover, have no taste for discussing such things. So many years have passed, and the inscriptions on stone have been destroyed, that detailed verification is now impossible. Besides, during the four hundred years of the Two Han dynasties, secluded sages were too numerous to count. How could several thousand volumes of history record every one of them?

“The Way of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) had been taking shape long before: the Great High One transmitted it to the Golden Mother, the Golden Mother passed it to White Cloud, and finally it came to the Immortal Lord. Perhaps Heaven intended to entrust this great Way to him. Who among ordinary seekers could bear such a responsibility? Heaven must first have chosen, amid the crimson clouds and cinnabar radiance, someone fit to lead the immortals, and only then sent him down into the human world. When he first appeared in the world, could there have been no wondrous signs, no radiance filling Heaven and Earth? These things were simply concealed and left unrecorded, for the court historians had their reasons for keeping silent. That is why I have returned to this point repeatedly at the end of the biography, hoping readers will find a path to follow after reading it.”

The poem says: “The Dragon Tower lies faintly veiled in auspicious clouds; in the Purple Palace, the refined manner of the Shaoyang lineage endures. Mount Kunlun rises into the clouds, its light stretching a thousand yards; the first flower of the Way of Quanzhen blooms here.”

Zhengyang Zhongli Zhenren, one of the immortal perfected beings revered by the Quanzhen tradition.

According to the Record of the Golden Spring Abbey on Mount Lu, Zhongli Quan’s great-grandfather was named Pu, his grandfather Shoudao, and his father Yuan. At the end of the Eastern Han, they all held high office and rendered service to the state. The family passed down its virtues from one generation to the next.

Zhongli Quan, courtesy name Yunfang and religious name Zhengyangzi, was from Xianyang in the Jingzhao region. In his youth, he excelled at literature and especially loved writing in cursive script. He was eight feet seven inches tall, with a beard that reached past his navel and bright, piercing eyes. He once rose to the post of Left Admonition Counselor. After submitting a memorial criticizing Li Jian’s mishandling of frontier affairs, he was demoted to military governor of Nankang. After the Han dynasty fell, he served as an official under the Jin dynasty. During the reign of Emperor Wu of Jin, he and the deputy general Zhou Chu led troops together and went on several campaigns. Later, after their army was defeated, Zhongli Quan fled into the disorderly mountains, and no one knew where he had gone.

By chance, he met a Daoist who followed Laozi and asked him for guidance. The man did not answer, but simply raised his hand and pointed southeast. Zhongli Quan set off in that direction at once. After six or seven li, he saw steep, lofty peaks, with pines and paulownia trees scattered among them, and a pavilion gleaming with gold and jade in the mountains. Two attendants dressed in blue stood at the entrance to welcome him. Zhongli Quan clasped his hands and asked, “What place is this?” They replied, “This is the residence of Lord Shaoyang of the Purple Mansion, and also a retreat of the Eastern Florescence Emperor. I have served Lord Hou here for a long time.”

The attendants then invited him into the hall to meet the Eastern Florescence Emperor. As they were talking and laughing together, a young attendant came to announce, “Immortal guests have arrived.” The emperor went out to welcome three immortal guests. Zhongli Quan peeked through a window and saw that the first immortal was eight feet tall, dressed in blue with a plain sash, wearing straw sandals and a cloud-shaped crown. His gaze flashed like lightning, and he carried himself with great dignity. The second wore a white robe with wide sleeves, its collar tied behind his neck, and held an iron flute across his hands. The third was stoutly built, clad in a deep red robe and wearing a Huayang cap. He rode a gray-black tiger and held a bamboo staff across his hands.

The emperor then invited the three guests into another hall and served wine, fruit, and dishes. Their lively conversation and laughter carried beyond the hall. The attendant in blue remarked in wonder, “How could so many people from the dusty world ever reach this place? The cavern gate has neither lock nor key, so for whom has it opened today?”

All the immortals laughed and said, “You were once Tiezizi; now you have encountered someone who has attained the Dao.” They added, “Brave sir, what brings you bursting into this estate?” The Immortal of the Iron Flute replied, “This is the Purple Mansion of the Shaoyang household, a celestial abode where immortals dwell. Auspicious vapors swirl around its Dragon Tower. The wine is poured in full cups and can keep one drunk for a thousand days; fresh flowers are here in every season.” The Immortal Who Rides a Tiger said, “I will show you the way to the immortal realm of Penglai myself. Why ask around any further? Since you are fated to follow the Way of the Immortals, it is truly fortunate that you can pay your respects to a perfected master of profound attainment.”

The Lord replied, “You are people of such lofty spirit; meeting you brings joy at once. Your names have long been entered in the registers of the Cinnabar Terrace, and you are only temporarily exiled to the human world.” The immortals all became drunk, then ordered a carriage to be prepared for their departure. The Lord saw each one off. They mounted their luan birds and phoenixes and slowly rose into the clouds.

After returning, the Lord resumed discussing profound mysteries with Zhongli. They talked without pause all day, and their friendship grew so deep that it surpassed the bonds of old friends. The Lord therefore transmitted to him the Red Talismans and Jade Registers, the Golden Precepts and numinous writings, the secrets of the Great Elixir, the methods for regulating the fire and its cycles in the Zhou Tian, and the sword techniques of the Azure Dragon. The recipient respectfully accepted these teachings, grasping many things from a single hearing. After mastering their subtleties, he took his leave and descended the mountain. He wore his hair in a topknot and dressed in plain cloth, spent many years doing good and saving people, and cultivated his spirit and refined his breath. His movements and whereabouts were ever-changing.

During the Kaicheng era of Emperor Wenzong of Tang, while traveling on Mount Lu, he met Lü Dongbin and received the sword techniques of the Heavenly Escape. He called himself “the Great Scatterer of the World.” Later, he lived in seclusion on Mount Yangjiao in Jin, where the Celestial Perfected One bestowed on him the title “Perfected One Who Preserves Life in the Left Palace of Taiji.”

He once inscribed two quatrains behind the Guanyin Hall at Kaiyuan Temple in Xingzhou. His brushwork was free and graceful, like a flying dragon in motion. One poem reads: “A true immortal who has attained the Dao is hard to meet. When will I return, and may I follow you then? You say your dwelling lies beside the vast sea, with another peak of Penglai beyond it.” The other says: “Do not tire of frequent gatherings, joyful talk, and laughter. When I think of the turmoil and separation in the world, my heart is truly pained.”

In his spare moments, counting on his fingers from the beginning, how many people have truly lived peaceful and settled lives? Liu Congguang of the Song dynasty had these words carved in stone on the ninth day of the ninth month in the fourth year of the Huangyou era (1052). Another poem of praise says:

One who turns away from wealth as though it were a calamity is a true Immortal. One who remains grave and upright in the face of beauty is a worthy man of integrity. Nurture your original Qi until your breathing is deep and slow like a tortoise’s; refine your body until your skin is lean as a crane’s. The gate of life is also the gate of death—how many can see clearly and truly understand? At night, this iron-willed man pondered carefully: immortality depends on a person’s own cultivation.

He also composed the Collected Teachings of the True Immortals and the Complete Methods of the Numinous Treasure, and transmitted them to Lord Lü. They describe the transformations of Heaven and Earth, the union of Yin and Yang, and ways to nourish life through Neidan cultivation. These texts were secretly stored in the Treasury of the Mysterious Metropolis, as a guide for generations to come. Later, he passed through Mount Lu, climbed the three-tiered Red Tower, and slowly ascended into the sky. This took place on the twentieth day of the fifth month.

The eulogy says: The Dao cannot be sought through falsehood, and immortality cannot be attained through deceit; what matters is sincere cultivation and steady practice. Before the Master of Pure Yang had visited Mount Lu, climbed the three-tiered Red Tower, and slowly ascended into the sky, … This took place on the twentieth day of the fifth month.

The praise says: The Great Dao cannot be attained through delusion, and one cannot become an immortal through deceit and pretense. What is most precious is sincere cultivation and practice. Before meeting his teacher, Master Zhengyang—an immortal revered in Daoism, usually identified as Zhongli Quan—was merely a warrior clad in iron armor. After becoming a disciple of the divine Lord Shuhua, he received a Jade Tally, a Daoist ritual document, through which he gained access to the celestial realm. By carrying out the Golden Precepts, Daoist rules and rites, he seemed able to move Heaven and Earth. When he forged a sword, a green dragon entered its case; when he refined elixirs, a purple phoenix turned toward the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning. He cultivated his breath until it flowed as slowly and steadily as a tortoise’s, and trained his body until his skin was lean and spare like a crane’s. From the Han to the Tang dynasty, over more than five hundred years, he guided only one person to the Dao: the pure Yang immortal, Lü Dongbin. This shows how difficult it truly is to transform a person.

Later, Master Zhengyang traveled to Mount Lu, climbed the three-tiered Red Tower, and slowly ascended into the Great Void, the celestial expanse described in Daoism. From then on, the lineage of the Quanzhen tradition gradually began to take shape, and he could therefore be honored as the second patriarch of the orthodox Golden Lotus lineage.

The poem says: I once heard of an immortal who rode a tiger and played an iron flute; he personally received the Golden Elixir from the Lord. When he was about to depart, he passed on what he had learned to Master Chunyang. Then he climbed the three-tiered Red Tower and flew toward the blue sky.

According to the Record of the Stone Wall at Qingyang Temple in Yuezhou, Master Lü’s great-grandfather was named Jing. He rose through the ranks to become a Hanlin Academician and Grandee of Golden and Purple Light and Emoluments. His grandfather, Xian, served as Prefect of Henan. His father, Wei, was Minister of Rites. The master’s name was Yan, and his courtesy name was Dongbin. He was from Yongle, Puban, Puzhou.

The record says that Lü Dongbin was born beneath a forest tree on the fourteenth day of the fourth month in the bingzi year, the fourteenth year of the Xingyuan era under Emperor Dezong of the Tang. In the dingyou year, the first year of the Kaicheng era under Emperor Wenzong, he passed the jinshi examination at the age of twenty-two. He was tall and straight, with bright eyes, fine brows and temples, and a handsome beard. He had what was known in physiognomy as a “Metal-Water appearance.” He wore a Huayang cap and a robe of ease, and looked like figures such as Zhang Zifang (Zhang Liang) and the Grand Historian (Sima Qian). Later, he served as magistrate of Lushan in Wufeng.

One day, during his leisure, he visited the scenic sites of Lushan and happened to meet Master Zhengyang (Zhongli Quan, a figure in Daoist legend). After talking, the two found themselves in accord. Lü Dongbin received from Master Zhengyang the Great Dao’s Heavenly Escape sword method and the secret texts of the Dragon-Tiger Golden Elixir, and was given the Daoist name Chunyangzi. From then on, he resigned from office, gave up his title, and devoted himself to cultivating the Dao. He remained close by his master’s side, never parting from him even briefly.

Before long, several immortals specifically invited Lü Dongbin to accompany them to the immortal realm of Penglai. Weeping, Lü Dongbin bade farewell to his master and asked, “Master, you are riding east in your cloud chariot. When will you return?” He then offered this poem:

“Once your work is complete, it will be hard for us to meet again;

I hear you are going east, yet I am fortunate to reach the immortal altar.

Spring’s spirit rests upon your staff, and a pot of fine wine is in hand;

Your cloud-patterned cap sits as though it crowns the Five Peaks.

Ordinary people cannot recognize the little turtle that drinks from the sea;

Even spirits and gods cannot make sense of the talisman used to refine the elixir.

After you leave, my body will at last grow old;

Please grant me an elixir that can transform a poor scholar from within.”

Master Zhengyang replied, “One Golden Elixir can secure long life, but it must be refined with true lead into Jia-Geng. To gather fire, collect the marrow of the red phoenix in the south; to gather water, seek the essence of the black turtle in the northern sea.” Here, “Golden Elixir,” “true lead,” “red phoenix marrow,” and “black turtle essence” are all terms in Neidan practice. They use the Five Phases, directions, and mythic creatures to describe the process of refining and nourishing.

The “cauldron” turns through the four seasons and aligns with the Center, while the ingredients follow the patterns of the “Three Primordial Forces” and the “Eight Trigrams.” If you observe purification and practice, the elixir can undergo nine refinements. Swallow a single pill, and even ghosts and spirits will be stirred.

After finishing the poem, Lord Lü departed. From then on, he lived in seclusion amid the bustle of the marketplace. At times he sold elixirs to treat the sick; at others, he sold ink to help the poor. He continually accumulated merit, and in the end attained the Dao and became a perfected being. His supernatural powers and transformations were beyond measure: sometimes he vanished, sometimes he appeared. He often traveled through the regions of Cangwu and Nanyue, and once wrote:

“At dawn I travel through Nanyue; by dusk I arrive in Cangwu. A green snake lies hidden in my sleeve, and my courage knows no fear. Three times I entered Yueyang, yet no one recognized me. I sang aloud and flew across Lake Dongting.”

During the Zhenghe era of the Song dynasty, he inscribed two quatrains at the Shangqing Palace in Luoyang:

“Twice I have come to pay homage to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), yet the people of this world cannot understand. Now I shall return beyond the world of dust, pointing toward the immortals’ celestial capital, deep within the five-colored auspicious clouds.”

He also wrote:

“Deep within the five-colored clouds is my true home. The human form is ultimately illusory and cannot endure. Now, somehow, I no longer know that I am a guest here; tomorrow, I shall be accompanied only by this place.”

At the Mid-Autumn Festival in the year wuzu, a Daoist came seeking an audience at the home of an investigating official in the Western Capital. The servants tried repeatedly to stop him, but the Daoist had already seated himself in the main hall. He said, “Please give me a dou of wine.” The official gave him the wine, and he drank it all in one draught. The Daoist then asked for three feet of white silk. He sprayed wine over the silk, kneaded it, and put it into a bottle. Then he left without a word. The official hurriedly sent people after him, but the Daoist had disappeared. When they opened the bottle and took out the silk, they found a portrait on it, bearing an exact likeness of the master: a clear, bright expression and finely shaped features, with three fine hairs growing beside the ear.

Two quatrains were inscribed on the back of the portrait:

“When drinking, one should have a hundred cups or more. May I nurture my life until the Yellow River runs clear, through ten thousand cycles. The utmost Dao renews itself each day, and all things flow freely without obstruction. May the mysterious gate open early, so thunder can stir within the earth.”

He also wrote:

“Through the ages, I remain at ease in Jambudvipa, the human world. Only the Way of utmost goodness is worthy of being proclaimed. How many have received my teaching, holding it constantly in mind, yet across the barriers of the human world entrust their original true nature to illusion?”

The poems were signed “Pure Yang Master,” Lü Dongbin’s Daoist name.

During the Xuanhe era of Emperor Huizong of the Song, he inscribed a couplet on a stone wall at Daiyue Temple on Mount Tai: “Long ago I left my writing here, recording that I had come; my deeds have reached across Hua and Yi, as I travel throughout the world.” Later, amid thunder and torrential rain, dragons churned through the waters and the mountain collapsed, yet the Master’s ink remained just as it had been.

Ninety years later, he returned and inscribed another couplet: “The dragons knew what was in my heart, so they left these traces and did not let them be buried.” He also wrote a quatrain: “I came here once before; in the blink of an eye, ninety years have passed. So many people come and go in the dust of the world—who among them knows me?” He signed it “Lord Cloud’s Return.”

He left signs of his presence wherever he went, too many to recount one by one. Over his lifetime he wrote hundreds of works, compiled as the Collected Records of Transmitting the Sword. He could fly and transform, and the number of people he guided is beyond counting. Later, while traveling in Ezhou, he climbed Yellow Crane Tower and slowly rose into the sky. It was noon on the twentieth day of the fifth month. People in the streets looked up at him with reverence, watching as he gradually disappeared into the clouds.

The eulogy says: Since ancient times, many have attained the Dao and become immortals, but Zhong and Lü have been especially renowned throughout the world. Woodcutters, shepherds, women, and children all know of them. Why is this? Perhaps it is because they held compassion in their hearts, delighted in helping the people of the world, and guided those who aspired to the Dao.

Since ancient times, many people have attained the Dao and become immortals, but Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin are especially renowned. Even woodcutters, shepherd children, women, and children know their names. Why? Because they were compassionate and widely welcomed and helped people everywhere. They left no one beyond their care, and so moved people’s hearts more than anyone.

They patiently instructed even the spirit of an old, insentient pine tree, transforming it into a supreme immortal—how much more so would they help human beings, the most spiritually gifted of all creatures? They came to Yueyang three times, wearing elixir talismans, symbols associated with immortal cultivation, and left behind a legend that has endured for a thousand years. They also revisited the Dai Monastery, in the Mount Tai region, and recited the Huangting Jing (Scripture of the Yellow Court), a Daoist classic. They drew forth the essence of the southern red phoenix and took the marrow of the black tortoise of the Northern Sea, refining them into a pill potent enough to free a person from the mortal world. They also scattered the Nine-Turn Reverted Elixir, refined through repeated stages, far and wide among humanity. With a touch, they turned stone cakes into gold; with a willow branch, they brought white bones back to life. Those who took the elixir regained their youthful appearance and transformed their bodies, while those who encountered the two men were restored from death to life.

All manner of demons hid themselves, while the two kept a blue-green snake sword tucked in their sleeves. When a decree descended from Heaven, they mounted the Yellow Crane Tower and ascended. Their fame, then, belonged to all the people of the world, and could not be won lightly—this is indeed true. As the poem says: “The three-foot blue-green snake sword shines with a cold light, as if all things between Heaven and Earth could be moved into the palm and viewed. Since they ascended from the Yellow Crane Tower, they have left the bone-changing elixir among the people.”

The master’s surname was Liu and his given name was Cao. His courtesy name was Zongcheng, and he was known as Lord Haichan. He was from Yanshan. At the age of sixteen, he passed the highest level of the civil service examinations through his mastery of the Confucian classics. He was promoted steadily and eventually became chancellor. He enjoyed discussing the cultivation of nature and life, but had never grasped its mysteries.

One day, a man who had attained the Dao came to visit. Lord Haichan invited him to sit in the main hall, received him as an honored guest, and asked his name. The man remained silent, saying only that he was called Master Zhengyang. He asked Lord Haichan for ten quail eggs and a coin. He placed the coin on the table, then stacked the ten eggs one on top of another, building a tall tower that did not fall. Lord Haichan exclaimed, “How precarious!” Master Zhengyang replied, “Your Excellency, the chancellor, has put your life and all you possess in danger—far greater danger than this.”

Lord Haichan suddenly understood. Master Zhengyang gathered up the eggs, broke the coin in two and threw it away, then took his leave. Lord Haichan immediately ordered a banquet for that evening. Pretending to be drunk, he smashed the cups and plates and the precious objects. His wife and children angrily scolded him.

The next day, after court, his family was still displeased. Lord Haichan therefore removed his official seal and resigned. Feigning madness, he sang and danced. He recited:

“I was born in the year of the Grand Duke of Jupiter, in the land of Yan. Looking back, the essence of Heaven and Earth, sun and moon, endowed me with intelligence and talent. As a child my mind was clear, and at sixteen I passed the highest examination. I wore official robes and bore a golden seal; I held an honored position, and my family dressed in fine clothes. Now I occupy the highest office and direct the affairs of state, yet suddenly everything I once had seems like a dream in spring.

Last night the family banquet lasted until the third watch. My wife, children, and maids were all there. I pretended to be drunk, overturned the cups and plates, and smashed the coral and precious jade. My children despised me, and my wife grew angry, forgetting the comfort and abundance they had enjoyed before. The next day, after court, their anger had still not subsided. They would not forgive even this small offense. Only then did I awaken: when I was trapped in the dusty world, who could have saved me from the cycle of rebirth?”

The precarious tower of quail eggs stacked on a coin serves as a warning to Lord Haichan: high office and wealth may seem secure, but they are as unstable as eggs piled high and may collapse at any moment. By smashing the precious objects, Lord Haichan tested his family’s attachment to a life of wealth and status. This led him to resolve to resign and cultivate the Dao.

Only then did he suddenly awaken: through all his former lives in the cycle of rebirth, who could have saved him from it? He therefore resigned his official post, returned his official seal, and gave up wealth and glory. Resolving to seek a way beyond the earthly world with body and mind, he donned a Daoist’s robes and willingly took up a lowly station, even using humiliation to temper himself.

He also wrote a couplet: “I leave behind the three thousand mouths of the burning house; I shut out the million households guarded by soldiers at their gates.” This meant that he had left a household whose troubles burned like a raging fire, and freed himself from the life of power represented by the many guards and servants at its gates.

Later, he journeyed far to Qin River country, cultivated the Dao before Mount Taihua, and lived in seclusion below Mount Zhongnan. There he nurtured his spirit and refined his breath, eventually attaining the Dao and becoming a perfected immortal. One day, at Shouning Abbey in Daizhou, he splashed ink across a sheet to write the four characters “May tortoise and crane enjoy equal longevity.” The calligraphy stretched more than a zhang in length, and he also painted a portrait of himself on the wall. Later, at Qingyang Palace in Chengdu, Xishu—thousands of li away—he wrote “Peace, well-being, blessing, and long life”; at Laiyi Abbey on Phoenix Mountain in Daizhou, he wrote “Longevity like a mountain, blessings like the sea.” Though the three places lay far apart, all these inscriptions were made on the same day, demonstrating the wondrous, unfathomable transformations of his supernatural powers.

Afterward, he inscribed a long poem. Its general meaning was this: He came riding drunk on a white donkey, holding a copper-handled whisk upside down. With him was a blue-eyed servant carrying an unusual pair of shoulder poles. He had long since forgotten the affairs of the world, and made his home beside Ge Hong’s well. If he had not read the Huangting Jing, an important Daoist scripture, how could he have smelted the Dragon-Tiger Cauldron, a symbol of Neidan cultivation? He stood alone in the bustling marketplace, refusing invitations from ordinary people. When he wished to play the Thunderclap Zither, he climbed to the summit of Mount Kunlun. He bought ten Hao oxen and cultivated half a qing of fields beside a stream, growing millet and brewing wine: such was the life of an immortal. He lay drunk beneath the shade of an ancient pine and gazed into the distance from White Cloud Ridge. He could leave whenever he wished, his form so light and swift that it seemed able to enter a space as fine as a single autumn hair.

His miraculous deeds and manifestations across the ages were too numerous to record one by one; here, only a general account has been given.

The eulogy says: Wealth and rank are indeed hard to relinquish, and worldly attachments are truly difficult to sever. Anyone who can genuinely give up wealth and rank and leave behind the bonds of the world will surely ascend to the Great Luo Heaven and roam the Jade Capital, the Daoist realm of immortals.

The eulogy says: To relinquish wealth and rank and leave behind the burdens of worldly life is truly difficult. Yet anyone who can genuinely do so may hope to ascend to the Great Luo Heaven, the highest celestial realm in Daoism, and wander in the Jade Capital, the city of the immortals. From ancient times to the present, I have seen such a person in Master Haichan.

Master Haichan once passed the civil service examinations and earned the degree of Presented Scholar, later serving as chancellor of the Yan state. He wore a gold seal at his waist, extending his beneficence to nine generations of his clan; dressed in purple robes of office, his reputation spread in every direction. One day he met Master Zhengyang, the Daoist immortal Zhongli Quan. After understanding that heaps of money must eventually collapse and scatter, he lamented that even wealth amassed to its utmost would ultimately bring danger. He came to regard precious treasures as dust and ten thousand gold pieces as mere dirt. Leaving behind the three thousand people in his household, he resigned from office, returned his official seal, and departed from worldly life to cultivate the Dao in the mountains and wilderness.

He refined his Qi beneath Mount Zhongnan and cultivated his true nature before Mount Taihua. Thus he could cross water and enter fire without harm, and pass through metal and stone without obstruction. He rode a purple phoenix and held a thunderclap zither; when drunk, he rode a white donkey as though treading the summit of Mount Kunlun. With a stroke of ink, he wrote four characters. After manifesting his form, he seemed to recede beyond a thousand mountains. This shows that encountering the Great Dao will, in the end, never leave a person unrewarded.

The poem also says: “I shattered the coral and no longer look back; on my return, I was already at the edge of the lofty white clouds. The zither’s music rose straight to the summit of Mount Kunlun. Laughing as I watched this fleeting life, I saw how brief our years in the human world are.”

End of Volume One of Records of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus.

The master’s name was Zhongfu and his courtesy name was Jiuqing. His family had lived for generations in Xianyang and was a prominent local clan. In the tranquil hills and streams of Liujiang, amid beautiful mists and clouds, he built a country house, intending to spend the rest of his life there.

The master was powerfully built, with a dignified bearing, large eyes, and a beard that reached below his waist. His voice rang like a bell, and his face was as gentle as jade. His movements had the carefree grace of a fresh breeze; a hint of purple radiance seemed to show through his spirit. He had a broad heart and an extraordinary presence. He was stronger than most men and renowned for his talent. In his youth, he studied the classics and histories thoroughly; in later life, he took up archery and swordsmanship.

During the Fuchang era, when the Jin court abolished Qi, he sat the civil service examination administered by the Ministry of Rites but failed because he did not meet the examiners’ expectations. He later took the military examination and passed in the highest grade. At the age of forty-seven, he reflected: “At forty, Confucius was no longer perplexed; at forty, Mencius was no longer moved by external things. I am now older than they were then, yet I am still chasing fine food and drink, fame, and wealth. Is that not foolish?” He resigned from office, returned his seal, left his wife and children, and freed himself from worldly life, carefree and unrestrained like Jieyu, the madman of Chu.

In the year Jimao of the Zhenglong era, he was forty-eight. One day, as he passed a butcher’s shop by the Gan River Bridge, he was eating meat heartily when two Daoist adepts in white felt cloaks suddenly arrived from the south. Their bearing was like mist and rosy clouds, their spirit seemed to soar above the clouds, and their features were strikingly alike. The master sprang up to greet them and bowed with his head lowered. The three spoke only of transcending the worldly realm, as though washing away dust and scraping off obscurations, rousing one from a drunken dream. The two adepts secretly imparted to him the formulas for cultivating the Dao, and gave him the name Chu, the courtesy name Zhiming, and the title Chongyangzi.

When the transmission was complete, one adept pointed east and asked, “Why don’t you look over there?” The master turned and gazed. The adept asked, “What do you see?” The master replied, “I see seven golden lotuses bearing fruit.” The adept smiled and said, “Surely that is not all. In time, ten thousand jade lotuses will bloom.” As soon as he had spoken, the two adepts suddenly vanished.

After that, he became a carefree wanderer, begging in the marketplace. Wearing a short rain cape and carrying a broken gourd, he slept on ice and in the snow. He once wrote a poem: “At forty-eight, I first encountered my destined opportunity. The oral formula was passed on, and the jade lotus bloomed with fragrance.” As soon as he finished speaking, he suddenly vanished without a trace.

After that, he became a carefree wanderer, begging in the marketplace. Wearing a short rain cape and carrying a broken gourd, he slept on ice and in the snow. He once wrote a poem: “At forty-eight, I first encountered my destined opportunity. Once I received the oral formula, its effects became clear. A single Golden Elixir, cultivated through Daoist internal alchemy, grew ever brighter in color, revealing a deep crimson hue atop Mount Yujing.”

The following year, the gengchen year, a Daoist came to lodge with him. At night, the Daoist said, “I live in the great mountains of the northwest. There is someone there who is skilled at explaining and interpreting texts, and especially well versed in the Scripture of the Hidden Talisman and the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue. I hear you once took a keen interest in these two works. Why not come with me to see and hear him?”

The Master hesitated and could not answer at once. Suddenly the Daoist rose, cast aside his cane, and rode off on the wind. Others searched everywhere for him but never found a trace. The Master felt bewildered and bereft.

Around the Mid-Autumn Festival, the Master passed through Liquan County and encountered the Daoist again. He hurried forward to pay his respects. The Daoist gladly invited him to a tavern, where they drank together. During the meal, the Master asked where he came from. The Daoist replied, “I live in Yongle, Pufan.” The Master then asked his age. “Twenty-two,” the Daoist said. The Master asked again about his family name, but the Daoist remained silent. He then took up brush, ink, and paper and wrote five cryptic passages, asking the Master to read them carefully. After reading them several times, the Master grasped their subtle meaning. The Daoist warned him, “Heaven’s secrets must not be revealed lightly.” Then he ordered him to throw the passages into the fire.

The Daoist added, “Go quickly to the Eastern Sea. Among Qiu, Liu, and Tan, there is a fine steed you can seize.” With that, he vanished without a trace. One of the cryptic passages read: “Suddenly arriving in the land of Qin, I wander through Chang’an; at times I sell elixirs in towns and marketplaces, at times I withdraw into the mountains and forests. After several years of this, wherever I look, the common people are all vicious, stubborn, and base.”

Now that you have encountered a disciple like me, why not immediately cast aside worldly life and suddenly awaken to the vanity of its glamour and clamor? You may gather the rosy clouds before Bijiao—an expression for absorbing the energy of clouds and mists in practice—or roam Chang’an; you may sell elixirs in a town or withdraw into the mountains and forests. After some years, all the crowds you see around you will seem like vicious, stubborn beings, as though they were ghosts from the lower realm.

Now that you have encountered a disciple like me, why not immediately cast aside worldly life and suddenly awaken? You may gather the rosy clouds before Bijiao, or refine your Qi beneath the pine-covered peaks, regulating your breath through practices such as inhalation and exhalation. Set the workings of creation in motion and reverse Yin-Yang; arrange the stars in radiant ranks within the Nine Cauldrons, and gather the myriad transformations inside a single gourd. After a thousand days of practice, when your work is complete, your name will be entered among the immortals. Practice diligently for three years, and you can remain at peace for ages, through ten thousand tribulations. I fear only that you may come too late, when your body has already sunk beneath the springs—that is, when you have died.

The second poem says: Do not grow attached to wine cups and worldly glamour and clamor, always entangled in the dusty world. When the Dragon and Tiger stir, cast away distracting thoughts surging like snowy waves; where the water runs clear, even the green dust will disperse. Ever since I glimpsed the scenes along the path of practice, I have delayed too long in expressing what is in my heart, and cannot put it fully into words. Once the Nine-Turn Divine Elixir is complete, I will travel with my companions to the immortal realm of Penglai.

The third poem says: The flood dragon must be refined in the Beacon Tower of Fire; the fierce tiger must be captured and confined in water essence. Keep your resolve firm. Do not speak carelessly about principles, or chatter at random about this and that.

The fourth poem says: Lead is the medicine of mercury; mercury is the essence of lead. Understand lead and mercury, and you can settle your nature and still the Qi of life. Here, lead and mercury are terms from Neidan practice; they do not refer only to ordinary metals.

The fifth poem says: When the Nine-Turn Divine Elixir is complete, enter Nanjing; meet kindred companions and set out for the immortal realm of Penglai.

The master then returned to Liujiang, where he built a small hermitage and named it “The Tomb of the Living Dead.” In front of the tomb he set up a paper tablet inscribed “Spirit Tablet of Wang Haifeng.” He also composed a poem: “Living dead, O Wang Jia-Guai; between water and clouds, another harmony holds sway. Your Dao name is Chongyangzi; your posthumous title, ‘Buried Without a Grave.’ Those who come should remember this path and not forget; when they bow, they must hang up the spirit tablet.”

Later, he stood by the roadside carrying a pot of wine. A Daoist called out, “Haifeng, Haifeng, hand over your wine!” The master promptly passed it to him, and the Daoist drank it all.

Queqian Xiansheng had someone take an empty pot to the Gan River to fetch water, then told him to drink it himself. The water tasted wonderful, as though a true immortal were drinking his fill. The Daoist told him, “I am Lord Haichan (Liu Haichan, an immortal of the Daoist tradition).” As soon as he had spoken, he suddenly vanished. From then on, Queqian Xiansheng gave up wine and drank only water, yet he often seemed drunk.

He therefore wrote the lyric “Yu Meiren”: “The more water you drink, the more mysteries you know. Wearing a white hemp jacket and a blue cloth headscarf, your appearance is composed and your spirit vigorous. There is no need to look in a mirror; all is already clear in your heart. To recognize yourself within a dream is to be free and at ease, one who has reached the other shore.”

One day, he suddenly set fire to his thatched hut. People from neighboring homes rushed to put out the flames, while he simply danced lightly. When they asked why, he replied, “In three years, someone else will come and rebuild it.” He then inscribed a poem: “The thatched hut has burned; the matter ends here. Someone will come later to rebuild it. Though clever and quick-witted, and striving with all your might, how could you learn to be as unconstrained as I?”

On the twenty-sixth day of the fourth month of the seventh year of the Dading era, he traveled to Xianyang, made a painting, and inscribed it with a poem: “The thatched hut has burned; the matter ends here. Someone will come later to rebuild it. Though clever and quick-witted, and striving with all your might, how could you learn to be as unconstrained as I?” The painting showed a Daoist with three topknots, amid dense green pines and swirling white clouds, while a crane danced gracefully, evoking a world beyond the common realm.

When he met Shi Fengxian, he gladly gave him the painting and said, “When I later capture the horse, I will use it as proof.” He subsequently visited the Shangqing Palace in Luoyang and inscribed a poem on its wall: “Qiu, Tan, Wang, Feng, Catch-the-Horse, Liu: they climb to the summit of Kunlun and strike a jade ball. If you bring it down to the human world, you can win three thousand eight hundred tallies.” “Qiu,” “Tan,” “Wang,” “Feng,” and “Liu” refer to Daoist figures or titles; the poem uses “horse,” “jade ball,” and “tallies” as coded expressions for the Daoist practitioner’s journey and attainments.

At Shuhai Weizhou, he met Perfected Xiao. Seeing that Xiao had the bearing and presence of an immortal, he very much wanted to guide him. But after they had spent several days together, he found that they could not communicate, so he gave him a poem titled “Mo Shan Xi”:

“Though the Perfected One has already awakened to the Dao, his fame has long spread in every direction. Yet fame alone still leaves him at a remove from the wondrous Dao of the Mysterious Origin, the Dao’s subtle root. It is a pity that this immortal’s bones are confined within a mortal body, growing old like everyone else, while imagining himself already awakened. How could he know the mysterious Dao? He relies only on arrogance of body and mind. His days pass as if he were deaf and blind, ignorant of the cinnabar, furnace, and crucible—the elements involved in alchemical practice. The two ingredients should be placed in the vessel and brought together to form the Elixir. After taking it, one may attain long life; through deliberate cultivation, one will ultimately return to Peng Island, the legendary home of immortals.”

Perfected Xiao read the poem but never grasped its deeper meaning; he only nodded. The Patriarch then returned to the coast, living there at ease and coming and going for several years as he welcomed, guided, and taught people. Later, Qiu, Liu, Tan, Ma, Hao, Sun, and Wang were all transformed by his teaching, completing the number known as the “Seven Golden Lotuses.” The Patriarch also taught widely across three prefectures and established five Daoist associations: the Equality Association, the Golden Lotus Association, the Jade Flower Association, the Three Luminaries Association, and the Seven Treasures Association.

The notice for the five associations read:

“Equality is the root of Dao and De, the source of stillness and purity, and the foundation of the Golden Lotus and Jade Flower, as well as the guiding principle of the Three Luminaries and Seven Treasures. It universally relieves all beings, enabling even ordinary people to transcend the world. Silvery flames fill the eight directions, and colored clouds rise across the ten quarters. Everyone aspires to cultivate the Yellow Sprout and turn away from the path of darkness. The Jade Flower is the root of Qi; the Golden Lotus is the root of Shen. When Qi and Shen unite, this is called becoming an immortal.”

Later, the Patriarch prepared to lead Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma south to Bianjing, where they lodged at the Wang family’s inn.

One day, the Patriarch sent Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma south to Bianjing. They stayed at an inn for more than a year, and the Patriarch gave them much instruction. Later, he wrote a song called “Song of the Bamboo Staff” for them to read:

“This staff is called ‘Unattached’; every joint shines with radiance. Majestic yet humble, straight and upright, its head is wrapped with nothing but wondrous elixirs and medicines. It neither sways nor moves, abiding freely in stillness; when it meets all kinds of things, it can respond as circumstances require. I searched the sea expressly for a kindred spirit, but who is there worth relying on? Last night in a dream I saw many rainbows, four of them leaping into the sky. A tug of the staff sets the steps in motion; silvery strands burst open above the crown, emerge between the brows and show in the eyes, stirring the spirit to life. A numinous pearl is breathed forth, its light flickering. Bright flames draw near, and all rejoice together; white clouds do not fail the splendor of the red glow.”

After finishing, the Patriarch said to them, “Long ago, the master known as Felt-Cloak passed down a secret saying: ‘When the nine turnings are complete, enter Nanjing; meet a kindred friend, then go to Penglai and Yingzhou.’ Now I am about to fulfill that appointment.” (“Nine turnings” refers to the repeated refining and transformation involved in Daoist Neidan practice; “Penglai and Yingzhou” are the names of two immortal isles, together often used to mean the realm of the immortals.)

The disciples were distressed and begged the Patriarch to leave them final words. He said, “I wrote them on the wall three years ago.” The poem read:

“Zhongyangzi of the Earth’s Lung,

Reluctantly called Wang ‘the Madman.’

When I came, I followed sun and moon;

When I depart, I leave east or west to chance.

Cloud and water are my companions;

Emptiness and the void are my neighbors.

A spark of numinous, bright true nature remains,

Set apart from everyone else.”

He added, “Madman, Madman! The old illness has returned; my life will likely last no more than fifty-eight years. Two gentlemen will surely come after me, and that spark of numinous true nature will indeed be sought out and brushed clear.”

The Patriarch said to everyone, “After I leave this world, do not mourn.” Then he passed away. Danyang could not hold back his tears and grieved bitterly. The others urged him, “You must not disobey the immortal master’s words.” Danyang said, “Since entering the Dao, I have gained nothing. Now my master has abandoned me, and I am left anxious and without support. Where can I turn?”

Danyang said, “With all my heart I have sought the Dao (the Way), yet to this day I have gained nothing. My teacher has left me, and I am filled with anxious uncertainty. Where can I go now?” Before he had finished speaking, he suddenly opened his eyes and said, “Why are you so resentful and sorrowful? The five secret teachings I received at Ganhe long ago I now entrust to you.” Danyang bowed again, knelt, and accepted the teachings.

He then said to Lord Tan, “Your lives are all entrusted to Danyang’s hands.” Afterward, he used poetry to describe kinship that transcended the world of dust: “One nephew, two sons, one mountain companion, and I make five, all companions wholeheartedly cultivating the Dao. A sixth, bright and clear, joins us beneath the moon at heaven’s edge; a seventh, fresh and pure, invites us to greet together the breeze over the sea. Conceal the true and wondrous principle within the headwrap and grasp its subtle meaning; lift your eyes to the clear sky, as though stepping into the void. East, west, north, and south all turn in perfect harmony. Only now do I know that everywhere is open and unobstructed.”

He also said, “One younger brother, one nephew, two sons, and I make five, cultivating together. We have formed a true kinship that transcends the world of dust, shedding our fleshly bodies, temporarily gathered through worldly causes and conditions. We have planted a pure realm all around us and passed to one another the Purple Spirit Branch, the wondrous lineage through which the Dao’s teachings are transmitted. We enter and leave the mountain to attend the Assembly of Spiritual Radiance, where immortals gather. I will go first to Penglai to pay my respects to my teacher.”

When he had finished the poems, he passed away peacefully into immortality. A rich, unusual fragrance filled the air, auspicious vapors spread everywhere, white cranes flew overhead, and blue luan birds swept across the ground. The immortal’s countenance slowly rose into the clouds. Scholars, commoners, and officials all wept and cried out as they gazed upon him and paid their respects. Their grief was like that of people who had lost their parents. All praised him, judging the event a wonder rarely seen in a thousand years. People then prepared a coffin, a burial shroud, and other garments, and buried him according to ritual. It was the fourth day of the first month in the gengyin year of the Dading era.

Even after his ascension, stories told of his appearances in an undying body. He once discussed the mysteries beneath Junyi Bridge and guided the mind of Elder Zang; he also bestowed medicine by Liujiang Creek, curing Lord Zhang’s illness. At times he danced beside Kunming Pool; at others he chanted poems in the Zhongnan Mountains.

The four disciples Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma traveled west together to Chang’an, paid a visit to Master Shi Feng, and presented him with a painting of pines and cranes. Shi Feng smiled and said, “The certificate of authentication left behind in those days matches this painting exactly.” They compared the two, and not the slightest detail differed. Afterward, they traveled through the Zhongnan Mountains, visited Liujiang, and took charge of the Ancestral Hermitage.

Once the repairs were partly complete, they returned to Liang Garden and together moved the immortal’s remains, then opened the coffin to look inside. The appearance of the body matched this portrait exactly. Comparing the two, they could find not the slightest difference. They then passed through Mount Zhongnan, visited Liu Jiang, and settled at the Ancestral Hermitage.

Once the repairs were partly complete, they returned to Liang Garden and together moved the immortal’s remains. When they opened the coffin, the body still looked full of life. After the four men had taken charge of the arrangements, they carried the body westward on their backs. At every stop along the way, they prepared to pay the innkeepers for lodging and meals, but each one said, “A Daoist had already paid for you.” They tried hard to catch up with that Daoist, but never managed to see him. When they asked what he looked like, they learned that it was the Patriarch’s manifestation—the form in which the Patriarch had appeared. When they reached Mount Zhongnan, they chose a place to bury the body.

Long ago, when the Patriarch was traveling through Dengzhou and came to Wangxian Gate, he saw that the painted bridge outside the gate was steep and dangerous. He said, “One day, when this bridge encounters Lord He, it will surely be destroyed.” No one understood what he meant. Twelve years later, Prefect He judged the bridge too dangerous and ordered its decking removed and the road leveled. The bridge is now called Encountering the Immortal Bridge.

Later, during a Zhaijiao purification ritual in Wendeng County, people saw a huge white tortoise appear amid five-colored clouds. A lotus grew on its back, and the Patriarch sat upright upon it. Before long, the Patriarch turned sideways and departed. The county magistrate, Ni Likou, witnessed this with his own eyes. He lit incense and bowed reverently, then ordered a painter to depict the Patriarch’s appearance on the spot. People from all three prefectures came to pay their respects.

When Danyang heard of this, he composed the ci poem “Fragrance Filling the Courtyard” in praise:

In ancient Dengzhou, beyond Wangxian Gate, the painted bridge stood steep and hard to cross; even carts and horses could scarcely pass. The sacred traces of Patriarch Chongyang appeared before everyone, revealing his miraculous power. He foretold that Lord He would cause the bridge to be demolished. Twelve years later, Prefect He found it too dangerous and ordered it torn down and rebuilt.

Once again, a wondrous sight appeared in Wendeng: a white tortoise bore a lotus on its back, with the Patriarch seated upright upon it, manifest in the sky. How fortunate the county magistrate was to see the Patriarch’s true appearance with his own eyes. Suddenly, he saw the Patriarch turn and recline on his side; auspicious clouds surged around him, and then he returned to the immortal palace. The Patriarch’s likeness appeared clearly, and the painter captured it. Wherever such a Patriarch may be, people will revere him.

Though he has passed away, his spirit has not perished. He is rightly revered as the founding master of the “Seven Perfected” (the Northern Seven Perfected of the Quanzhen tradition). His wondrous powers and transformations were without limit and cannot all be recorded. In the western regions and the land of Qin, he instructed and transformed both Daoists and laypeople. He composed nearly a thousand long and short poems, compiled in the Quanzhen Collections, Before and After and the Record from Among the Clouds. He expounded the Neidan teachings of lead and mercury, Kan and Li, and related practices; these works circulated widely throughout the world. He also wrote letters and poems in reply to the Daoist community of Dengzhou, as well as the Diagram of Nineteen Branches.

Letter

Jia bows to you all. The turning of the four seasons gradually changes the bloom of youth; the clear principles of the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—can help free people from the troubles of a lifetime. I hope you will focus your minds in contemplation. Once you have gained some insight, let us cultivate together. The work of the nine turns, the stages of Neidan cultivation, will soon be complete, and the eight gates leading to the realm of the immortals will open. Then Changchun-zi, Qiu Chuji’s Daoist name, will be by your side. I hope you will seek the wondrous principle and then ask to receive instruction in the profound Dao. I have therefore written this brief piece and appended it after the diagram.

Poem

Everyone knows that the constant Dao draws near to the Dao.

Plumb its profound and wondrous principles, and you will become its kindred spirit.

When you understand the principles, do not forget the teachings of the Three Teachings.

Those who cultivate the Dao in Quanzhen should observe the life force at work in the turning seasons.

Nourish the original Qi until it is abundant and full.

Concentrate the numinous Shen so that it is not dissipated.

May the nineteen paths of light be just as I wish.

I sincerely invite you all to join me and share in nature’s pure, uncontrived joy.

Eulogy

The founding master was born into the world and met true immortals four times. At Gan River he drank a draught of sweet dew and received five secret texts. The Quanzhen lineage spread through nineteen generations, like the branches and leaves of a cassia tree; beneath the Golden Lotus, countless branches divided and grew. The precious mirror was raised high, revealing Tan and Ma cultivating within the pot; the spirit pearl shone alone, revealing the fated connection through which Qiu and Liu transcended the trials of the world.

Who would have thought that this ancient family tradition would be passed down quietly through the robe concealed in a sleeve? One cannot help but envy Yuyang-zi, Wang Chuyi’s Daoist name, whose transmission was secretly entrusted through an umbrella and a bamboo staff. After climbing onto the celestial fishing rod by mistake, the great master emerged from the sea of silence. In his later years he returned to the boat, and the recluse roamed freely through the realm of stillness. He became the founder of a grand Daoist tradition and opened the gates of Quanzhen. When his merit was complete and his fame established, he rode a phoenix and crane skyward.

A poem by Zhang the Divine Lad says: “He alone possessed a blessed grotto in Zhongnan Mountain; he once went to the eastern seacoast to command the immortals. With powers that transcended the ordinary and reached the sacred, he caused seven golden lotuses to bloom.”

Yuchan and the Perfected One.

The master was named Dejin and came from Ganquan in Qinzhou. He was exceptionally talented and far-sighted, with an innate, mysterious presence that shone like rosy clouds. His abilities were extraordinary. In his youth, he excelled especially at writing and calligraphy. At first, he worked in a clerical post in the local government, but he was quiet and detached, devoted to the Dao, and never accepted ill-gotten wealth. He was glad to visit recluses and people of refined interests.

One day, during a lull, he met a Daoist. They drank wine and discussed profound principles, talking through the night without tiring, and became close friends. Later, the Daoist entered with an owl perched on his arm and said to He Gong, “This bird is truly strange. Its eyes are so large, yet it cannot recognize people.” He Gong did not understand what he meant and simply agreed.

About a month later, the Daoist suddenly fell gravely ill. Many doctors tried, but none could cure him. After several days, the Daoist said he was going to die. He Gong prepared a coffin and burial clothes, then laid him to rest. Several dozen days later, an old woman suddenly knocked at the door and came to see him. She said, “The Daoist who said here that he was going to die was my own son. I am old and have no one to rely on. I have no means to provide for food or clothing. What am I to do from now on?”

He Gong pitied her and gave her gold and silk. The old woman then said, “I want to dig open the grave and open the coffin, so I can look at my son once more. Then I will have no regrets in this life.” She pleaded again and again. He Gong could not bring himself to refuse, so he had the coffin opened. There were no bones inside, only the gold and silk he had given the old woman. When they went to look for her, she too had vanished.

He Gong exclaimed, “Such wondrous powers of transformation are truly extraordinary. How could anyone do this unless he were an immortal sage?” Moved by the experience, he left behind the concerns of the world, withdrew to the mountains, and devoted himself to cultivation, seeking to unite with the Dao and return to his original nature. Hearing that Patriarch Chongyang of Mount Zhongnan—Wang Chongyang—was skilled in the Ninefold Reversion method of refining and cultivation, a practice of Daoist internal alchemy, he went to visit him and afterward took up residence at the ancestral monastery. From then on, his cultivation grew ever more profound, his Qi grew increasingly calm, and his mind became open and clear. He gradually acquired the ability to foresee events.

The four Perfected Ones, Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma, had learned in advance that Patriarch Chongyang was skilled in the art of “Ninefold Return Refinement,” a method of Daoist internal alchemy. They went to pay their respects and stayed with him at the ancestral temple. In time, their cultivation grew ever more profound. Their breathing became calm, their minds open and clear, and they gained the ability to foresee what was to come.

Knowing that Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma were on their way, he and Master Li, the Adept Lingyang, went to a pastry shop and left money for four servings of soup. They told the shopkeeper, “Four immortals will arrive today, named Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma. Use this money to treat them.” Then they went back. Before long, four Daoist practitioners arrived. The shopkeeper asked, “Could you be Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma?” The four exchanged smiles and asked how he knew. The shopkeeper replied, “The two elders, Master He and Master Li, left money here for soup.” The four exclaimed, “What extraordinary men!” After eating, they went to meet the two masters. They were delighted to see one another, and their friendship grew even deeper than their former acquaintance.

Three years before his ascension from the world of the living, he asked a painter to make a portrait of him. Then he leaned forward, rested his head on his hands, and fell into a deep sleep. No one understood why.

On the nineteenth day of the second month in the Gengyin year of the Dading era, he summoned Ma, a patron who supported religious and charitable work, and said, “I have received your great kindness and have no way to repay you. If you ever face a grave calamity, burn incense and silently recite my name, and I will come to save you.” The sky was clear that day, and rosy clouds cast their light across the land. Neighbors on every side smelled a strange fragrance. Lying in his thatched hall with his arm beneath his head, he passed away peacefully, leaving the dusty world and returning to his original nature. In fact, he had foretold that he would die in the Gengyin year.

After his ascension, an old man named Zhang in Lintong had suffered from a hernia for many years. No physician could cure him, and his condition had nearly become critical. One night, he met the master in a dream, and the master carefully explained how to treat the illness with medicine. Zhang asked the master’s surname, and he answered, “He.” When Zhang awoke, he followed the instructions, and soon recovered. This shows that although the master had passed away, his numinous presence remained; he had not vanished entirely.

The eulogy says: Alas, people are truly hard to teach, and the Dao is truly hard to understand! Master Yuchan admired Master Xiyi (Chen Tuan) and became absorbed in mysteries, yet at first he could never grasp their meaning.

A Daoist came to befriend him, but he did not awaken. Many methods were used to guide him, yet he still did not understand. He was warned with a fierce stare, made to suffer a grave illness, shown a feigned “release from the corpse” (the Daoist departure that leaves the body behind), placed in a coffin, and reminded by the visit of an old woman—but still he failed to understand. These admonitions and warnings were repeated, and he remained unenlightened. Only when the coffin was opened and the body was gone, and the old woman had vanished too, did he realize that sages had manifested these signs to awaken and transform him. In an instant, he woke as if from a dream.

He then left his wife and children and withdrew among mountains, streams, and springs. He received the hairpin and cap, the Daoist ornaments that symbolize entering the Way, and devoted himself to studying the cultivation of nature and life. He took Perfected Chongyang as his teacher, heard clear and precise instructions for practice, and received the Nine-Turn Elixir method, a term from Daoist internal alchemy. At last, he completed the alchemical work. Later, he could foresee the arrival of four guests, understand the value of a cake left behind, paint in advance a scene from three years in the future, and accurately predict the date of his departure. In the end, he could walk through the air and travel in spirit through dreams. Truly, the Dao had not forsaken him.

Just so: Perfected Chongyang revealed the formula for returning the elixir, while the old woman opened the way through the ties of his past life. He laughed as he met the Tiger-Head and departed; in the end, these men of grace gathered together within the Purple-Gold Lotus, an image of the immortal realm or lotus throne attained by the perfected.

Perfected Li of Lingyang

The master’s surname is no longer remembered. His Daoist name was Lingyangzi, and he came from Mount Zhongnan in Jingzhao. Quiet and sparing with words, he was exceptionally intelligent, widely learned, and profound in insight and bearing. He devoted himself to cultivating virtue and no longer pursued fame or wealth. Perhaps a bond from a previous life allowed him to meet Patriarch Chongyang and secretly receive the pure Daoist teachings; worldly thoughts then vanished from his mind. Following the methods of Yin-Yang cultivation, he harmonized Kan and Li and disciplined himself day and night.

He often formed bonds of goodwill with Yuchanzi and He Gong. He cared for others and aided all living beings, willingly accepting loss himself in order to help others. He accumulated many good deeds that went unseen, thereby aligning himself inwardly with the way Heaven and Earth nurture and transform all things. Patriarch Chongyang once wrote in a poem: “I transmitted the teachings to He Gong and Li Gong; first they established their resolve, and the three of us shared the same aspiration.”

In the spring of the Wushen year of the Dading era (1188), in the second month, Emperor Shizong sent an envoy to summon Master Changchun, Qiu Gong, to court. As they parted, Lingyangzi said to him, “The Daoist lineage of Liu and Jiang was founded by the Patriarch. Do not take it lightly; take good charge of it.” Lingyangzi added, “Next spring, you will return early, riding a crane. I will wait for the person who is to preside over my funeral here in the mountains, at the appointed time.” No one understood what he meant.

In the second month of the following year, the Jiyou year (1189), Lingyangzi was still in good health, yet he began fasting and practicing austerities of his own accord. His disciples urged him, “Master, you have always been frail, and now you are not eating. How can you endure this?” Lingyangzi replied, “There is no need to worry. I am simply waiting for the person who is to preside over my funeral.”

At that time, Changchun had returned to his former residence by imperial command. After passing through Qindu Town, he stopped and went no farther. Lingyangzi sent a disciple to welcome him, and Changchun hurried over. As soon as he arrived at the hermitage, Lingyangzi passed away peacefully. The classics describe his departure as “transforming into Zhou’s butterfly and fluttering away.” Then auspicious clouds hung low, numinous vapors gathered, a blue luan soared at ease, and white cranes circled overhead. The scholars, common people, and officials present were all filled with reverence and admiration. Changchun then led the disciples in preparing a coffin and placing Lingyangzi’s body inside. It was the first day of the third month in the Jiyou year.

The Dao of the world has always been one, and the hearts of the sages are no different. Therefore, Lords Wang, He, and Li all transmitted the same secret teaching and practiced the refinement of reverted cinnabar together—a Daoist cultivation method for refining and condensing the inner elixir. The cinnamon laurels of Mount Zhongnan blossomed with the same fragrance, while golden lotuses on the sea opened in twin blooms. Thus, those of the Quanzhen school honored them as the Three Patriarchs and offered them sacrifices. What could be wrong with that?

The poem says: With both hands he raised the luminous wheels of the sun and moon; their radiant light shone through heaven and earth, renewing all things. As he prepared to depart, he would not lightly pass on the secret teaching. Only when Perfected Changchun became the rightful heir to the lineage did he entrust it to him.

End of Volume Two of Records of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus.

Perfected Ma of Danyang

The master was from Ninghai and was known as Master Danyang. His grandfather was named Jue, with the courtesy name Huazou. He was well versed in the Five Classics, trustworthy, and devoted to righteousness; he never delayed or broke a promise.

Once, while selling silk goods in a neighboring area, he stopped at an inn for the night and saw a poor woman weeping bitterly. He heard from those nearby that she was a chaste widow. Her husband had died young, and she had vowed not to remarry, devoting herself instead to serving her parents-in-law. But they, too, had died one after the other, and she had no money to bury them. She was about to sell herself to pay for their coffins. Master Ma said gravely, “When a neighbor falls ill, we ought to help. If someone in the village dies and we refuse to contribute, then this is no place where filial duty and righteousness are upheld.” He untied two bolts of silk and gave them to her. Without leaving his name, he hurried on to the next inn.

That night, bandits robbed Master Ma of his belongings. He told no one and returned home calmly. When his wife asked about it, he only said that he had lent the goods on credit. Six months later, the bandits were exposed after falling out over how to divide the loot, and they named Master Ma. He said, “Many people are implicated in stolen goods, and one accusation leads to another. If someone is wrongly interrogated and the amount comes to a hundred bolts or more, the charge becomes punishable by death. That was not the purpose of doing good. Take two ounces of silver to make amends and settle the dispute between you.” The man left, grateful.

At the time, famine had struck. Master Ma had spread rice out to dry in the courtyard. A neighbor woman secretly took some. He saw her without her knowing, then hid himself and let her carry it away.

His father was named Shiyang, with the courtesy name Xixian. He was tall and striking in appearance, and quiet in temperament, with a generous nature. He had five sons, whom he named Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, and Xin—“benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness”—together known as the “Five Constant Virtues.” The Ma family was so wealthy that it was known as “Half the Prefecture.” Three brothers and nephews all passed the jinshi examination, earning the family the name “Hall of Abundant Blessings.” It is now called “Immortal’s Descent Ward.”

In the year Xinhai, famine came year after year. One morning in the eighth month, a visitor hurriedly tossed a thin padded robe onto a table, then passed by the door and left. No one knew where he went.

He had intended to put the box in a headcloth case, a small container for storing headcloths, but found it unusually heavy. When he opened it, he saw a dazzling golden light inside. He weighed it: it held two yi of gold, an ancient unit of weight. Ten days later, a guest came to visit, and he gave him the gold. The guest declined, saying, “I am Lü Xian, and I live in Yougu Village, where I make my living firing pottery and collecting clay. I found two yi of gold and was about to take it to market to sell, but the tax official drove me away, and I nearly got into trouble because of it. Thanks to your help, I escaped disaster. I would like to give you half the gold as a small token of gratitude.” He replied, “Wealth of uncertain origin may bring misfortune,” and declined the offer. Lü Xian said, “You have the character of Huang Xiang, the ancient man renowned for his kindness and generosity. In the future, one of your descendants is certain to become an immortal.” Afterward, he repeatedly asked people from Yougu Village about Lü Xian, but they all said there had never been a family named Lü there. He began to suspect that Lü Xian was a supernatural being.

The Master’s mother owned a precious jade ornament called baocui, which a household maid stole. Everyone said they should hurry after her to recover it, but he made no inquiries at all. After that, the family prospered even more, and he lived to the age of sixty-four. The Master was his second son. His name was Congyi, his courtesy name Yifu, and he was born at midnight on the twentieth day of the fifth month in a Gui-Mao year. His mother, Lady Tang, once dreamed that she paid a visit to Magu, an immortal of the Daoist tradition, who gave her a pill. After she swallowed it, her body showed an auspicious sign, glowing red like fire; the color faded only after seven days. Her hands remained clenched into fists until they opened a hundred days later.

As a child, the Master often spoke of riding clouds and riding cranes, and repeatedly dreamed of ascending to Heaven in the company of Daoist priests. There were more than forty people in the household, including freeborn people and servants such as bondservants. When clearing away dishes and food, he would lick the leftover grains of rice, and he wore old clothes.

Long ago, the Daoist priest Li Wumeng was refining a Great Elixir at Kun Jian, but after three years he had still not succeeded. He said, “The elixir will be completed only when an immortal appears.” One day, the Master was out with a group of heroes. When they came to the elixir furnace, the elixir inside had been completed. Li Wumeng was astonished. He said to the Master, “You have three mountain-shaped marks on your forehead, and your arms hang down past your knees. You have the finest qualities for becoming an immortal.” He then composed a verse in praise of him.

After seeing Wumeng, he found him remarkable and said to the Master, “Your forehead looks like three mountains, and when you let your arms hang at your sides, your hands reach below your knees. You are truly an exceptional candidate for cultivating immortality and attaining the Dao.” He then composed a verse in his praise:

“Your figure is noble and upright, your face round, your ears long; your brows are fine and extended, your eyes handsome, your nose straight, and your mouth well formed. Every feature is perfectly complete, and a wondrous radiance shines from the crown of your head. Once you receive the ordination, you should go at once with the immortals to the celestial realm of Penglai.”

From then on, the Master’s Neidan (internal alchemy) was complete, and his De (Virtue/Power) earned acclaim. Sun Zhong, impressed by Wumeng’s praise, gave his daughter in marriage to the Master. They had three sons, named Tingzhen, Tingrui, and Tinggui.

The Master was known for honoring his parents and caring for his brothers. Clever from childhood, he became well versed in the scriptures and histories as he grew older. He enjoyed playing with children and valued righteousness above wealth. When people who had borrowed money could not repay it, he burned their IOUs and made no further claims.

In the autumn of the second year of the Dading era, locusts ruined the harvest and a severe famine followed. A tenant farmer named Liu Jin secretly slaughtered an ox used for plowing. When the Master learned of this, he went to see him at once and said, “The harvest has failed, everyone is short of grain, and I am about to provide relief. Yet you gave no thought to the fact that the ox is essential for farming and let it die without cause. I cannot bear to see it meet such a fate.” He then had Liu Jin leave carrying the oxhide and horns. The villagers, young and old, wept as they pleaded with the Master: “The laws are strict now. What he has done will surely bring criminal punishment, and father and son may be torn apart. Master, we cannot bear it.” The Master said nothing. He then went to the Jingge courtyard and donated five oxhides. He had Liu Jin face the Three Treasures—the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha, as the original text calls them—and recount in detail the wrong he had done by killing the ox, hoping this would resolve the karmic grievance.

At the time, someone sang, “In ancient times there was Yang Chenhuang; now people speak of Yifu.” An unruly boy brought three hundred coins to have a silk jacket mended, but deliberately tried to cheat the Master. The Master instead gave him five hundred coins. The boy thought this small kindness was too little and spat in the Master’s face. Guo Fengxin scolded the boy and sent him away. Someone said, “There’s spit on the Master’s face. Wipe it off and clean it.” The Master replied, “Wiping it away would go against his anger. Better to let it dry on its own.”

The Master told his fellow cultivators, “Yesterday I dreamed of two people dressed in dark brown robes. The cloth over the shoulders of one of them was white. They wept as they told me, ‘The lives of one hundred thousand people are all in your hands.’”

As soon as the words had been spoken, the two people ran into South Lane. I followed them and saw them enter the home of Liu Qing the butcher. Turning to the wall, I saw a poem inscribed there:

“Of the hundred thousand born in the year of Jihai, most were slaughtered in the year of Xinsi. If this household”—meaning the Liu family—“will not show mercy, then generation after generation will grind one another to death like the axle of a butcher’s knife.”

The Master once told his fellow practitioners: “Last night I dreamed of two people dressed in dark brown. One had white patches on both shoulders. Weeping, he said to me, ‘The lives of all one hundred thousand of us are in your hands.’ As soon as he finished speaking, they ran into South Lane. I followed them and saw them enter the home of Liu Qing the butcher.” When the Master awoke, he heard the sound of pigs being slaughtered. He threw on his robe and went out to look. He saw two pigs bound up, one with white spots on both shoulders. Only then did he understand that the creatures in his dream were pigs born in the year of Jihai, while Xinsi was the year Liu Qing had been born. He therefore wrote the poem on the wall.

Liu Qing the butcher was stubborn by nature and difficult to persuade. That night, the Master dreamed again: two cranes flew down into a vegetable garden. He then built a Daoist temple and invited the Daoist Lu to preside over it.

In the autumn of the year Dinghai, the Master went sightseeing with Gao Jucai of Liaoyang at the Pavilion of Encountering Immortals, which belonged to Fan Mingshu. As they drank merrily, the Master composed a poem whose final line was: “Drunk, yet someone there to hold me up.” No one understood what it meant.

On the day after the Zhongyuan Festival, Perfected Chongyang came from Zhongnan Mountain to Shumu and walked straight into the Pavilion of Encountering Immortals. The Master asked where he had come from. The Perfected replied, “The road was long. I traveled thousands of miles expressly to hold up a drunk man.” Everyone found his words remarkable. The Master then asked what was meant by the Dao. The Perfected answered, “It is where the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water)—the five basic elements that make up all things—cannot reach, and it is also there before one’s parents have given birth to one.” The two discussed profound mysteries, and before they knew it, a breeze had begun to stir among them.

The Master then bowed and invited Perfected Chongyang to stay in his home. His wife, Lady Fuchun, lifted the curtain and took a look. She said to the Master, “I see that Lord Wang’s face is rosy like a hibiscus leaf, his eyes are greener than glass, his voice is like a great bell, his speech flows without end, and his bearing is dignified. He has something of the presence of Perfected Zhengyang. You should honor him sincerely.” From then on, the household treated Perfected Chongyang with the respect due a teacher.

The Perfected One said to the Master, “I would like to withdraw for a hundred days of quiet cultivation and eat nothing.” The Master agreed and built him a crude little hut open to the wind on all four sides. Snow and wind swept in from every direction, yet the water in the inkstone did not freeze. Those seeking poems came and went outside the window in a steady stream, like shuttles flying through a loom. The Perfected One moved his brush across the paper and composed each poem at once.

The Perfected One repeatedly manifested his Yang Spirit—the spiritual form that practitioners say can leave the body and move about—and sat in the pavilion. The Master sent someone to check on him, but saw the Perfected One still sitting peacefully in the hermitage. From the first auspicious day of Mengdong, the first month of winter, the Perfected One presented one poem and one lyric, asking the Master to compose replies to the same rhymes. He also gave the Master a pear, which the two of them shared. Thereafter, every five days, he gave him six taros and six chestnuts. On the eleventh day, he divided a pear in two for the Master and his wife to share. After that, every ten days he added one more portion to the food: three portions on the thirtieth day, and four on the fortieth. By the tenth ten-day period, the food was divided into fifty-five pieces, matching the numbers of odd and even that correspond to Heaven and Earth.

The Master gradually came to understand the truth of the Dao. He left his wife and children, received the hairpin and cap worn by Daoist priests, and subdued his thoughts by begging for food. The Perfected One was delighted.

One day, the Perfected One said, “Master Ma has broken his precepts.” The Master asked, “How did you know, Master?” The Perfected One replied, “Last night I dreamed you were drinking wine, so I sent someone to ask.” The Master answered, “I received medicine and took it with wine, so I drank quite a lot.” The Perfected One had known of this in advance.

Later, the Perfected One climbed to the Smoke-and-Clouds Cave on Mount Kun. The Master suddenly developed a headache so severe that it felt as if his head were about to split open. Someone said, “Master Ma may not live through the day.” The Perfected One said, “I came all the way from three thousand li away to teach this man. Could I let him die?” He gave the Master water empowered with a spell, and once he had drunk it, the Master’s headache went away.

In the autumn of the ninth year of the Dading era, the Perfected One set out west with the Master and three others. The prefect of Dengzhou, Heshilie, received him with the courtesies due a teacher and asked, “When will we meet again?” The Perfected One replied, “We should meet in Liangyuan.”

Later, the Perfected One, a person of high attainment who had realized the Dao, died at Yimen. When Qishi Lie was appointed deputy military governor of Nanjing, he took responsibility for the funeral. After the Perfected One’s death, the Master led his disciples into Jingzhao, in the area of present-day Xi’an, Shaanxi, and sought donations. They raised several tens of thousands of coins. They then agreed to travel together and rebury the Perfected One’s remains on Mount Zhongnan.

The Master arranged his hair in three topknots and mourned the Perfected One for six years, sitting alone in a humble hut. The phrase “three topknots” sounded like “Three Auspicious Ones,” which was also the Perfected One’s personal name. The Master arranged his hair this way to show his reverence.

The Master was steadfast in purpose and pure in conduct, spreading the teachings far and wide for thirteen years. He wore no silk and carried no money; at night, he often slept outdoors. When someone, concerned that he was cold, asked about it, he replied, “Do not be surprised that I sleep without a quilt in the depth of winter. I once kept a little warming Qi in my Dantian.” In Daoist internal cultivation, the Dantian is the place within the body where Qi gathers.

One day, he asked his disciple Lai Lingyu, “What do people in the Guanzhong region call it when they mend and repair a torn garment?” Lai Lingyu replied, “They call it ‘zhexì.’” The Master said, “The Eastern religious community has fallen into disrepair over time. I ought to take it apart and repair it.” Less than half a month later, his superiors issued a written order directing Daoists everywhere to return to their native places. The Master then left the pass.

At the time, Master Qiu of Changchun was on Mount Long. One day, he said to Li Dacheng, “My connection with the Dao has run its course. Though my name is still on the register of those being sent home, I cannot leave through the pass. If I do, the Daoist tradition in Qinzhong will disappear completely.” He then went down the mountain, following the circumstances. Only after officials and local people jointly signed a petition guaranteeing his conduct was he allowed to return to the mountain and live there.

After the Master left the pass, wherever he went, men and women, young and old, came out singing and dancing along the roads, competing to cross the boundary and welcome him. People compared his arrival to auspicious signs such as the phoenix and the Jing star, and all vied for a glimpse of him.

When the Master returned to his native place, he saw the butcher Liu Qing again and admonished him: “Twenty years have passed without my realizing it since I wrote that admonition on the wall. By my reckoning, you kill three pigs every day, making a total of one hundred thousand. Besides, you are already eighty-three, your family is flourishing, and you are prosperous. Surely you ought to stop killing.”

Only then did the duke understand. He chose an auspicious day to hold a purification ritual and took the chopping board and utensils outside the city gate to burn them. That day, he went to Jinlian Hall and found that the water in its well was salty and bitter, unfit to drink. The Master came to the well and recited an incantation. At once, the water became sweet, like fine spring water. The people of the commandery called it “numinous nectar.” They built a pavilion and erected a stele outside the city gate to commemorate the event and spread its story far and wide.

In the fifth month of the Renyin year, a severe drought struck the area around Shumou, and the crops withered. People prayed to the mountains and rivers, but nothing answered. Officials of the prefecture and counties respectfully asked the Master to pray for rain, hoping for abundant rainfall. He burned just one stick of incense, and a generous rain fell.

In the seventh month, the people of the commandery held a grand Zhaijiao ritual at Chaoyuan Monastery. After days of rain, the Daoists and local people feared that it would damage the ritual altar. The Master said, “There is no need to worry. The sky will clear today.” Just as he predicted, it did. When they burned the prayer documents during the Zhongyuan Festival, on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, auspicious clouds of five colors gathered around them, while luan birds and cranes circled overhead. The response came with astonishing speed.

In midwinter, the Master passed through Dengzhou. Han Gong, who believed in him, burned incense and prayed, saying that the water in his household’s well was bitter. He asked the Master to use his powers to restore its flavor. The Master went at once and recited an incantation. Immediately, the water became sweet, like malt syrup and honey. Rain began to fall at dusk, so the Master stayed overnight at Han’s home. He jokingly composed a poem: “Rain lashes outside the gate; Heaven lets one stay, though people would send one away. The host is still quite all right—but a Daoist’s head may yet be smashed.” No one understood what the poem meant. Before long, a man named Kang Chan came to ask the Master about the Dao. Suddenly, roof tiles fell from above and struck him on the head. Only then did everyone understand in alarm that the poem’s final line had come true.

After the Zhaijiao ritual on the Double Ninth Festival, the ninth day of the ninth lunar month, a heavenly gate appeared in the southeast. Auspicious clouds gathered near the moon, and everyone in the commandery looked up and bowed in reverence.

On the eighth day of the second month, the Master urged the people of Langya Village in Shumou to burn all their boats and fishing nets. Soon the wind shifted and the snow stopped. People suddenly saw layered towers and green hills: a strange and astonishing sight. It was a mirage over the sea that had appeared at Nanyang.

On the thirteenth day of the fourth month in the guimao year, the Master presided over a Zhaijiao purification ritual in Zhiyang. A fierce storm broke out, and everyone grew anxious, praying for the weather to clear. The Master clicked his teeth and closed his eyes, seeming to pray silently. After a while, the clouds parted and the sun came out.

Around the hour of Shen on the fifteenth day, a cloud formation resembling a dragon’s tail appeared in the southeast. It remained for a long time without dispersing. That night, iridescent clouds stretched across the moon. On the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month, the Master went to Zhiyang. From morning until noon, a mirage could be seen over the sea. When the Master arrived at Huiguang Hermitage, Ma Congshi gladly volunteered to burn more than a thousand hu of tax-grain certificates. Then Ju Fu gathered fishing nets and burned them, and the mirage appeared again, faintly resembling a dragon carriage and cranes carrying people. Guo Heng and Yue Zhou also gathered fishing nets and burned them. Suddenly, between the islands of Sang, they saw clouds crisscrossing in the sky, their hazy glow taking shapes like armored warhorses and divine soldiers.

The Master lived in a humble little hut in Huating. Beside it stood an apple tree whose branches had withered and whose heartwood had dried up. They had planned to cut it down for firewood. On the ninth day of the fourth month, the Master watered the tree. Soon afterward, his disciple Yao Xuan brought him the Genealogy of Perfected Pure Yang. Only then did the Master learn that Perfected Pure Yang, Lü Dongbin, had been born on the fourteenth day of the fourth month, beneath an apple tree. Pleased, the Master said, “I was born on the twentieth day of the fifth month. By then, this tree will surely have put out new buds and leaves.” He then composed this verse: “Thirty-six above the heavens, thirty-six below the earth; Heaven and Earth enter the precious vessel, and all seventy-two seasonal markers are complete.” Li Gong bowed and asked the Master to explain the verse. Smiling, the Master said, “These are hidden words. In time, their meaning will become clear.”

On the night of the seventeenth day of the fifth month, Li Gong dreamed that two leaves had grown on each side of the apple tree, one to the north and one to the south. When he checked the tree the next morning, new buds had indeed appeared.

By the time of the Master’s birthday, the bamboo had grown lush with leaves and branches, casting a broad green shade. Only then did people understand what he meant in his poem:

“Thirty-six days in four groups of nine,

Then seventy-two more, formed by the union of Heaven and Earth:

The seasonal Qi is now complete.

So even what has withered can grow lush again—what could be difficult about that?”

At the Quanzhen Hermitage, two clumps of bamboo and a pine tree had been transplanted. It was then April, and their branches and leaves had all turned yellow and withered. Daoist companion Cui asked the Master, “Can these pines and bamboos grow again?” The Master gladly composed two poems:

“Among the Daoists, long life is our name;

Our aim is to give withered things a new appearance.

May several bamboo stalks always remain green,

With not a single leaf losing its verdure.”

He also said:

“I know the methods that set life in motion;

I can direct Qi to change the form.

Green bamboo is not all you’ll see outside the window—

Before the hermitage, the pine will delight you with its green.”

Afterward, the Master watered them with the water he had used to wash his face. In less than ten days, the pine and bamboo put forth new shoots and leaves.

On the third day of the sixth month, six young pines were planted at Jinyu Hermitage. The others bowed to the Master and said, “The pines and bamboo at Quanzhen Hermitage have all grown lush again. Why should these few young pines at Jinyu Hermitage be withering and sickly?” The Master then directed true Qi toward the pines for three watches of the day. “Directing Qi” refers to the way Daoist practitioners use the breath. The Master composed three quatrains. One said:

“Six pines were planted before the hermitage in the sixth month;

Sure enough, they were revived through Ma Feng once more.

Three times directing Qi took no effort;

The six pines’ rebirth brought great results.”

The other two poems also mention planting pines in the sixth month and their turning color before becoming green again. They attribute this renewed flourishing to the Master directing Qi and bestowing “the Qi of Chongyang.” In the poems, “Ma Feng” refers to the Master, while “Three Topknots” is a name that people said was associated with this event.

Later, the pines’ trunks and branches remained unchanged, and their leaves never fell; they stayed green and pleasing to the eye. Local people had the poems carved on a stone stele. In earlier times, there was also a story that Lü Chunyang revived newly planted young pines with a pill and a poem.

Long ago, Lü Chunyang (Lü Dongbin) brought a dead locust tree back to life in Longxing Temple in Laizhou with a pill and a quatrain. The tree still stands today. His poem says: “My long, flowing sleeves trail behind me as I come from Hedong; at night I lodge in an ancient temple, the Hall of Prayer. In Buyecheng I leave a sacred trace—let the old locust tree live another thousand years.”

Now the Master has brought six pine trees in Zhiyang back to life with three quatrains. The sages of earlier and later generations follow the same Way. A poor man in Zhiyang could not move either of his legs. He pleaded earnestly with the Master, who sighed and gave him water to drink. After drinking it, the man could walk with great speed. A man in Le Wugong had suffered for a long time from wind impediment, which caused numbness, pain, and difficulty moving his limbs. No medicine had helped. The Master told him to take a medicinal fruit, and he recovered within a day.

One morning, the Master suddenly began singing and dancing, looking especially joyful as he delighted in himself. His disciples hurried to report: “On the thirtieth day of the twelfth month of the Renyin year, the Immortal Maiden Sun passed away in Henan, resting her head on her arm. She was sixty-four.” The Master said, “Last night I saw her with my own eyes, riding on colorful clouds and accompanied by immortal music as she returned eastward to the sea. I sang and danced because of this; I had known of it in advance.”

In the ninth month of that year, the Master presided over a Zhaijiao rite for unattached spirits at the Qiyuqi An in Kun Jian. Auspicious clouds shone, while phoenixes and immortal cranes flew back and forth in countless numbers. Later, he traveled east to Wenshan and built the Seven Treasures Hermitage. They dug a well nine feet deep but found no water, as a huge rock blocked the way. The Master wrote a poem: “The digging should reach two nines in depth—that is, eighteen feet; then cool spring water will gush forth.” He ordered the workers to keep digging until they reached eighteen feet, and a cold spring burst out.

Huge beams for the Seven Treasures Hermitage were hauled by ox cart. As the cart passed through a dangerous stretch, the driver fell between the ruts and injured his chest. He thought of Danyang, the Master’s Daoist name, and came away completely unharmed. In the third month of the Renyin year, the Master rested at the Temple of Shun in Jinan Prefecture. People young and old crowded forward to see and pay their respects. Several thousand pressed through the entrance, even forcing the door leaves from their hinges. The Master stood firm and suffered no injury at all.

In midwinter, the Master transplanted two paulownia trees, each several zhang tall, into Qibao Hermitage. In time, the trees began to wither. The Master first breathed his true Qi (the energy cultivated through inner refinement in Daoism) onto them, then watered them. Ten days later, their leaves had regained their former deep green.

On the day of the Lower Origin (the fifteenth day of the tenth lunar month, when Daoists make offerings to the Water Official), Wenshan held a consecration Zhaijiao (a Daoist ritual of setting up an altar, praying, and reporting to the deities). Rain had fallen for days, and everyone was worried. The Master heard someone in the sky say, “The Perfected Chongyang has arrived.” The two gentlemen Yao and Lai were there too, and heard it as well.

At dusk on the sixteenth, the county magistrate Ni Liguwujie looked up and saw an immortal wearing a blue headcloth and a white robe, seated on a green lotus leaf carried by a white rabbit. A turtle wagged its tail. The household attendant Baishou said, “That is exactly Lord Wang as he appears in the painting.” Everyone hurried to prepare incense and offerings, and all bowed reverently. Suddenly, they saw the Perfected turn around, lie on his side, and travel toward the southeast. The Master wrote the lyric “Man Ting Fang” to record the event, and people in the village had it carved in stone.

People in Laiyang invited the Master to visit Youxian Temple to discuss holding a Zhaijiao. In mid-December, he replied, “We will meet in three days.” On the twenty-second, the day the Perfected Chongyang had descended into the world, the Master had Yu Zhiyi perform the dance “Gui Chao Huan.” Yu looked up and saw only the Master Chongyang and his martial uncle He standing in the sky, slowly approaching. The Master said, “Return with noble bearing, and become a carefree immortal.” He added, “Now that you have reached a steep and difficult place, how much better to sweep your sleeve and return!”

The Master summoned his disciple Liu Zhenyi and admonished him: “It is not easy for you to cultivate yourselves into immortals. When you encounter demonic trials, do not retreat or grow slack. Be cautious, and more cautious still; only then may you succeed in cultivation. Remember my words, and do not forget them.” Then he turned his head eastward and said to the people around him, “I can see when my eyes are open, and I can see when they are closed. It turns out that seeing things does not depend on the eyes. When the mind is clear, nothing is beyond sight.”

While speaking and laughing with his fellow disciples, the Master was nearing the second watch of the night. Suddenly, a fierce wind and rain arose, and thunder rumbled loudly. Resting his head on his arm, the Master departed as though ascending in flight after transcending the world.

Guo Fuzhong, the official in charge of the liquor tax, heard urgent knocking at the door. When he went out to look, he saw the Master. He invited him inside, and they talked. The Master asked for paper and brush and wrote this verse: “Though sixty-one years long, my life was known by none; a thunderclap across the open plain, and with the wind I surge away.” After a long while, the Master took his leave.

That night, the villager Liu Xi saw a light like a torch shining through a gap in his roof. At daybreak, he examined the spot and found a sheet of paper, which he retrieved with a bamboo pole. It bore this four-line verse: “When the Three Yang unite, the work is complete; astride the Wind Horse, I ride the wind and become an immortal. I urge you to subdue the Dragon and Tiger together; then, by your own share, you too may ascend to Heaven.” The Master’s personal name was inscribed after the verse. Liu Xi hurriedly threw the paper into the fire. At once, the room filled with the fragrance of sandalwood. Soon someone came to report that the Master had transcended the world the previous night. Only then did everyone understand that what Guo Fuzhong and Liu Xi had seen was the Master’s Yang Spirit: the spirit-body manifested by a practitioner.

Seven days later, the Master’s body still looked lifelike. It was later buried at Youxian Monastery. Before this, several dozen pine trees at Shuhua Hermitage had turned white in both branch and leaf. The Master said, “Perhaps these pines turned white on my account.”

On the eighteenth day of the first month in the jiǎchén year, between the hours of the Snake and the Horse, the presented scholar Liu Shaozu and others saw phoenixes and cranes circling in the sky as the clouds and rosy mists shifted and changed. The Perfected Chongyang, dressed in a crimson Daoist robe and wearing a cloud-shaped cap, and Master Danyang, with his hair arranged in three topknots and dressed in white, appeared among the clouds. After a while, they departed.

At dusk on the yǐhài day, the twelfth day of the fifth month, the Master suddenly appeared northwest of Yingxian Bridge, attended by immortal youths. After a while, cold clouds concealed him. At the time, Yu Xin and twenty others witnessed the scene.

After the Master was buried, local people continued to suspect that disciples from Shaanxi had stolen his immortal bones. On the twenty-fourth day of the first month in the Yisi year, Magistrate Liu ordered the tomb opened for inspection. The Master’s face looked lifelike, and his body remained supple. They combed his hair and changed his clothes. Once word spread, people came from all directions to pay their respects and bow before him; visitors arrived without pause. In the ninth month, he was reburied in a stone coffin.

The Master’s collected writings, including Ten Transformations of the Divided Pear, Gradual Awakening, Essence and Subtlety, Extracts on Subtlety, The Three Treasures, Transformative Travel, and Gold and Jade, were also printed and circulated. A close reading reveals principles that run through Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism; encompass the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water); and bring together ancient and modern times. They use things as metaphors for human life. Their discussions of profound mysteries make the immortal isle of Penglai seem close at hand. With the sword of wisdom, the writings cut away the Three Corpses—spirits said in Daoism to dwell in the human body and obstruct cultivation. Following their teachings enables one to correct one’s faults, turn toward goodness, and keep clear of wrongdoing; grasping their principles allows one to transcend the ordinary and attain sagehood. Could the benefit of these works be anything but great?

The encomium says: The Master first met Perfected Chongyang (Wang Chongyang) and began by explaining the Nine Transformations, secretly passing on the essentials of cultivation through the ten acts of dividing a pear. The six gifts of taro, too, held a deeper meaning. He understood the realm before the primal Qi of Heaven and Earth had taken form, and pointed out where the Five Phases could not reach. He opened the Jade Portal and entered the Golden Gate, causing the sun and moon to shine within the pot and clouds and rosy mists to gather inside the cauldron. These words use the imagery of Neidan cultivation to portray the process of gathering spirit and Qi and refining and nurturing body and mind.

He gave up half his family estate and bore the weight of the three topknots on his head. For decades he slept in the snow and dew, crossed mountains and rivers, and traveled tens of thousands of miles. The seven golden lotuses bloomed first, and he alone transmitted the five secret teachings. At a thunderous peal, he did not break his pledge beneath the rosy clouds. After enduring the karmic ties of ten thousand tribulations, he finally returned to the azure heavens, the Daoist realm of immortals, to continue his celestial wanderings. He guided the followers of Quanzhen and expounded the profound teachings of Daoism.

Zhang the Child Prodigy wrote in a poem: “The Master was the foremost scholar of letters by the sea. Perfected Chongyang once supported him while drunk. Among all those who have cultivated themselves to perfection from ancient times to the present, surely none can compare with the Master.”

End of Volume Three of Record of the Orthodox Lineage of the Golden Lotus.

Perfected Tan Changzhen.

Mr. Tan, whose personal name was Yu and courtesy name Boyu, belonged to a family surnamed Tan that had lived in Ninghai for generations. He was generous and unusually perceptive. His family had long been known for filial piety and righteousness, and was deeply respected by the local community.

In the winter of the Dinghai year of the Dading era, he suddenly developed vertigo and paralysis. His illness lingered without improvement, and none of the many medicines he took had any effect. Hearing that Master Chongyang (Wang Chongyang) had come from Zhongnan Mountain to Yifu and was staying quietly at the home of Mr. Ma, Tan Yu leaned on a staff and went to see him, hoping to learn how to cure his illness. At first, Master Chongyang kept the door shut and would not receive him. Tan Yu persisted, waiting outside and knocking throughout the night. Suddenly, the door opened by itself. Master Chongyang was delighted, believing the two had an affinity with the immortals. He invited Tan Yu inside, had him lie down beside him, and spoke with him so warmly that they seemed closer than old friends who had known each other for years. At dawn, Tan Yu rose to find that his old illness had completely vanished. His limbs felt light and strong, and he could run as swiftly as if flying. Only then did he realize that Master Chongyang was no ordinary person.

Tan Yu then came to regard his family’s wealth as so much dirt and begged to remain by Chongyang’s side and serve him for the rest of his life. Chongyang gave him the religious name Chuduan, the courtesy name Tongzheng, and the title Master Changzhen. He also presented him with a poem:

“Pass beyond the gate where Yin-Yang and transformation meet.

Keep your whole heart on the Dao; do not turn back.

Stillness, clarity, and emptiness are the true road of immortality.

Remain at ease in quiet, and nurture body and mind.”

After receiving his master’s oral instructions, Tan Yu let go of distinctions and abandoned distracting thoughts. He wore a blue headcloth and clothes made of paper cloth. In the Wuzi year of the Dading era, he took leave of his relatives, friends, and neighbors, and followed the Patriarch closely on a journey south to Bianliang. He sought instruction day and night and grasped many subtle teachings. Three years later, the Patriarch rode the clouds to pay homage in the heavenly court and departed. Tan Yu then carried the Patriarch’s remains west to Liujiang and buried them according to proper rites.

Afterward, he lived in seclusion around the Yi and Luo rivers, nurturing his spirit and cultivating his breath. Even when staying amid bustling streets, flower gardens, and wine gatherings, his mind remained as still as plants and trees, never stirred by thoughts. Even when faced with ten thousand taels of gold, he would never lower himself to seek it. He wandered from place to place until he reached Chaoyuan Palace south of the river. Believing it to be where Master Langran had refined the Elixir, he grew so fond of the place that he could not bear to leave. In time, the number of his disciples grew, yet he still often went out to beg for food.

Once, he went to a temple and asked a Chan master for some leftover rice. The master flew into a rage and struck him with his fist, knocking out two of his teeth. Tan Yu swallowed the teeth, blood and all. When others wanted to speak up on his behalf, he instead smiled and bowed to the Chan master, his mind unmoved. His reputation consequently spread throughout the capital region.

He often liked to write the characters “tortoise” and “snake,” practicing them over and over with exquisite brushwork that seemed to surge with a power of flight and transformation. Those who followed Daoism often kept his calligraphy as a treasured possession. Later, a fire broke out in the prefectural seat and spread, destroying a hundred households. Yet every household that had kept these two characters was spared.

One day, he warned his disciples: “My master Chongyang and I made an appointment long ago to meet at Penglai. Now I am about to go.” As soon as he had spoken, five-colored clouds encircled the courtyard, while blue phoenixes and white cranes flew back and forth. He tied up his hair, faced south, rested his head on his arm, and passed away peacefully. It was the first day of the fourth month.

In his lifetime, he left nearly a hundred songs and poems composed for the world, collected in Water and Clouds. They explain in depth the method of reversing the flow of lead and mercury, a method of cultivation in Daoist internal alchemy expressed through terms such as lead and mercury, and they circulated widely.

The eulogy says: The venerable Changzhen was a hero of Ninghai. He once studied alongside Sanzhui and others, then took the Patriarch Chongyang as his teacher and swore an oath of allegiance. One night, while he and his master were still engaged in quiet conversation, the madness that had afflicted him for many years suddenly vanished. He thought nothing of riches worth a thousand gold pieces, willingly wearing a patchwork robe and living in poverty.

He cultivated his breath and regulated his mind, residing for many years in the area around Luoyang. After returning to the root and restoring his life (a Neidan practice of returning to life’s original source), he spent half his life without going back to Shandong. He could subdue all kinds of demons and make them disappear without a trace. Using “tortoise and serpent” as his formula, he seemed to hold Heaven and Earth’s Yin-Yang in his hands. He also practiced the Nine Reversions of the Dragon and Tiger, a Neidan term for the return of essence and vital energy to their source.

He lived in the season when osmanthus filled the air with fragrance and Golden Lotuses blossomed. Lead and mercury—Neidan terms symbolizing the ingredients and vital energies of the practice—flowed together in the Water and Clouds collection. He then kept company with mist and rosy clouds, wandering and dwelling in a celestial pavilion. Who else could accomplish this, if not one whose body had united with the Dao and whose body and spirit had both reached the mysterious?

A poem by Zhang the Divine Youth says: His breast held the force of wind and fire; his heart was hard as iron and stone. Bold and resolute, he could nevertheless gather his spirit and turn his light inward to illuminate his nature. Spring was warm in Luoyang, the very place where his spirit roamed; in the north, the tortoise and serpent still stood guard.

The Perfected One of Long Life from Donglai—a figure known in the Donglai region by that title—was born into the Liu clan and descended from the imperial Liu family of the Han dynasty. He was striking in appearance, broad in spirit, and lofty in bearing. Neither lake nor sea could convey the breadth of his compassion, nor the stars rival the clarity of his insight.

His grandfather and father served as military officers for generations. They delighted in practicing hidden virtue, doing good without seeking recognition, and took pleasure in helping others. They cared for the poor and hungry and gave aid to the isolated and vulnerable. They donated more than eighty qing of fertile land to Longxing Monastery, a large temple, as a lasting source of support for the monastery and a way to accumulate blessings. During the Taiping Xingguo era of the Song dynasty, the court praised their filial devotion and righteousness, erected a commemorative marker before their gate, exempted them from taxes and corvée labor, and made their reputation known throughout the neighboring prefectures.

Heaven did not forsake a benevolent family. From the rosy clouds and cinnabar radiance of the immortal realm, it chose a person of exceptional inborn gifts and sent him into the world in Yecheng. As he grew up, the Perfected One served his widowed mother with great care and became known for his filial piety. He vowed never to marry or enter official service, regarding wealth and splendor as filth. He kept himself quiet and pure, with a serene and far-reaching mind; nothing in the world could shake his sincerity. He repeatedly wished to leave his home region in search of extraordinary teachers, but each time his mother’s pleas held him back.

In the spring of the jichou year of the Dading era—the ninth year of Dading, 1169—he suddenly saw two verses of praise on a neighbor’s wall, written where no one could reach them. The ink was still fresh, but no name had been left. The final line read: “A military officer’s home nurtures the nature, a true land of immortals; there must be one who lives forever.” The Perfected One admired the forceful brushwork and suspected that it was the work of spirits, though he could not be certain.

In the ninth month of that year, the weather was cool and the dew clear. Patriarch Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen tradition, set out westward with his staff and sandals, accompanied by his outstanding disciples Qiu, Tan, and Ma. They crossed the islands and passed through mountain towns. When the Perfected One heard of their arrival, he hurried to meet them, burning incense and performing the rites of welcome. The Patriarch looked at him with a smile and asked, “Do you know who wrote the ink verses on the wall?” Qiu, Tan, and Ma also exchanged smiles. Only then did the Perfected One understand that the two verses of praise had been written through their supernatural powers.

The three looked at one another and could not help smiling. Only then did they understand that the Patriarch’s verses spoke of supernatural powers and transformations, meant to astonish them. They pledged themselves with utmost sincerity and solemnity. Carrying a small table and walking sticks, and taking towels and water bottles, they stood ready to follow his instructions at any time, willing to entrust their lives and deaths to him. The Patriarch appreciated their devotion and admired their single-minded diligence. Seeing their extraordinary bearing, he exclaimed, “Like moonlight among the pines and white snow on bamboo, they remain untouched by worldly dust.”

The Patriarch gave them this poem: “Returning from fishing, you have met the giant turtle once more; now you know you are destined to take your place among the ranks of the immortals. As you call to one another while rocking the oars, you understand my intent; you have emerged from the towering, ten-thousand-fathom waves.”

Following the inscription on the wall, the Patriarch gave him the Daoist name Changsheng, the taboo name Chuxuan, and the courtesy name Tongmiao. He had just passed the age of twenty.

Returning from fishing, you have met the giant turtle once more;

Now you know you are destined to join the ranks of the immortals.

Rocking the oars, you call to one another and understand my intent;

You have risen clear of waves ten thousand fathoms high.

The names of Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma spread far and wide. They traveled through Bianliang and lodged in Yimen, living by begging while refining and nurturing their bodies, and concealing their names. From morning until night they sought the Patriarch’s instruction, sometimes standing to receive his teaching, sometimes sitting to hear him speak. Patiently they investigated the subtle workings of the Dao and repeatedly pondered the teachings of the alchemical scriptures, dispelling their doubts as though clouds were parting and frozen ice melting. After transmitting to them all the essentials of cultivation, including the Four Symbols and Five Phases, the Patriarch left the world and withdrew to the heavenly realm. As the saying goes, having found those who truly understood him, he departed for the immortal isle of Penglai.

The four carried the immortal’s remains on their backs to repay the Patriarch’s great kindness. They came to Xianyang and passed through Huayin, resting and attending to their spiritual needs near Liu Jiang’s former residence. The four had different aspirations. The master withdrew alone to live in seclusion in Luojing, cultivating his nature amid the crowds of the world and preserving his original nature amid the noisy bustle of the marketplace. Music could not disturb his composure, and the beauty of flowers and plants could not sway his spirit. His heart grew still as ashes, ever more cool and detached; his body was like wood, no longer delighted by external things. When others worked, he ate; when they did not work, he bore no resentment. If someone asked him a question, he answered with gestures; when no one asked, he remained peacefully still all day. In time, his meditative stability reached completion, and the light of Heaven within him appeared.

Later, he moved to the banks of Yunxi. His disciples carved a chamber into the cliffside for him and unexpectedly discovered an ancient well, its spring water cool and softly murmuring. Astonished, they asked their master about it. He sat peacefully in meditation all day; his power of concentration had reached perfection, and an inner radiance appeared. Smiling, he said, “There are two more wells not far away. I dug them when I cultivated in a former life.” They dug there and, sure enough, found them. To this day, the mountain abode is still known as “Three Springs.”

In the bing-shen year, he returned to Wuguan and visited his mother. Mother and son were overjoyed to see each other. At the northern foot of Taiji Mountain, he chose a site and built the Lingxu Ancestral Hall to honor the founding master. He planted rows of cypress trees with his own hands, and in time they grew lush and green.

Before long, someone in the village falsely accused the master of murder. He offered no defense and was bound and taken into custody. The false accusation dragged on for nearly a hundred days. According to legend, when the founding master Chunyang heard the dripping of the jade clepsydra, he rode a blue qilin down from the sky, entered the shadowed realm, and came to Liuwei. He handed the master a brush and taught him to study literature. Later, the actual murderer came forward and confessed, and the master escaped imprisonment. By the time he was released, his skill with brush and ink had become extraordinary, his writing leaping like dragons and serpents.

In the wuxu year of the Dading era, he presided over a Zhaijiao ritual in Changyang. Colored clouds gathered over the ritual altar, and white cranes danced in the courtyard. That autumn, a severe drought struck, and the weather was scorching hot. He prayed earnestly for rain. After climbing onto the altar, he saw no clouds for thousands of miles around and said, “Tomorrow, at the hour when the Si hour gives way to the Wu hour, sweet rain will pour down.” His prediction came true, just as sound answers an echo. Thereafter, the master presided over the covenant ceremonies at Zhaijiao altars throughout Shuzhou. During the rites, auspicious winds often arose, lifting paper offerings into the sky; the response was as if by divine power. Stone inscriptions recording these events can still be found throughout the region.

In the third year of the Cheng’an era, Emperor Zhangzong heard that the master’s Daoist practice and reputation had spread far and wide, and sent an envoy to summon him. He was welcomed with a crane tally—the imperial summons for a Daoist—and a carriage with cushioned wheels, traditionally used to receive worthy men. He was escorted into Zichen Hall, treated as an honored guest, and bestowed with the title “Cultivator of the Dao.” Officials, scholars, and ordinary people came to visit one after another, and shoes often filled the space outside his door.

In the second year, in the third month, he asked to return to the mountains of his homeland. The Son of Heaven held him in high regard and would not treat him as a subject. He bestowed on him the title “Numinous Emptiness,” thereby honoring his ancestral temple—the Daoist monastery that housed the lineage of his founding master.

On the sixth day of the middle ten-day period of the second month of the Guihai year, according to the sexagenary calendar, he beat a drum to summon everyone and told them that he was going to “Banyuan”—the original text uses this term, which seems to refer to the realm of immortals or the place of return to the true. He then lay on his side with his arm bent and peacefully returned to the Origin. Auspicious light wound through the sky, and blessed vapors appeared in abundance.

His surviving works include Immortal Music, Great Void, Panyang, Joining the Dust, Ease and Leisure, and Cultivating the True. He also wrote a commentary on the Daodejing, expounded the Yinfujing, and explained the Huangtingjing. These works probe subtle and profound principles and clearly set out the intentions of sages and perfected beings, serving as guidelines for later generations.

The eulogy says: “The long-lived immortal master holds the power of creation in his grasp. He swallows emptiness and breathes forth the Qi of nature, roaming on purple clouds along the shores of the blue sea. He encountered the Jiazi gathering of the Celestial Origin—a particular celestial season or tribulation cycle in Daoist teaching—and his karmic affinity, formed over many kalpas, converged with that of Perfected Chongyang. He broke through the gates of the hundred channels and reached the nine springs; he commanded the four beasts and tilled the three fields within the body, the Dantian cultivated in internal alchemy. He once sat in the streets of Luoyang and also opened up the grotto-heaven of Yunxi. He melted the essence white as snow and refined it into powder; he also refined dark frost until it gave off no smoke. His name rang out through Fengzhou like the great bronze bell, and his radiance shone upon the Golden Lotus. He established the lineage hall of the Linglu tradition and received the court’s purple edict; he also repaid an old debt from Shulai. Afterward, his body, mind, and form dissolved completely, and he roamed freely in revelry through the immortal realms of the eight directions.”

The poem by Zhang Shentong says: “Deep in Penglai, he has attained the Way of heavenly authenticity; a spark of numinous clarity has carried him far beyond the dusty world. After the eastern wind blows from the heights, he departs and returns; in the Hall of Numinous Emptiness, the blue hall remains quietly sealed, preserving the light of spring.”

The Perfected Master Changchun, Qiu (Qiu Chuji).

The Perfected One, an honorific title in Daoism for someone who has attained realization, was named Chuji, styled Tongmi, and known as Master Changchun. His family lived in Qixia, and he came from a prominent local family. Exceptionally intelligent, with a powerful memory, broad learning, and outstanding talent, he had an open, composed expression and moved with ease and grace. A skilled reader of faces once told him, “There is a tortoise-shaped mark between your brows. One day, you are sure to become an emperor’s teacher.”

Before he was twenty, he already held the Daoist mysteries in deep admiration. Unless the subject was attaining long life and enduring vision, he was unwilling to speak; unless the words praised immortals riding phoenixes and luan birds, he would not compose poetry. In the spring of 1167, he heard that Wang Chongyang was at Misty Clouds Cave on Kunyu Mountain and hurried there. After arranging his robes and cap, he bowed and asked to become his disciple. Wang Chongyang was delighted to meet him and spoke with him through the night. Their thoughts and understanding accorded with one another. Wang Chongyang then gave him a poem: “Fine golden scales play in the jade-green current. They find the fragrant bait and swallow the hook as well. Slowly I draw in the line, leading you toward Penglai’s immortal realm, where from now on you will be free forever.”

Chuji bowed in thanks and accepted the poem. From that day on, he attended Wang Chongyang every night, gladly taking on such menial tasks as sweeping. He followed his master away from the Haishan region and traveled south to Bianliang. As time passed, his resolve grew firmer, and the bond between master and disciple became close and unbroken. Wang Chongyang also taught him many essential principles of the Daoist tradition, deepening his understanding of the crucial methods and subtle truths of cultivation.

One day, the Patriarch Wang Chongyang went, as promised, to Penghu, the legendary island mountain in the sea. He left the human world and ascended to heaven. After the funeral rites were complete, Chuji traveled west to Fengxiang. There, at the stream where the Duke of Zhou was said to have fished, he begged for food and pursued his cultivation. He overcame drowsiness and cleared away distracting thoughts, going seven years without sleeping on a mat. Clad in a rain cape and wearing a bamboo hat, he changed neither for cold nor for heat. People called him “the Master in the Rain Cape.” He realized the Dao of emptiness and understood its mysteries. Later, he returned to Liujiang, where his former teacher had once lived in retreat. He was so attached to the place that he could not bear to leave.

In the spring of 1188, in the second lunar month, Emperor Shizong of Jin heard of his reputation and sent an envoy to summon him to court. The emperor bestowed generous gifts and appointed him to await summons at Tiancang Monastery. Some time later, Chuji received an edict to preside over the Wanchun Zhaijiao purification ritual. On the first day of the fourth lunar month, the court issued another decree appointing him abbot of Quanzhen Hall, and the emperor personally inscribed its plaque in seal script.

On the first day of the fifth month, the emperor summoned him to Pine Island. Then, on the tenth day of the seventh month, in autumn, he summoned him again. He expounded to the emperor the principles linking Heaven and humanity and explained the foundations of the Dao and De, earning the emperor’s deep approval. The emperor ordered him to compose and present a poem, so he wrote “The First Tier of the Jade Terrace”:

“The realm flourishes, and the emperor has ascended the throne, just as immortals from across the four seas begin to appear. Amid the press of state affairs, there is also ample leisure. The spirits of Heaven and Earth offer their protection together, and there is no need to take up arms. Jade towers and golden halls stand open and spacious; moonlit terraces and breezy pavilions overlook the pond. In stillness and Wuwei (non-action), we drift across the water, steering a painted boat and enjoying the evening breeze.

“I think of the founding rulers of earlier dynasties: a peaceful and prosperous age is rare, and the chance to attain the Dao is hard to find. Now, under Heaven’s protection, distant lands have come bearing tribute, and the Mystery Teachings of Daoism have begun to dispel people’s confusion. After attending court and hearing affairs of state, the emperor can still spend time with Master Red Pine, the legendary immortal, discussing the Dao that is subtle and beyond words. This is better than rushing from place to place. One may search the human world, but in the end, one returns empty-handed.”

The emperor was delighted when he read the poem. He took his leave and returned only in the evening. The next day, the emperor sent a eunuch to present him with a tray of peaches. For more than ten years, the master had eaten neither tea nor fruit, but out of deep gratitude for the emperor’s favor, he made himself eat one. At the Mid-Autumn Festival, the emperor issued an edict allowing him to return to the mountains and bestowed on him one hundred thousand coins. The master submitted a memorial declining the reward.

In the second month of the Jiyou year, the emperor set out by carriage from Yantai and reached the Guanzhong region. There he suddenly heard the emperor’s mourning edict. The master lamented, “Alas, life and death are great matters for every person. Even an emperor, lord of all under Heaven, cannot live beyond a hundred years. What can be done?” He then resolved to travel west. Passing through the Hangu Pass, he went on to Mount Zhongnan, spreading the teachings wherever he went, and for a time Daoist practice flourished. When the Mingchang era began, he returned east to the coast, withdrew to Mount Qixia, and built an altar and a residence.

By the year Wuchen, Qiu Chuji—referred to in the text as “my master”—had gained great renown as a Daoist, and his name was known far and wide. The emperor admired him, naming his Daoist temple the Temple of Great Emptiness and granting it more than six thousand volumes of the Xuandu Treasure Canon, a collection of Daoist texts, for the temple’s permanent use.

Not long afterward, warfare broke out repeatedly north of the Yellow River. Envoys from the Song and Jin dynasties arrived in succession with imperial edicts summoning him. On the same day, the northern Mongols also sent Liu Zhonglu, an imperial envoy, to deliver an edict. Everyone assumed Qiu Chuji would travel south, where Daoism was widely respected. The north was ravaged by killing, and its people spoke a different language. But Qiu Chuji gave no indication of his choice. He selected eighteen disciples suited to the journey and set out west with Liu Zhonglu.

They passed through Jizhou and reached Dezhou, where they lodged at Longyang Abbey. Qiu Chuji sent a poem to his friends in Yanjing:

For ten years the fires of war have raged without cease,

and the people live in sorrow; among millions, scarcely a few survive.

Fortunately, last year the emperor issued a compassionate decree.

This spring I must travel despite the bitter cold.

Though I do not fear crossing three thousand miles beyond the northern ridges,

my thoughts remain with the people of two hundred prefectures in Shandong.

Those in desperate straits have narrowly escaped execution,

clinging to the last breath of life.

May we soon find a way

to spare everyone from suffering.

As they passed through Baigudian, a dark wind swept up the settled snow, and the cold cut to the bone. Qiu Chuji experienced every hardship and danger along the way. He then wrote a long poem in the classical style, recording the sights of the journey:

To the east lies Jinshan; to the west, Yinshan.

Mountains and ravines crisscross, while streams run deep through shadowed valleys.

Jumbled rocks by the water block the road; since ancient times,

carts and horses have found it difficult to pass.

Some years ago, when armies rose up, the Second Prince built roads and bridges

across the streams. This year our Daoist company travels west,

with carts and horses rumbling noisily as we pass here once more.

Silver peaks and iron cliffs rise in layer upon layer,

each vying to display its rugged grandeur.

At sunrise, seen from below, the mountains seem close to the vast sea;

under the bright moon, from their heights, they appear to reach the River of Heaven.

Pines soar into the clouds, straight as brush handles,

standing thick and upright, more than a hundred feet tall.

Thousands upon thousands of pines lean against one another,

dark green and dense; all around is such silence

that even the crows do not call.

The following lines describe walls of rock twisting like a sheep’s intestine, layer upon layer, while the peaks compete in height and appear especially magnificent. In some parts of the mountains, sunrise seems to reveal the vast sea, while moonlight makes the heights seem to meet the River of Heaven.

The towering pines stood straight as writing brushes, rising more than a hundred feet. Thousands upon thousands grew close together, lush and deep green. Not even the crows called in the forest; all around was a profound, soundless stillness. The mountain road wound like a sheep’s intestine, while Mengmen Mountain pressed against the Taihang range. Compared with this place, those other mountain roads seemed fairly ordinary. Two carts struggled up and down the slopes, and more than a hundred mounted soldiers following behind and ahead were all uneasy and alarmed.

At the summit lay a Heavenly Lake, its surface like a mirror, reflecting the landscape for a hundred miles as if it held all things within it. Carts and horses descended the mountain to the east and west, crossing forty-eight bridges. Beneath them, deep ravines plunged away, seeming ten thousand fathoms deep. The mountains across Henan and the lands north of the sea stretched without end, their scenery changing in countless ways, though their general contours were much alike. This mountain alone was exceptionally strange and magnificent, its sheer, sharply edged rocks seeming shaped by divine hands.

I arrived there in the eighth or ninth month. Snow had already settled above the mountainside. In front of the mountain, the plants and trees were warm as spring; behind it, the cold was like iron.

Traveling tens of thousands of miles westward, I saw mountains and rivers, as well as extraordinary people and strange things, many of which differed from those of the Central Plains. At the time, Emperor Genghis was stationed in the country of Sultan, which he had not yet conquered. Liu Zhonglu, an Imperial Commissioner, was sent to invite the Perfected One to an audience. The emperor welcomed him, saying, “Other countries have summoned you, but you did not answer their calls. Now you have traveled ten thousand miles to appear before me. I greatly admire you.”

The Perfected One replied, “I am a man of the mountains and fields. I set out in response to your summons because it was Heaven’s will; this was not something human power could arrange.” The emperor offered him food and drink. When he had finished, the emperor asked, “You have come from far away, Perfected One. Do you have any medicine for long life that could help me?” The Perfected One answered, “I have only ways to care for the body and preserve life. I have no medicine for living forever.”

The emperor admired his honesty. From then on, whenever the Perfected One was summoned each day, he urged the emperor to kill fewer people and curb his desires. Over time, he offered several thousand words of counsel. Yelü Jinqing, then serving as a vice minister, recorded these teachings and compiled them as the Record of the Auspicious Meeting of the Mysterious Wind. The emperor trusted and followed this advice.

The emperor asked Zhenhai, “What title should we give the Perfected One?” Zhenhai replied, “Some honor him as a father and teacher; some call him a Perfected One, and others call him an immortal.” The emperor said, “From now on, he may be called an immortal.”

At the beginning of spring in the year Guiwei, the court, acting on an imperial order, sent several thousand armored soldiers to escort him back to Yanjing. It rebuilt Tianchang Abbey as Changchun Palace, renovated Baiyun Abbey, and placed both under his direction. It also bestowed on him the Northern Palace, Wansui Hill, and Taiye Lake, renaming the complex Wan’an Palace. The emperor issued an edict placing all virtuous people who had left home to become monastics throughout the realm under his authority. He also bestowed a Golden Tiger Tally, a token of imperial authorization, allowing him to act as circumstances required. Many edicts were issued to him over the years.

After taking charge of Changchun Palace, he widely spread his teachings, and the Quanzhen way flourished. He presided over Zhaijiao rites, praying for favorable weather and good harvests. The things he prayed for often came to pass at the appointed time, as surely as a shadow follows its form, and people from households far and wide came to join him.

He lived freely and at ease. After the midday meal each day, he would often ride out on one of several horses to visit Wan’an Palace, admiring its lush scenery of hills and waters. He also enjoyed watching the birds and fish settle down at dusk. He went once each day and returned as night was falling.

On the twenty-third day of the sixth month in the year Dinghai, he stayed in because he was ill. Someone came to report that a violent thunderstorm had raged between the hour of the Snake and the hour of the Horse. The southern bank of Taiye Lake had collapsed, and its waters had flowed into East Lake. The sound carried for dozens of li. All the fish and turtles had left the lake, which then dried up, while the mountain wall at its northern opening collapsed on its own. After hearing this, he smiled and said, “The mountain has collapsed and the lake has dried up. I suppose I will soon leave along with them.”

On the fourth day of the seventh month, he told his disciples, “Danyang once predicted this for me: after I die, our religious community will flourish greatly, and places throughout the land will often be transformed into communities devoted to the Way. It has indeed come to pass: I have been put in charge of great palaces and abbeys, all granted official names by imperial order, while envoys wearing tallies carry edicts by post relay. Now that my work is accomplished and my reputation has spread, it is time to withdraw and return to seclusion. Danyang’s words have all come true. I have no regrets as I depart this time.”

After he fell gravely ill, a little after one o’clock in the afternoon on the ninth day, he ascended to the Baoxuan Hall and left this verse on the eve of his death:

“Life and death, early and late—all are one and the same. Human life is like an illusion, a bubble: arising and passing away in turn, while the water flows on forever. Where a faint light appears, the sun and moon seem to leap with it; when the mysterious realm unfolds, seas and mountains seem able to contain it. A sweep of thought brings the heavens and earth in all eight directions within reach; a breath blown out sets all things turning like the parts of a mechanism. Wild words, once put to paper, become dust and grime—left only for people to hear and question in their delusion.”

Then he returned to the Baoguang Hall and died peacefully, as if transformed into a butterfly. At that moment, a blue phoenix (a legendary divine bird) and white cranes circled in the sky; auspicious clouds filled the air, and celestial music lingered, as though he were riding off through the heavens. Officials, their colleagues, scholars, and common people all looked up and bowed in reverence. His remains were buried in the Chushun Hall at the Baiyun Temple.

Three years later, when the coffin was opened to change his clothes, his hands and feet were found to be soft as cotton, and his face still looked as lifelike as when he was alive. His poems, miscellaneous writings, letters, essays, frank remarks, and recorded sayings were collected under the titles Fanjixi, Wuda Ji, and Journey to the West. They numbered nearly several thousand, and had already circulated widely in his time.

Xuefeng praised him:

“Heaven and earth were his dwelling, the sun and moon his lamps. The old immortal Louxia lived there at ease, bending and rising as he pleased. Before the crowd he spoke of the Dao; his words poured forth like ice and jade, clear and bright. He revealed the hidden workings of the mystery and quietly enjoyed the blessings bestowed by Heaven. How pure his cultivation of body and spirit; divine radiance shone from his eyes. How light his steps as he rose and walked; a fresh breeze seemed to spring from his strong feet. Whether the Great Dao flourished, people everywhere believed it sincerely; whether the Golden Elixir had been formed, white clouds had already spread through the valleys.”

I once traveled in Yantai and saw three people gathered, discussing the merits of Immortal Qiu (Qiu Chuji) and Immortal Huang. One said, “In my view, Immortal Qiu spent seven years in arduous cultivation beside Fanhui Stream and several years at Baoxuan Hall. He refined the Golden Elixir and laid the foundation for cultivating the great elixir. He planted trees of fire dates and exchanged pears, could send his spirit out and enter dreams, and could set Heaven and Earth in motion. These were his greatest merits.”

Another said, “That is not so. I believe his greatest merits were building temples, teaching the Way and guiding people into it, establishing the lineage of the Seven Lotus Blossoms of the Quanzhen School, and cultivating the tree of the Three Shadowless Flowers, which symbolizes the attainment of cultivation. Through him, people who donned hairpins and crowns and became Daoist priests spread throughout the world.”

A third said, “Neither of you has it right. I believe his greatest merits were building temples, teaching the Way and saving people, establishing the lineage of the Seven Lotus Blossoms of the Quanzhen School, cultivating the tree of the Three Shadowless Flowers, and bringing Daoist priests who had received their hairpins and crowns to every corner of the world. He also made people everywhere speak of Dao and De, enabled everyone to embrace the profound and mysterious teachings of the Dao, and allowed all things to receive the Great Dao’s nurturing transformation. These were his greatest merits.”

Another person said, “What you two have described sees only the small and misses the great; it gains the outward benefit but fails to grasp the essence. It is like taking only a fist-sized piece of Mount Tai, or picking up just one leaf from the forest of Deng. In my view, when the Mongol armies were unstoppable and swept south, their horses drank as though they would drain the Yellow River, and the twang of a whistling arrow seemed enough to shake Mount Hua apart. Worthy and foolish alike, without distinction between jade and stone, were all put to death. Bodies piled up like mountains, seemingly reaching the stars of the Dipper; blood gathered into a sea, as though it flooded the sky. The Mongol army’s might was as fierce as thunder, its cruelty like that of a tiger, and it left almost no one alive.

“Fortunately, Immortal Qiu of Changchun set out in response to the imperial summons. At their first audience, the emperor’s expression softened a little; after Qiu spoke again, the emperor’s mind gradually changed. An edict was then issued: those who submitted would not be killed; those who offered up their cities and surrendered would be spared; able-bodied men who had been pressed into service were pardoned and allowed to secure their release through redemption; and captives were freed and restored to liberty. Half the people in four hundred prefectures were thereby able to live in peace, and the people across tens of thousands of miles received the benefit.

“This was like bracing an arm against a mountain about to collapse, standing in the path of a flood spilling over its banks, rescuing the people from the cauldron and saving their lives from the knife and saw. The number of those saved ran into hundreds of millions, far beyond any count one could begin to make. Such invisible merit reaches up to the Dao of Heaven and also brings blessings to humankind.”