《长春真人西游记》

Changchun Zi, the Daoist monk Qiu Chuji of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school, was likely a person who had attained the Dao. By middle age, I had assumed that this elder had long since ascended and transformed, following the clouds and keeping company with the primordial realm. I did not know how long ago this had happened, and regretted that I had no chance to meet him. In the winter of the Jimao year, I heard that he had been summoned to come by sea. The following spring, he indeed arrived in Yanjing and stayed at Yuxu Temple. Only then did I have the chance to meet him. Sitting quietly, he was as still and composed as a withered tree; when he moved, he was like thunder rumbling and a fierce wind sweeping through. Truly, he was an extraordinary person. Speaking with him, I also learned that his knowledge was broad and his learning profound: there was hardly a book he had not read. My respect for him grew all the more. Countless people, having heard of his character, wished to become his disciples. Even a few elderly survivors from former times were glad to associate with him, and others all the more so.

Not long afterward, he went to Longyang. Only when the court’s envoys came again did he set out westward. At parting, the Daoist community asked when he would return. He said, “In three years.” It was then the fourth month of the lunar year, the Xinsi year. In the first month of the Jiashen year, Perfected Changchun returned from the Western Regions, just as he had said. Those who knew of it were astonished. From the seventh day of that month, at their request, he took up residence at Great Tianchang Temple in Yanjing.

Alas, when people travel far from home nowadays, they often linger reluctantly, showing their sorrow at parting. Perfected Changchun’s journey took him tens of thousands of li. Some places he visited lay beyond the territories recorded in accounts of the Central Plain, and rain seldom fell there. Though he received generous hospitality along the way, the hardships of travel were indeed great. Yet he always moved at ease, admiring the scenery of mountains and rivers, reciting poetry and talking with a smile. He regarded life and death as naturally as the changing of the seasons, with nothing weighing on his heart. Who but a person of the Dao could do this?

His disciple Li Zhichang accompanied him, gathering accounts of what he saw and heard along the way and compiling them into this record. The book gives a thorough account of the passes and stretches of ease along mountain ranges and roads, differences in soil, water, and climate, and the distinct clothing, food, fruits, trees, plants, birds, beasts, and insects found in each place. Nothing is omitted. He titled the book Journey to the West and asked me to write its preface.

The Four Seas are vast, and the myriad things within them are numerous. Without seeing and hearing things firsthand, even a person of great wisdom could not know them all—how much less what lies beyond the Four Seas? All one can consult are the records left by those who came before. I believe that once this book circulates, it will not only broaden the knowledge of those who take an interest in such matters, but also help people understand that the conduct and way of life of a Perfected Person—one who has cultivated the Dao to completion and risen beyond the ordinary—are not confined to a single way. Such a person can adapt to the times and act as circumstances require. Written on the second day after the beginning of autumn in the Wuzi year, by Sun Xi, the Hermit of Xixi.

Record of Master Changchun’s Journey West, volume one

Recorded by his disciple, Master Zhenchang, Li Zhichang.

My master, Perfected Changchun, was surnamed Qiu and named Chuji; his courtesy name was Tongmi. He was from Qixia in Dengzhou. Before reaching adulthood, he left home to become a Daoist and took Perfected Chongyang as his master. Later, he lived at Longmen in Fanxi for thirteen years. Through long years of arduous cultivation, he eventually achieved mastery of the Dao. In his later years, he returned to the seacoast.

Before the year Wuyin, my master lived in Dengzhou. The authorities in Henan had several times considered sending envoys to summon him, but they could not reach an agreement, so the matter was dropped. The following year, my master was living at Haotian Abbey in Laizhou. In the fourth month of summer, an official in charge of border affairs in Henan sent an envoy to invite my master to accompany him. My master declined, and the envoy returned with a poem and eulogy written by him.

Later, another envoy came from Daliang. Hearing that the Song forces had occupied Shandong, he turned back. In the eighth month of that year, the commanders Li and Peng from Jiangnan came to invite my master, but he did not go. After that, people from various places often came with invitations. The officials in charge of Laizhou found the matter difficult to handle. My master said, “Whether I stay or go is determined by Heaven’s will; it is not something you can control. I know that a time will come when I can no longer remain here. When that time comes, I will naturally leave.”

Not long afterward, Emperor Genghis sent his attendant Liu Zhonglu with a gold tablet bearing a tiger’s head. It was inscribed: “Act as though I were there in person, and respond to the circumstances as you see fit.” Liu Zhonglu also brought twenty Mongols to convey the emperor’s command and earnestly invite my master to come. My master hesitated and asked about the situation. Liu Zhonglu said, “Your fame is known throughout the world. The emperor specifically ordered me to cross mountains and seas to come here, regardless of the distance or the time it would take, and to make certain that I bring you to him.”

My master said, “Since the wars began, our territories have been cut off from one another. You took great risks to come here; you must have endured much hardship.” Liu Zhonglu replied, “I came bearing the emperor’s command. How could I not do everything in my power?” Liu Zhonglu said that in the fifth month of that year, he had received the emperor’s order at Wuliduo, in the Naiman realm.

In the sixth month, they reached Weining, north of Baideng, and met the Daoist adept Chang Zhen, who delivered a message. In the seventh month, they reached Dexing. Because the roads around Juyong were blocked, Yanjing sent soldiers to escort them. In the eighth month, they arrived in the capital. The Daoist community all said, “It is still uncertain whether Master is alive.” They passed through Zhongshan and Zhending and heard that Master was in Donglai. Only later, with the help of Wu Yan and Jiang Yuan, officials in the Pacification Office of Yizhou Prefecture, did they learn the full details.

They had originally planned to send five thousand soldiers to escort Master. Wu Yan and the others said, “People east of the capital have heard that the two courts are negotiating peace, and their hearts have only just begun to settle. If you suddenly bring troops there, they will surely hold the strategic passes to defend themselves, and Master may even take a boat out to sea. If you truly want to get this done, there is no need to make a show of it.” Zhonglu followed their advice and recruited only those willing to go with him, gathering a cavalry force of twenty.

When they were nearing Yizhou, Zhonglu asked Wu Yan and Jiang Yuan to go ahead and inform their superior, Zhang Lin. Zhang Lin led ten thousand armored soldiers to welcome them outside the city. Zhonglu smiled and said, “We are passing through here to look for Perfected Changchun. What are you bringing armored soldiers for?” Zhang Lin then dismissed the troops and rode into the city alongside them. Along the way, they explained their purpose in this way, and people stopped suspecting them. Zhang Lin also provided four horse-drawn carriages. When they reached Weizhou, they met Lord Yin.

In the twelfth month of winter, they all arrived in Donglai and delivered the emperor’s summons inviting Perfected Changchun to court. Knowing it would be difficult to refuse, Perfected Changchun spoke slowly to Zhonglu: “Is food scarce here? You should go to Yizhou first. After I have completed the Upper Origin Zhaijiao, the Daoist purification ritual held during the Lantern Festival, send fifteen cavalrymen to fetch me. I will set out on the eighteenth.” The imperial envoy and the others therefore headed west to Yizhou first. The Perfected One had already selected nineteen of his disciples to accompany him. On the appointed day, the cavalry arrived, and they all set out together. By the time they went from Weiyang to Qingshe, the imperial envoy had already gone on ahead.

After speaking with Zhang Lin, we learned that on the seventh day of the first month, four hundred cavalrymen had been stationed in Linzi, greatly frightening the local people. The imperial envoy went to meet them and tried to stop them, but no news had come since. The Master then passed through Changshan and Zouping. At the beginning of the second month, he arrived in Jiyang. Local scholars and residents prepared incense and offerings, then welcomed and bowed to him south of the city. Daoist priests chanted aloud and led the way; the Master ate at Yangsu Hermitage.

At a gathering, people said, “On the eighteenth day of last month, more than ten cranes flew in from the northwest, calling as they passed through the clouds, then all headed southeast. The next day, between the hour of the Dragon and the hour of the Snake, several cranes came from the southwest, followed by flocks numbering in the hundreds and thousands. Some swooped up and down, while others circled and played. Only one crane skimmed past Yangsu Hermitage, circled above it for a while, and then left. We now realize that the day the cranes appeared was the very day the Master set out.” Everyone raised a hand to the forehead in reverence and urged the Master to stay for several days.

In the first part of the second month, the imperial envoy sent a cavalryman to report that he had already stationed troops at Jiangling. The group prepared boats and waited; the next day, the Master set out. On the thirteenth day, the envoy hurried his troops close by. The Master asked, “Why have you taken so long to arrive?” The envoy replied that the roads were overgrown with weeds and blocked. He had gone in person to Yanjing to join the army, and also had to guard against Xinan to the east and Changshan to the west. Zhonglu had personally led troops to capture Shenzhou and take Wuyi, clearing the way. He had also built a bridge over the Hutuo River and requisitioned boats at Jiangling, which had delayed the journey. The Master said, “Without you, this would likely not have been accomplished.” The next day, everyone crossed the Hutuo River and headed north.

On the twenty-second day, the party reached Lugou. Officials from the capital, scholars and residents, monks, and Daoist priests all came out to the suburbs to welcome them. That day, the Master entered the city through Lizemen, while Daoist priests arranged the ceremonial procession and led the way. The provincial administrator, Lord Shimo, arranged lodgings for the Master at Yuxu Abbey. From then on, people came to his door in an unbroken stream, seeking poems and hymns or asking him to bestow names.

As the army passed through different regions, Daoist disciples often asked the Master to give them names. Some were thereby able to escape being seized and carried off by the troops. Such was the power of the Master’s Daoist cultivation to transform and protect those around him.

The Pacification Commissioner Wang Juchuan wrote a poem to see him off, and the Perfected Qiu Chuji replied in verse:

“Standards and banners flap in the wind; warhorses snort and neigh.

I gaze far north toward the Yan Mountains, crossing the stone bridge.

Soon I will travel ten thousand li, passing out beyond the desert;

spring has barely arrived, yet I must hurry away from the distant sea and mountains.

Good friends leave together beyond the frontier, like crows flying home in company;

my battered hat has weathered wind and frost, and now needs a fresh sable lining.

Since the Emperor Xuanyuan (Laozi) traveled west,

no one has again been summoned by the Northern Court as I have.”

The Perfected heard that the palace was gradually moving westward. Now advanced in years and weary of traveling through wind and sand, he hoped to wait until the emperor returned to court before paying him a visit. Zhonglu also wanted to choose women to accompany the party. The Perfected found this difficult and said, “The state of Qi presented female musicians to the state of Lu, and Confucius left Lu. Though I live among the mountains and wilds, how could I travel with women?” Zhonglu then ordered Helaci to ride swiftly and deliver a report to the emperor, while the Perfected also sent someone with a memorial.

One day, someone asked the Perfected to inscribe a colophon on Ge Liben’s “Taishang Laozi Passing Through the Pass,” a painting depicting the Supreme Lord Lao leaving through the Hangu Pass. He wrote: “On the day Laozi traveled west into Shu, he took leave to the east from the Hangu Pass. People of every tribe bowed before him, and through this the Great Dao was opened anew.” He also wrote two short verses for everyone to read. The first said: “From dawn to dusk, worldly affairs are tangled and confused; from ancient times to the present, people’s hearts have been fickle and reckless. See all things as empty and illusory; contemplate with a mind of emptiness and stillness, letting the mind seem to exist and not exist.” The second said: “When emotions are stirred, they often surge violently. In cultivating the Dao, one must not stray from the proper path. Endure hardship and humiliation, tame the mind’s unruly horse and monkey, and pass the years in calm ease.”

In the first ten days of the fourth month, everyone asked to hold a Jiao ceremony at Tiangchang Palace on the day of the full moon, the fifteenth day of the lunar month. The Perfected declined, saying that he was about to depart, but they continued to urge him earnestly. “The turmoil of war has not yet ended. The surviving people are fortunate to receive comfort from the Perfected, and many have benefited from the Daoist teachings. Yet those who have died remain alone in the shadowy, endless road of the underworld, without deliverance or aid for their souls. This is bound to leave us with regret.” The Perfected agreed.

At the time, the land was suffering a severe drought. On the fourteenth day, everyone pleaded with still greater urgency: “The turmoil of war has not yet ended. The surviving people are fortunate to receive comfort from the Perfected, and many have benefited from the Daoist teachings. Only the dead remain in darkness, without deliverance or aid for their souls…”

Many people received responses through Daoist arts, yet some remained for a long time in darkness after death, without yet receiving deliverance and spiritual elevation. It was only natural that regret lingered in their hearts. The master agreed to perform a ritual for them. At the time, a severe drought had persisted for fourteen days. Just as the Jiao ritual (a Daoist ceremony performed on an altar to pray for blessings and address the deities) began, heavy rain started to fall, and everyone feared it would interfere with the rites. The master went to the ritual altar in the afternoon and was about to begin when the sky suddenly cleared. The people rejoiced and exclaimed, “The rain and the clearing both seem to follow people’s wishes. How could anyone have such a response without profound Daoist attainment and deep De?”

The next day, the master ascended the Baoxuan Hall to transmit the precepts (imparting Daoist rules of conduct). Several cranes flew in from the northwest, and everyone looked up to watch. As a written petition was burned, one brief document rose into the sky and disappeared; five cranes circled and wheeled above it. The scholar-officials all said that the master’s utmost sincerity had moved Heaven and Earth. Zhang Tiandu Zizhen, the Elder of Nantang, composed an ode in praise of the event, and the others also wrote poems.

After the Jiao ritual concluded, the imperial envoy Liu Gong accompanied the master on his journey north. As they passed through Juyong Pass, they encountered a band of robbers north of the pass at night. The robbers all bowed and withdrew, saying, “Do not disturb the Father-Master.” In the fifth month, the master went to Longyang Abbey in Dexing to escape the summer heat. He sent a poem to the scholar-officials in Yanjing:

Where is the road to immortality? The wondrous realm lies everywhere, north and south, east and west.

Among emerald peaks and clouds, Heaven’s beauty unfolds; in the Cang Sea, phantom cities keep company with wind and rain.

The spirit roams in all eight directions, though the journey be long; when the Dao joins with the Three Pure Ones, the way home cannot be missed.

Even across the Weak Water, three hundred thousand li, a single soaring flight can reach the abodes of immortals.

At that time, the Daoist friends in the capital who exchanged poems with the master included Sun Zhou Chu Qing, Yang Biao Zhongwen, Shi Caiqing, Li Shiqian Zijin, Liu Zhongyong Zhi, Chen Shike Xiuyu, Hao Zhang Deming, Zhao Zhongli Zhengqing, Wang Rui Weiqing, Zhao Fang Dehui, and Sun Xi Tianxi. While staying at Yuxu Abbey, the master often visited them and exchanged poems. Wang Guan Fengchen and Wang Zhi Zaiqingfu also associated with him. Wang Guan lived on the southern slope of Chanfang Mountain. The mountain had many grottoes, where people who studied the Dao and cultivated the authentic Way often lived and practiced.

As he was in harmony with the people around him, the Master joined them on an excursion. As soon as he entered the gorge, he wrote:

“Entering the gorge, I find the leisurely outing especially pleasing. Layer upon layer, the peaks jut out in jagged ranks like the tips of halberds. Before reaching the immortal realm of Penglai, I have already found a Daoist’s dwelling in a cavern abode. Pine cones hang upside down, beaded with autumn rain and dew; a stone tower slants beneath the evening clouds’ rosy glow. I think of my former home on Zhongnan Mountain. Xishan is far away, as if the dream has ended; its distant edge can no longer be seen.”

The scenery there was bright and open. The land sloped southeast, and the view stretched for more than three hundred li. A few li east of the monastery, a spring welled up from level ground. Its water was clear and cool, a delight to behold. The Master often went there to wander and enjoy the view, and wrote:

“After noon, I walk with the wind before me and the sun at my back. Far off, the mountains are veiled by clouds strung across the sky. A thousand households burn with distress in the summer heat, while a clear spring chills me to the bone. News often reaches me as I travel through the northern lands; wandering in the eastern fields, I leave worldly disputes behind for a while. Farmers and herders make room for me by the embankment. After bathing in the stream, I sit among the trees, hair loose and robe open, giving free rein to my reflections on the Dao.”

On the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, the monastery held a Zhaijiao purification ritual. In the afternoon, Fulu talismans and registers and precepts were transmitted. People young and old sat outdoors in the fierce heat, all suffering from the discomfort. Before long, clouds gathered overhead in a rounded canopy and stayed there for a long time without dispersing. Everyone rejoiced and praised the sight again and again.

The monastery’s well normally held enough water for a hundred people. More than a thousand had come this time, and the attendants were discussing where else to find water. Yet for three days in a row, the well suddenly overflowed, providing water without limit. These were blessings from Heaven, elicited by good karmic ties.

After the ritual ended, the Master wrote:

“The Most High, supreme deity of the Daoist tradition, spreads compassion and saves the myriad spirits. Living beings pray for blessings, seeking the aid of the scriptures. The Three Fields, the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, preserve spirit and breath; all things revere the sun, moon, and stars. I know my physical body remains imperfect, and cannot escape the constraints of ritual and precepts to enter the formless realm. For now, I shall observe the Northern Dipper purification rite. The rites of the Southern and Northern Dippers both speak of preserving the Three Fields, spirit, and breath, and of revering the sun, moon, and stars. Thus I proceed step by step to the Fire Refining Court in the Southern Palace.”

In early August, at the invitation of Marshal Yilie of Xuande Prefecture, the Master took up residence at Chaoyuan Monastery.

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, he composed two lyrics in the He Sheng Chao tune.

The first reads: The layers of cloud disperse and settle among the mountain peaks. The distant, lofty sky shows a still, deep green, and the full moon has just become round, like a precious mirror. Its light pours forth, shining through the land of flowing sands and reaching as far as the western sky. People ask what place this is, as though drunk on a dream, among feasting, song, and dance. Yet within the Daoist tradition there is another realm, clear and open, able to awaken the human spirit.

The second reads: In the depths of a celestial grotto, close friends gather, their delight boundless. Riding the force of ascension, they rise into the clouds and arrive at the Palace of Guanghan, where they quietly scatter golden coins. The radiance of numinous emptiness shimmers, and sleepiness vanishes at once; the Jade Rabbit on the moon appears bright and lovely. Sitting in stillness, they forget calculated intent and perceive the original truth, allowing body and mind to move freely throughout the entire Dharma realm. Afterward, the air is clear and tranquil, and the night exceptionally peaceful.

He also composed two quatrains. The first reads: The Milky Way shines bright, and night lies deep. Alone beneath a cold window, a thousand thoughts fall silent. The world’s turmoil of right and wrong cannot reach this place; in the Daoist’s heart there is only ease. The second reads: In the still, deep night, the moon gradually rises. Mountains, rivers, and earth seem utterly free of dust. Only the nature of Dao and De remains, whole and undivided, reaching upward to the Three Heavens and extending through all ages.

Chaoyuan Monastery stands in the northwest corner of the prefectural city. The benefactor, Marshal Yelü Gong, knowing that the Perfected One was about to travel north, built halls to enshrine and install the sacred images, and thoroughly renovated the cloud chambers and grotto rooms at the front and rear. In the tenth month, work began on the paintings on the walls of the Patriarch Hall. Because the weather was cold, the painters planned to stop. The Perfected One would not allow it, saying, “Zou Yan once played his pitch pipes and brought warmth to the depths of winter. Might not the sages of the tiles also be offering their hidden protection?” That month, the weather proved as warm as spring, without any sandstorms, and the painters were able to finish the murals. The Perfected One composed this poem:

In late autumn the north is always bitterly cold;

The wind can move stones, and yellow sand fills the air.

Traveling birds droop their wings and hurry south;

Those on the road grow weary of the long journey north.

I arrived here in the tenth month; the frost was not yet thick.

People marveled that waterways still ran freely among a thousand hills.

Without the warmth of a brief second spring,

How could Heaven have helped the painted hall reach completion?

Not long afterward, Ali Xian came from the encampment of Prince Wochen, bringing an envoy who asked the Perfected One to come.

Then the pacification commissioner Wang Juchuan arrived as well. He said, “I have received the Great King’s command. Hearing that the Realized Person is traveling west, he asks you to stop by on your way.” Qiu Chuji nodded in agreement.

Ali Xian hurried over from the tent of Prince Wochan, carrying an order to invite Qiu Chuji to visit. Then the pacification commissioner Wang Juchuan came again with the same invitation as before, and Qiu Chuji agreed once more.

That month, Qiu Chuji traveled north to view Wang Mountain. When Hechi returned with a memorial, he brought an edict from Emperor Genghis Khan addressed to Qiu Chuji. The edict praised him: “Only the Realized Person’s Daoist virtue and wisdom surpass those of many others. His De is profound, and his reputation has spread far and wide.” It concluded: “The Realized Person’s cloud chariot has already set out from Penglai, and his crane-like carriage can roam as far as India. Bodhidharma traveled east, passing down the Buddhist teaching of transmitting the Dharma from mind to mind; Laozi traveled west and may have transformed into a foreigner and attained the Dao. Though the road is long, looking up toward the Realized Person’s staff, it seems not far away. I therefore write in reply so that you may understand my intentions. The autumn days are hot; I hope the Realized Person has recently been safe and well. I will say no more.” This shows the respect Qiu Chuji received from the emperor.

The emperor also instructed Liu Zhonglu: “Do not let the Realized Person go hungry or suffer hardship. Give him good support and let him come at a leisurely pace.” Qiu Chuji discussed the matter with the envoy: “If we go farther, the weather will already be cold, the sandy roads are long, and the supplies needed by the Daoist community have not yet been prepared. It would be better to go first to Longyang and set out in spring.” The envoy agreed.

On the eighteenth, Qiu Chuji headed south to Longyang. His Daoist companions came to see him off, and many of them wept. Qiu Chuji composed a poem for them: “Even a brief parting in life is painful; an eternal separation after death is harder still to bear. The turmoil of right and wrong in this world unsettles the mind; suffering through the cycle of birth and death is truly difficult to endure.” The next day, he arrived at Longyang Abbey to spend the winter.

On the fourteenth day of the eleventh month, Qiu Chuji was invited to a vegetarian feast at Longyan Temple. He inscribed a poem on the wall west of the main hall: “Leaning on my staff, I seek the hermit in the mountains; I find only a silent, empty mountain, its scenery dim. At night, flying snow blankets the rocky slopes; today, the mountain colors shine against the sky, clear and bright. The heavens are high and the sun warm; a gentle breeze stirs among the pines. My spirit roams in every direction, as if rising into the air, clear and free. I would describe the mountain hermitage as it truly is, but the Daoist’s way of life is hard to express.”

In the edict, “Bodhidharma” refers to the first patriarch of Chan Buddhism, Bodhidharma; “transmitting the Dharma from mind to mind” refers to the transmission of the teaching from master to disciple. “Laozi” refers to Laozi, while “transforming the foreigners” refers to the Daoist legend that Laozi traveled west and transformed the foreigners.

In the twelfth month, Qiu Chuji wrote a poem and sent it to his Daoist friends in Yanjing:

This long journey is truly no easy undertaking;

at this parting, there is surely much left to say.

I cross north over Wild Fox Ridge,

and travel west to the edge of Tianma Township.

There are no mirages above the Yin Mountains,

but between the white grasses lie battlefields.

I lament that I am no sage who has attained the Dao—

how could I compare with those who have traveled through distant, desolate lands?

He also wrote:

If there are farewell poems from the capital,

send them early, while I am leaving the frontier at Longyang.

In years past, we parted in the Shanglin Park,

leaving behind the story of the shoes;

now there is no scene of writing poems with a sweeping brush

and longing for one another in dreams.

He sent another poem to his Daoist friends in Yanjing:

For ten years, warfare has continued without cease,

and the people have suffered grief and hardship.

Among tens of millions, only one or two

have managed to survive.

Last year, I was fortunate to receive the emperor’s edict;

this spring, I must set out through the bitter cold.

I do not fear traveling three thousand li beyond the northern ridges;

my thoughts still dwell on the two hundred prefectures of Shandong.

The people there are in dire straits;

those who escaped execution have barely retained their lives.

I hope they may soon be freed from their troubles.

On the Shangyuan Festival in the xinsi year, Qiu Chuji established an altar at Chaoyuan Monastery in Xuande Prefecture for a Jiao purification ritual and prayer, and composed an ode to instruct the assembly:

At birth, a human being is no more than a mass of foulness.

From it grow the conflicts and calamities that fill the Three Realms—the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm.

Their branches and leaves intertwine, their force knows no end;

they have continued from ancient times to the present, beyond remedy.

On the eighth day of the second month, Qiu Chuji set out. The weather was clear, and his Daoist friends gathered in the western suburbs to see him off. They stopped his horse and wept, saying, “Our Father and Master is going ten thousand li away. When will we be able to behold you again?” Qiu Chuji replied, “If your Daoist hearts remain steadfast, there will surely be a day when we meet again.” They wept and pressed him: “But when will that be?” He said, “Whether I go on or turn back is not something people can arrange. Besides, this journey takes me to a distant foreign land, and no one can be sure whether the roads will be passable.” They said, “Surely Master knows. Please tell us in advance.” Unable to refuse them, Qiu Chuji repeated, “I will return in three years. I will return in three years.”

On the tenth day, Qiu Chuji lodged at Cuipin Pass. The next day, he crossed north over Wild Fox Ridge. From the heights, looking south, he could see the Taihang Mountains below, their mists beautiful in the clear sunlight. Looking north, he saw only cold, sandy ground, withered vegetation, and the Central Plains.

From a high place, looking south, one can see the many mountains around the Taihang range below. On clear days, the mountain mist is light and bright, and the scenery is lovely. Turning to look north, one sees only cold sand and withered grass; from here onward, the landscape is cut off from that of the Central Plain. A Daoist cultivator can be at ease wherever he is.

Song Defang and the others pointed to the white bones on the battlefield and said, “When I return, I should perform a Golden Register liturgy to offer prayers and deliver their souls.” This became one of the things I encountered on my journey north.

Traveling north, I passed Fuzhou, then fifteen days later went northeast past Gailibo. The road ran through hills and saline land until, at last, I came upon a settlement of more than twenty households. To the south lay a sacred pool, stretching toward the northeast. Beyond that there were no more rivers, and most people dug wells through the sand to draw water. For thousands of miles from north to south, there was not a single towering mountain. After five days on horseback, I crossed beyond the Mingchang frontier. I wrote a poem to record what I saw:

Slopes and flats rise and fall in layers, and the road winds on;

Along the way are abandoned plots and pools of standing water.

All day I see no travelers; now and then a horse passes by.

No trees grow on the land, only wild grass;

Natural hills stretch away, but no great mountains rise.

Nothing here can grow the five grains; people live on milk and cheese.

Even in leather tents, sleeping beneath felt, one can be content.

After another six or seven days, I suddenly entered a vast expanse of sand. There were low elms there, with trunks so thick that several people could encircle one. A thousand miles to the northeast, beyond the sandy expanse, there were no trees at all. On the first day of the third month, I emerged from the sand and reached Yuer Luan, where I again found villages with people living together. The local people made their living mostly by farming and fishing. It was already the Qingming season, yet there was little sign of spring, and the ice on the river had not yet broken up and begun to float. I wrote a poem:

The bitter cold of the north has been famous since ancient times;

Even in the third month, ice still lies thick on the sandy wastes.

I must seek out recluses and pursue the far-ranging flight of the swan;

I must also understand the meaning of transformation, from Kun to Peng.

Su Wu was sent north, grief bringing him close to death;

Li Ling gazed south toward home, with no road by which to return.

Now I will follow Lu Ao’s purpose, roaming the four quarters of Heaven and Earth

In search of the highest principle.

On the fifth day of the third month, I set out from there toward the northeast. Settlements lay scattered in every direction, with black carts and white tents; people moved with the water and grass, herding their animals. Across the whole area of Yuanyang, I saw not a single tree. Looking out in every direction, there was only yellow sand and white withered grass, and we continued along the same road. After traveling for more than twenty days, we came at last to a sandy river, whose waters flowed northwest into the Luju River.

The river soaked the horses’ bellies, and many groves of willow grew along its banks. After crossing the Yellow River, we traveled north for three days and entered Xiaoshaliu. On the first day of the fourth month, we arrived at the encampment of Prince Wocheng. The ice had just begun to melt, and the grass was only barely sprouting.

A wedding feast was taking place. Chiefs from within a radius of five hundred li had all brought mare’s milk wine to join the celebration. Thousands of black carts and felt tents stood in rows. On the seventh day, the Perfected Changchun met the prince. The prince asked him how to prolong life and increase longevity. The Perfected One replied, “You must first observe a purification fast; only afterward can you hear the teaching.” They agreed that he would impart it on the fifteenth day. But when the day came, heavy snow was falling, so the teaching did not take place.

The prince said again, “The emperor has sent an envoy on a journey of ten thousand li to invite the Perfected One to come and discuss the Dao. How could I presume to go ahead of the emperor?” He also instructed Ali Xian that, after meeting the emperor, when he returned east, he must make sure the Perfected One passed through here. They agreed once more to hold the teaching on the fifteenth, but heavy snow fell again that day, and the matter was abandoned once more. The prince repeated, “The emperor has sent an envoy on a journey of ten thousand li to invite the Perfected One to come and discuss the Dao. How could I presume to go ahead of the emperor?”

On the seventeenth day, the prince gave the Perfected One more than a hundred cattle and horses and ten carts, and sent him on his way. The party traveled northwest and reached the Luju River on the twenty-second. The river spread out like a sea, extending for several hundred li. Waves and wind cast large fish onto the banks, and each Mongol picked up several. They went west along the river’s southern bank, sometimes gathering and eating wild lotus along the way.

At noon on the first day of the fifth month, a solar eclipse occurred. Stars appeared in the sky for a time; after a while, the sunlight returned. The Perfected One was then on the river’s southern bank. The eclipse began in the southwest, and the light returned in the northeast. Mornings there were cool, and evenings hot. Yellow flowers bloomed abundantly in the grasslands, and the river flowed northeast. Many tall willows grew along both banks, and the Mongols cut willow wood to build houses and felt tents.

After traveling for sixteen days, the river gradually drew away from the mountains to the northwest, and it was no longer possible to follow it to its source. Heading southwest brought them to the Yueriluan post road. The Mongols said happily, “We heard last year that the Father-Master was coming.” They presented five dou of millet. The Perfected Changchun gave one dou of dates in return. The man was delighted and said, “I have never seen anything like this.” Then he danced in thanks and left.

After traveling another ten days, we reached the summer solstice. Measuring the sun’s shadow, we found it to be about three feet and six or seven inches long. We gradually began to see high, steep mountains, and west of here the hills became more numerous. The local population was considerable. People lived in black wagons and white tents, making their living by herding and hunting. They wore leather clothes and ate meat and cheese.

The men tied up their hair and let it hang beside their ears. The women wore hats made of birch bark, about two feet high, usually covered with dark brown or black cloth. Wealthier families dyed the tips red; shaped like the head of a goose or duck, these hats were called “gugu” locally. People were very averse to anyone touching them. When entering or leaving a tent, one had to stoop and lower one’s head.

The people had no written books. They made agreements orally or carved marks into wood as records. When eating, everyone shared the food; when danger arose, they hurried to one another’s aid. They did not refuse a command once given, and were slow to break an agreement they had made. They had preserved customs from ancient times.

Shushi wrote in a poem: “As far as the eye can see, mountains and rivers stretch without end; wind and haze continue unbroken, and the river flows on. Why did the workings of Heaven and Earth open up a place like this, where people come to graze cattle and horses? Their life of eating raw plants and drinking blood seems like that of ancient times, while their hair and hats differ from the dress of the Central Plains. The teachings of sages and worthies have not spread here; people of every age have traveled freely across the land, each living as they pleased.”

After traveling four more stages, we crossed a river to the northwest and came to a plain. The mountains and rivers along its banks were beautiful, and grass and water were plentiful. On both the eastern and western sides were ruins of ancient cities. Their streets and lanes looked almost newly built and remained clearly visible; the style of the buildings resembled that of the Central Plains. There were no inscriptions on the ruins, so their age could not be established. Some said the cities had been built by the Khitans. Later, an old tile was unearthed from the ground, bearing Khitan writing. This suggests that the cities were probably built by Khitan soldiers and civilians who refused to surrender and traveled west when the Liao dynasty fell.

Others said that to the southwest lay the city of Xunsigan, and that the Uyghur lands, ten thousand li away, were the finest place of all. The Khitans had once established their capital there, and seven emperors had ruled in succession.

On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, we reached Songling Ridge and made camp for the night. The pine forest was dense; its trunks rose high into the clouds, and its branches and leaves blocked the sunlight.

The pine and cypress trees grew thickly, towering into the clouds and blocking out the sun. There were many streams and paths in the valleys on the north side of the mountain, but few on the south. On the fourteenth, we crossed the ridge and forded a shallow river. The weather was bitterly cold; even the strong and healthy could hardly endure it. That night we lodged on level ground. When we rose at dawn on the fifteenth, a thin layer of ice had formed all around the tents. On the seventeenth, we stayed on the western side of a ridge. Although summer had just begun, there was still frost in the mornings and evenings. Frost had fallen three times already, and the river looked as if it were frozen in the depths of winter. The local people said that snow often fell here in the fifth and sixth months; this year, fortunately, the weather was warm and clear. Qiu Chuji therefore renamed the mountain “Great Cold Ridge.”

When it rains here, hail often comes with it. The mountain road winds and turns, stretching more than a hundred li to the northwest. Continuing northwest, we eventually came upon level ground. There was a stone river, more than fifty li long, with banks rising over ten zhang on either side. Its clear water was lovely, and as it flowed it rang like jade chimes. Tall green onions, three or four chi high, grew between the cliffs. Pines stood above the mountain stream, each more than ten zhang tall. To the west, ranges of mountains stretched away, their slopes lush with towering pines.

After traveling through the mountains for five or six days, we passed winding peaks and twisting paths, through beautiful, densely wooded hills, with a stream flowing below. On the level ground grew pines, birches, and all kinds of other trees; the place looked as though people lived there. Before long, we climbed a high ridge. The mountain lay across the land like a long rainbow, with sheer cliffs rising steeply. Looking down at the lake below, whose depths could not be seen, made the heart tremble.

On the twenty-eighth, the caravan stopped east of Woliduo. Xuan Xia went ahead to report to the empress, who sent word inviting Qiu Chuji to cross the river. The river flowed northeast; it was broad and deep enough to submerge the axles of the carts, so we could only ford it. After entering the camp, we halted the carts on the south bank. There were more than a thousand cart-tents in the camp, and visitors were served wine, butter, and cheese each day. Han Chinese, Xia people, and the princess all sent food such as cold pastries. One dou of millet could be exchanged for ten liang of silver; fifty liang of silver would buy eighty jin of flour. This place lay more than two thousand li west of the Yin Mountains, and merchants from the Western Regions brought their goods here on camels.

The Han Chinese Princess of Xia rewarded everyone with foods such as cold-season pastries. Each person received a dou of millet and ten taels of silver. Once they had saved fifty taels, they could exchange it for eighty jin of flour. This place lies more than two thousand li west of Yinshan, and merchants from the Western Regions brought these supplies here by a long, roundabout route.

Even in midsummer, there were no flies inside the tents. “Woleduo” means “traveling palace” in Chinese. Seen from afar, the carriages, pavilions, and tents here were orderly and magnificent. Even the great khans of ancient times had never enjoyed such splendor.

On the ninth day of the seventh month, the envoy and I traveled southwest for five or six days. We often saw snow on the mountains, and now and then graves at their foot. From a high point, we also saw the remains of Qishen. After another two or three days, we passed a high mountain with sheer, blade-like peaks and dense growths of pine and fir. There was a lake to the west of the mountain, and a great canyon opened to the south. A river flowed westward. On its northern bank, mixed trees cast shade, while luxuriant chives grew like fragrant herbs, stretching along the road for dozens of li.

To the north stood an old city called “Helacixiao.” We crossed a stretch of sand southwest for about twenty li, where water and grass were scarce. Only after that did we begin to see the Uighurs channeling water to irrigate their wheat fields. After another five or six days, we crossed the mountain ridge and headed south, spending the night at a Mongol encampment. We set out at first light and followed the southern mountain in a winding course, with snow visible on the distant slopes.

I wrote a poem to record this part of the journey: “At that time, Siddha Wukong’s sky was clear; setting out from Song, I first arrived at Yanzi City, which is Fuzhou.” (The lines of the poem are retained as in the original.) It takes about three months to reach the great river to the north. This is the Luju River. We arrived in late April, after traveling more than two thousand li. Reaching the snow-covered land to the west takes about half a year; this is the place meant, where snow lies on the mountains year-round. The Luju River lies about five thousand li to the east, and one can reach it by the end of the seventh month.

The poem also says that I could not perform the Daoist arts of “summoning the wind,” “concealing myself in the earth,” or “climbing among the Dipper stars and hiding in the heavens”—arts that would let me ride the wind, become invisible, or ascend. I could only keep traveling. At the farthest reaches of water and mountains, the slanting sun still sank in the west.

People at the post station told me that the northern side of this snowy mountain was the residence of Tian Zhenhai Balaghasun. “Balaghasun” means “city” in Chinese.

The area had a granary, so it was also known as “Granary Head.” On the twenty-fifth day of the seventh month, many Han Chinese craftsmen arrived one after another to welcome the Perfected One. They all bowed joyfully and led the way with colorful banners, canopies, and flowers. Two of Emperor Zhangzong’s consorts, the Lady Tushan and the Lady Jiagu, as well as Lady Yuanshi, mother of the Han princess, wept as they welcomed him. They said, “We have long heard of your lofty virtue and great reputation. We regret that we have never had the chance to meet you, and never imagined we would see you here.”

The next day, Zhenhai of the Abuhan Mountain Northern Garrison came to pay his respects. The Perfected One told him, “I am already very old. Because the emperor twice issued urgent edicts summoning me, I had no choice but to travel thousands of miles and come to your jurisdiction. People in the desert mostly do not make their living by farming, so I am glad to hear that the autumn harvest here has been completed. I would like to spend the winter here and leave after the emperor returns from his tour. What do you think?”

The imperial envoy Zhonglu said, “Since the Master has already issued his decision, I dare not express approval or disapproval. I ask Lord Zhenhai to consider the matter.” Zhenhai replied, “Recently, officials throughout the region have been advised not to delay the Perfected One’s journey when he passes through, because everyone hopes to meet him as soon as possible. If the Master wishes to stay here, Zhenhai will be held responsible. I am willing to accompany you on the road myself, and I will see that all your needs are attended to.”

The Perfected One said, “In that case, let us choose an auspicious day to set out.” Zhenhai said, “Ahead are high, steep mountains and broad, low-lying wetlands; carts cannot pass through. It would be best to leave the caravan behind and continue on light horses.” The Perfected One accepted his advice. He left nine disciples behind, including Song Dao’an, to choose a site and build a Daoist temple. The local people had not been summoned, yet came of their own accord: the able-bodied offered their labor, craftsmen contributed their skills, and the wealthy donated money and goods.

The sanctuary had a main hall (a hall in a temple or monastery for enshrining divine images, holding Zhaijiao purification rituals, or receiving guests). A kitchen stood to the east and a reception hall to the west, while Yunfang (rooms where Daoist practitioners lived or meditated in seclusion) stood on either side. The buildings were made of earth and timber and were completed in less than a month. They were named Qixia Monastery.

At the time, the millet and broomcorn millet in the fields had not yet been harvested. Frost fell in early August, and the local residents, worried about frost damage, hurried to bring in the wheat. A strong wind blew from the western side of the northern mountains. Yellow sand darkened the sky, obscuring even the surrounding landscape. Qiu Chuji (Perfected Changchun) composed a poem in lament:

“I, Qiu Chuji, am a wanderer across the four quarters, long lost from the proper path and roaming amid dust and toil. Now my white hair grows as I age, yet I must still journey far across the yellow sands. As long as I have not died, let me continue to see the world. In the days I have left, I have no chance to enjoy a life of natural ease. I have traveled among all the famous mountains and peaks. Once I can soar up in all eight directions, I will enter the realm of the immortals.”

On the eighth day, Qiu Chuji set out with Master Xujing, Zhao Jiugu, and ten other disciples. They were accompanied by two carts and more than twenty Mongol relay riders. Liu Gong, the imperial envoy, and Chancellor Zhenhai joined them with another hundred cavalrymen. They traveled west along the great mountain. Zhenhai’s attendant, Li Jiannu, said, “When I passed below this mountain before, a mountain spirit cut off the hair at the back of my head. I was terrified.” Zhenhai added that King Naiman had once been bewitched by a mountain spirit here and treated to a lavish meal. On hearing this, Qiu Chuji remained silent and did not reply.

After traveling southwest for about three days, they turned southeast and passed a great mountain and a gorge within it. In autumn, they reached a place northeast of Jinshan. After a brief rest, they continued south. The mountain slopes were steep, and the valley road was narrow and rugged, impassable for carts. The Third Prince sent soldiers to clear a path. A hundred cavalrymen then used ropes to haul the cart shafts uphill, and tied the wheels to lower the carts down. After about four stretches of travel, they crossed three mountain ridges in succession. Emerging on the southern side of the mountains, they came to a river and stopped. The accompanying officials joined their tents together to make camp. Taking advantage of the water and pasture, they waited there for the relay station to send oxen and mounted couriers. Several days later, they continued their journey.

Qiu Chuji composed three quatrains. One reads:

“In August, the cold wind is crisp; at dusk, the blue sky is clear. I long to sing of the beautiful scene before me, but lack the talent for poetry. I can only gaze at Jinshan and admire the bright moon.”

The second reads:

“To the south of Jinshan flows a great river, its channel winding and twisting, perfectly suited to admiring this clear autumn scene. The autumn waters…”

There are three quatrains. The first says: The cold wind of the eighth month makes the weather especially crisp, yet at dusk the clear blue sky is almost too much to bear. I wish to compose a poem praising this scene, but my inspiration fails me; I can only gaze in silence at Jinshan and the bright moonlight.

The second says: A great river flows south of Jinshan, winding along a course that is perfect for admiring the clear autumn scenery. Autumn waters, evening light, and the moon above the mountain all enter my sight. Alone, I chant softly and give a long shout, as though facing a luminous pearl in the night.

The third says: Though Jinshan is high and imposing, it does not stand alone. Mountains stretch around it, like feet firmly planted. The ridge runs broad across the land, while trees rise high along the mountain’s slopes, blotting out the sky and sun. The wind seems to howl in a contest with itself.

Crossing the river southward, we first passed a small hill scattered with stones of five colors. No grass grew beside it, and the mountain range stretched for seventy li from end to end. Then two red mountains blocked the way. After another thirty li, we reached a salt flat. There was a small sandy well in the ground, so we stopped to draw water and eat. Grass grew beside the well, where sheep and horses often trampled it.

The envoy, who had been sent to deliver an imperial edict, and Zhenhai discussed the matter: “This is the hardest stretch of the route. What does the minister intend to do?” The minister replied, “I have known about this place for a long time.” Everyone went together to seek the master’s advice. The minister told him that ahead lay the White Bone Plain, an open waste strewn with black stones. It was more than two hundred li across, and only beyond it would they reach the sandy flats. Some water and grass could be found north of those flats. Beyond them stretched another sandy expanse, over a hundred li long and of unknown breadth—perhaps thousands of li from east to west. Water and grass would not be found again until they reached the Uyghur city.

The master asked, “What kind of place is the White Bone Plain?” The minister replied, “It is an ancient battlefield. When an exhausted army reaches it, hardly one in ten returns alive. It is a place of no return. Some time ago, it was still piled with human bones, and a great army was defeated in that region. In broad daylight, people and horses often grow exhausted and collapse. Only by setting out at dusk and traveling through the night can one get halfway across. Near midday the next day, they can reach a place with water and grass. After a short rest, they set off again at dusk. Crossing the sand ridges, which extend for more than a hundred li, feels like sailing through towering waves. Then, sometime between the Chen and Si hours the following day—about seven to eleven in the morning—they can reach the city.”

“Traveling at night is ideal, but I fear the darkness may be so deep that demons and spirits will cause trouble. We have always smeared horse blood on the horses’ heads to ward off evil.”

The master smiled and said, “Evil spirits, demons, and ghosts naturally keep their distance when they encounter an upright person. They are all mentioned in the biographies of ancient books—who could not know that? Why should the Daoist worry about this?” At dusk, the party continued on its way. The oxen were already exhausted, so everyone switched to walking and used six horses to pull the carts. From then on, they never again used oxen to draw them.

At first, north of Shalu, they looked south and saw what seemed to be a silvery bank of clouds on the horizon. The master asked his companions what it was, but none could say. “It must be the Yin Mountains,” he said. The next day, after crossing Shalu, they asked local people and learned that this was indeed the case. So the master composed a poem along the way:

“From afar, it looks like clouds piled high,

Pale and white as sand—who can tell if sight deceives?

Gradually, the mountain peaks appear heaped with jade dust;

At the foot of the range, a silver glow shines through.

Stretching across the sky like a single horizontal stroke, it runs for a thousand miles;

Its light falls on the earth, reaching cities and countless homes.

From ancient times to the present, it has never changed;

I set it down in verse, praising it to the far south.”

On the twenty-seventh day of the eighth month, the party reached the far side of the Yin Mountains. Uyghurs, a people who in ancient times lived in the Western Regions, came to greet them outside the town. When they arrived north of the small city, the chieftain hosted a feast, serving grape wine, choice fruit, flatbread, and scallions. He also tore off a piece of Persian cloth, a foot long, and gave it to them. The chieftain said, “This is the Yin Mountains. Hezhou lies three hundred li ahead. The weather there is very hot, and grapes are plentiful.”

The next day, the party traveled west past Michuan and then two more small cities, both of them inhabited. The grain and wheat were just ripening, and the crops depended entirely on spring water for irrigation, since little rain fell in autumn. Farther west lay the great city of Biesima. Several hundred members of the royal family, officials, commoners, monks, and Daoists came out in an orderly procession to welcome them from afar. The monks all wore russet robes, while the Daoists’ clothing and headwear differed from those of the Central Plains. The party stayed in a pavilion beside a vineyard west of the city. Members of the Uyghur royal family hosted a banquet and urged them to drink grape wine, treating them to unusual flowers, assorted fruits, and fragrant incense.

In the region, dwarf performers presented their skills along with music and dance. The performers were all from the Central Plain. The local scholars and common people respected them more and more each day. Among those seated with them were monks, Daoist priests, and Confucian scholars. The master asked about local customs, and they replied, “In the Tang dynasty, this place was Beiting Duan Prefecture. In the third year of the Jinglong era (709), Lord Yang served as Chief Protector. He governed well, winning the willing support of people from every group, and his kindness benefited later generations. We still enjoy his blessings today. At Longxing West Temple there are two stone steles recording his merits; their inscriptions remain clear to this day. The temple also preserves a Buddhist scripture. Remains of Tang-era frontier towns can still often be seen in this area.”

The locals added, “Several hundred li to the east lies Xiliang Prefecture; more than three hundred li to the west is Shutai County.” The master asked, “How much farther must we travel to reach the imperial residence, where the emperor is staying?” They replied, “Continue southwest for more than ten thousand li.”

That night, wind and rain raged. Outside the garden stood a large tree, and the master wrote a poem for everyone to see:

“Lodging beneath the Yin Mountains at night,

the night is still and cold.

Dark clouds weigh upon the vast sky;

the great tree’s branches and leaves rustle.

The road stretches far, a full ten thousand li;

though it is the third month of winter, the weather is mild.

Let go of your whole self,

and drift with the wind like an uprooted tumbleweed.”

On the second day of the ninth month, they set out westward. On the fourth, they lodged east of Luntai. A chief of the local Diexie tribe came to welcome them. Looking south, they saw three peaks of the Yin Mountains rise sharply, thrusting into the clouds. The master then composed a poem and presented it to the scholar Li Boxiang:

“Three peaks stand side by side,

their chill reaching straight into the clouds;

mountain walls stretch in every direction,

while distant ravines wind and turn.

Snowy ridges merge with the horizon,

beyond the reach of human footsteps;

an icy pool reflects the sunlight,

a sight few ordinary people ever see.

They say that gazing at this icy pool for too long

can leave the mind and spirit clouded.

The mountain rocks are steep and deep,

a refuge from the calamities of war;

the cliffs are rugged and secure,

and those who hold them in troubled times escape disaster.

Water is plentiful at the mountain’s foot,

enough to irrigate the crops;

each autumn, the harvest yields grain.

This famous mountain guards the north,

and stands unrivaled—

yet no one can paint it

so that others may see.”

The original repeats passages about the icy pool, refuge from war, and irrigation; the translation combines them according to their meaning.

The scenic wonders north of Changbali City are said to be the finest in the world; no one could capture them completely in a painting. After passing through two more cities, they reached the Uyghur city of Changbali on the ninth day of the ninth month. The local king, Weiwu’er, had long been on friendly terms with Zhenhai. He led the various tribes and Uyghur monks on a long journey to welcome them into the city.

After entering the city, the party ate a vegetarian meal on a raised platform. The king’s wife then urged them to drink grape wine and offered them watermelon. The watermelons were so large they had to be weighed on a scale, and the muskmelons were as big as pillows. Their fragrance and flavor were unlike anything found in the Central Plains. The vegetables in the gardens, however, were the same as those in the Central Plains. A monk came to sit with them, and the interpreter asked what scriptures he studied. The monk said that he had shaved his head, entered the religious life, and taken the precepts, making the Buddha his teacher. Everything east of this place had once belonged to the Tang dynasty, he said, so there were no Daoist priests in the west. The Uyghurs worshipped only the Buddha lands of the west.

The next day, they traveled west along the Yin Mountains. After about ten days, they crossed a desert. Its sand was very fine and shifted with the wind, surging together and scattering like waves startled into motion. Not a blade of grass grew there. The carts bogged down and the horses struggled to move. It took them a full day and night to get across. This great desert was an offshoot of the White Bone Basin sands, stretching south all the way to the foot of the Yin Mountains. They traveled through the sandy country for another five days, then spent the night north of the Yin Mountains.

At dawn the next day, they headed south, covering a distance of seventy or eighty li before stopping for the night at dusk. The weather was bitterly cold, and there was no water. Early the following morning, they traveled about twenty li southwest and suddenly came upon a vast lake, nearly two hundred li around. Snowcapped peaks encircled it, their slopes reflected in the water. Qiu Chuji named it “Heavenly Lake.”

Directly south of Heavenly Lake lay a mountain gorge, its steep slopes lined with dense pines and birches. The trees stood over a hundred feet tall, and countless thousands grew from the mountaintops to the valley floor. Many streams converged in the gorge, rushing and surging, winding and twisting for some sixty or seventy li. When the Second Prince led his army west on campaign, he had roads cut through the rock and trees felled to build bridges. In all, forty-eight bridges were built, each wide enough for carts to pass side by side. At dusk, they lodged in the gorge.

The next day, they finally emerged from the gorge and entered a broad valley running from east to west. There the water and grass were lush, and the weather was as warm as spring. Some mulberry and jujube trees grew there, too. They then continued on their way.

On the twenty-seventh day of the ninth month, we arrived at the city of Alima. The king of the Sapu Suman country—that is, the Muslim realm—and the Mongol Tashuqi came with people from the various tribes to welcome us. We stayed in an orchard west of the city. The local people call fruit “alima,” and since fruit grows abundantly here, the city was named after it.

A cloth called “tuluma” is made here. The local people say it is woven from sheep’s wool. We obtained seven bolts at the time and used them to make warm clothing. The wool resembles the willow fluff of China: it is white and soft, and can be spun into thread, twisted into cord, woven into cloth, or used as padding. Local farmers also dig channels to bring water to their fields, but ordinary people draw water with jars and carry them home on their heads. When they saw the water-drawing devices of the Central Plains, they exclaimed, “The Taohua Shi”—their name for the Han people—“make all sorts of ingenious things.”

Qiu Chuji came here from Jinshan and wrote a poem describing what he had seen along the way:

East of Jinshan and west of Yinshan, deep ravines wind among countless peaks and valleys. Jumbled rocks beside the streams block the way; since ancient times, carts and horses could not pass. Some years ago, when the army set out on campaign, two princes built roads and bridges across the streams. The Third Prince repaired Jinshan, and the Second Prince repaired Yinshan. This year I travel west, with carts and horses rumbling, and pass through here once more.

Silver-colored mountains and iron-like cliffs rise in overlapping ranks; people scramble to climb them, revealing the grandeur of the terrain. At sunrise, looking out from the mountains, one seems close to the vast sea; on a moonlit night, climbing high, one seems able to reach the River of Heaven. Towering pines stand straight as pipes, more than a hundred feet tall. Thousands upon thousands grow together, dense and green; the forest is so quiet that not a bird can be heard.

The mountain paths here wind like sheep’s intestines, and the terrain is steep enough to surpass the Taihang Mountains, though on the whole it is fairly ordinary. Two carts jolt up and down, struggling forward; the many horsemen riding ahead and behind are also alarmed and uneasy. At the mountaintop lies a lake as broad as the sea, its hundred-mile expanse reflecting everything like a bright mirror. The carts and horses descend the precipitous eastern slope as if suspended in midair, then come down from the west, passing over forty-eight bridges, each with a drop of ten thousand fathoms beneath it.

The mountains across Henan and north of the sea stretch on without end. Their appearance changes in countless ways, though their general scale is much the same.

No mountain is as strange and magnificent as this one. Its layered rocks rise steeply and towering, as if carved by divine hands. Above the summit, a hundred li of clear sky stretches like a mirror, holding countless scenes within it. Carriages and horses descend from the mountain toward the east and west, crossing forty-eight bridges, beneath which ravines seem unfathomably deep. The mountains around Henan and Haibei stretch without end, taking countless forms, yet each has its own scale. None is more extraordinary than this one, with its sheer, soaring rocks, as if shaped by divine hands.

I arrived here in the eighth or ninth month, when snow had already settled above the mountainside. In front of the mountain, the vegetation was warm as spring; behind it, the cold was like iron. The scenery I have seen over the past several days has been even more magnificent than before.

After traveling west for another four days, we reached the Taisi Sumolian River (where “molian” means river). Deep and wide, it flows from the east toward the northwest, cutting across the Yin Mountains. South of the river lies another range of snow-covered mountains. On the second day of the tenth month, we crossed the river by boat. Heading south, we came to a great mountain, with a small town on its northern side.

After traveling west for another five days, an imperial envoy arrived with an edict to meet the Master. He said they were not far from the imperial encampment, and went ahead to report their arrival. Duke Zhenhai remained behind alone to accompany the Master. After another seven days of travel west, we crossed a mountain to the southwest and encountered an envoy from Eastern Xia returning. The envoy paid his respects before the Master’s tent, and the Master asked when he had set out and when he had gone to make his report. The envoy replied, “I left the court on the twelfth day of the seventh month. The emperor was leading troops in pursuit of Sultan Khan, as far as India. The next day, heavy snow fell, and we reached a small Uyghur town. The snow lay a foot deep, but melted as soon as the sun came out. On the sixteenth, we came upon a plank bridge to the southwest and crossed the river. By evening, we had reached the foot of the southern mountains.”

The Southern Mountain mentioned here is the great stone mountain of Lingya, the title of the Liao nobleman Yelü Dashi; “Lingya” was an official title. Yelü Dashi was a scholar of the Liao dynasty, known by the title Lingya, and his name was Dashi. After Jin forces defeated the Liao, he led several thousand people northwest. Only after migrating for more than ten years did they reach this place.

The local climate and customs differ from those north of the Jin Mountains. There is much flat land, and the people chiefly farm and raise silkworms. They make wine from grapes, and the fruits are the same as in China. Yet there is almost no rain in summer and autumn, so people dig canals to draw water for irrigation, allowing the crops to ripen. Mountains lie to the northeast and southwest; mountains are on the left and a river on the right. The realm extends for ten thousand li, and its line of rule has endured for nearly a hundred years.

Then the people of Naman, who had submitted to the great Shi Ma, grew powerful again and took possession of that land. Later, Chouduan expanded westward and seized his territory. When the Celestial Army arrived, Naman was quickly destroyed, and Chouduan also fell.

Hearing that the road ahead was full of dangers, and as one of the carts had happened to break down, they left it there. Eighteen days later, the party traveled west along the mountains. After seven or eight days, the mountain range suddenly turned south, and a stone city blocked their way. Its stones were all red, and traces of a garrison remained there. West of the city stood a large tomb, shaped like the seven stars of the Northern Dipper joined together.

The party then crossed a stone bridge and followed a mountain road to the southwest for five stages, arriving at Seilan City, where there was a small pagoda. The Uighur king came to welcome them and arranged lodgings for them. In early November, heavy rain fell for several days. On the fourth day, the local people observed New Year’s Day and exchanged greetings around noon.

That day, Master Xujing, Zhao Jiugu, said to Lord Yin, “I followed my master during the Xuande era. Even then, I sensed that I was destined for a long departure, and I had grown weary of the hardships of travel. My master once taught me: those who cultivate the Dao do not let life or death shake their resolve, nor do they take suffering or pleasure to heart. Wherever they go, they can remain at ease. Now the time for my return is near. You must serve your father and master well.” A few days later, he showed signs of illness and died, probably on the fifth day of the eleventh month. The master instructed his disciples to bury Jiugu in the open country east of the city, then continued southwest.

After traveling for three more days, they reached a city. Its ruler was also a Uighur and was already very old. He received them according to custom and treated everyone to tangbing, a kind of soup with dough pieces. The next day, the party passed through another city. Two days later, they came to a river called Huo Chan Meinian. They crossed by floating bridge and stopped on the western bank. An official in charge of the river crossing presented Lord Tian with a fish that had a large mouth and no scales.

The river rises between two great snow-covered mountains to the southeast. Its waters are muddy and fast-flowing, several fathoms deep, and rush northwestward for thousands of miles, though no one knows how far. A bridge crossed the Huo Chan Meinian River, and the party used it to reach the western bank, where they stopped. The official in charge of the crossing presented Lord Tian with a fish, large-mouthed and without scales.

The river rises between two great snow mountains in the southeast. Its water is muddy and swift, several fathoms deep, and pours northwestward for thousands of miles, no one knows how many. For more than two hundred miles to the southwest of the river, there is neither water nor pasture, so travelers can make their way only at night. Afterward, the great snow mountains to the south come into view once more. The mountain ranges to the west join end to end with those south of Xiemigan, the place now around Samarkand.

Another poem says:

The wondrous, rugged grandeur of Heaven and Earth’s creation is beyond description; peaks stand in rows to east and west, as though formed by nature itself.
To the south stretches Mount Yujiao, its lofty ridges linked together; to the north, the Jinsha River lies below, with broad, level plains.
Springs abound beneath the mountains, nourishing the land deeply; the peaks reach straight into the clouds, exceptionally clear and bright.
I have traveled ten thousand miles, usually too indolent to speak; yet here I cannot help but give myself over to poetry.

They next came to a city where, at last, water and pasture were available for supplies. When they passed another city, a Uyghur leader came out from afar to meet them and hosted a banquet south of the city. He offered grape wine and had children perform a dance with knives, holding green staffs in their hands.

After passing two more cities, they traveled for half a day through the mountains and entered a broad plain open to north and south. They spent the night beneath a large mulberry tree whose shade could cover a hundred people. Continuing on to a city, they found beside the road a well more than a hundred feet deep. An elderly Uyghur man drove an ox cart to draw water and give it to thirsty travelers. When the emperor was campaigning in the west, he saw this and was struck by it, so he ordered that the old man be exempted from taxes and corvée labor.

On the eighteenth day of midwinter, the party crossed the great river and reached a point north of the great city of Xiemisigan. Grand Preceptor Duke Yila, together with Mongol and Uyghur leaders, brought wine and came out to meet them in the countryside. They erected a large tent and held a banquet, so the party halted there. Envoy Liu, delayed by the impassable road, remained at the banquet and reported to Qiu Chuji, the Perfected Man of Changchun: “I have just learned that a great river lies a thousand miles ahead. It must be crossed by boat or bridge, but local bandits have already destroyed the crossing. Deep winter has now set in, and it seems best for the Master to wait until next spring before going to pay his respects.” Qiu Chuji accepted his advice. Before long, the party entered the city through its northeast gate.

The city was built along the banks of a ravine, and in autumn and summer it often received no rain. The people brought water from two rivers into the city, then channeled it into the streets and lanes so every household could use it. Before Chouduan’s clan fell, the city had more than one hundred thousand households. After it was captured, only a quarter of the population remained.

Most of the people here are Uighurs. They cannot own farmland and pastures independently, but must live under the protection of Han Chinese, Khitans, Hexi people, and others. Local officials come from different ethnic groups, while Han Chinese craftsmen live scattered throughout the city.

Within the city stands a hill more than ten zhang high, with the new palace of the Sartaqtai clan built atop it. The Grand Preceptor had lived there before, but later moved to the north bank of the river because the Uighurs were short of food and there were many bandits; he feared unrest might break out. The Perfected of Eternal Spring (Qiu Chuji) then moved into the palace and remarked, “A Daoist lets things follow their natural course and lives freely. Even with a blade at his head, he has nothing to fear. Since the bandits have not yet arrived, why worry in advance? Good and evil each follow their own way and do not necessarily harm one another.” His attendants felt reassured when they heard this.

The Grand Preceptor held a vegetarian feast in honor of the Perfected of Eternal Spring and offered him ten lengths of gold brocade, but the Perfected declined. After that, the Grand Preceptor sent him rice, flour, salt, oil, fruit, vegetables, and other provisions every month, and his respect for him grew day by day. When local officials noticed that the Perfected drank very little wine, they asked someone to brew wine from a hundred jin of grapes. The Perfected said, “Why must they be made into wine? Just bring the grapes here; they will be enough to serve guests.” The grapes kept well through the winter without spoiling.

The Perfected also saw peacocks and elephants, brought from India, thousands of li to the southeast. In his leisure, he wrote a poem:

“Setting out in the second month, my journey ended only in the tenth;

I traveled west to the great city of the Uighurs.

The tall tower’s thirteenth level cannot be seen;

Its brick and stone carvings are finely wrought.

Outside the tower there are no tiers of enclosing galleries,

Yet inside, one can pass through.

The mountains stretch away, as if already ten million layers deep.

In autumn, elephants can still be released in the countryside;

In summer, clouds rise, and dragons always follow them.

Eating fresh vegetables and wheat meal, drinking grape wine,

I eat my fill, sleep in peace, and quietly nurture a leisurely disposition.”

After the Perfected of Eternal Spring had spent the winter there, the imperial envoy—a messenger sent to deliver an edict—and Helashi, sent by Chancellor Zhenhai, traveled with a group of emissaries and several hundred armored troops, scouting the road ahead.

People often came from Han Chinese settlements to take refuge with him, placing themselves under his guidance and following his Way. At the time, a man nearby who knew how to calculate the calendar was present. The Perfected One asked him what had happened during the solar eclipse on the first day of the fifth month. The man replied, “Here, the eclipse began at the hour of Chen and ended when six tenths of the Sun had been covered.” The Perfected One said, “Earlier, when I was at Luju River, I saw the Sun completely covered at the hour of Wu. Farther southwest, at Jin Mountain, people said the eclipse occurred at the hour of Si and covered at most seven tenths of the Sun. What people see differs from place to place.”

The Perfected One then cited Kong Yingda’s Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, which explains the Annals: “When the Moon’s body covers the Sun, a solar eclipse occurs.” By present-day calculations, it seems that only those directly beneath the eclipse can see the Sun completely covered. For people nearby, what they see gradually differs with distance, even across a thousand li. It is like using a fan to block a lamp: where the fan’s shadow falls, there is no light; the farther one is from the obstruction, the more of the lamplight can be seen.

One day, while in the palace, the Perfected One wrote two lyrics entitled “The Parasitic Phoenix Perches on the Wutong Tree” on a wall. The first says: A spark of numinous awareness quietly opens the way to understanding. Neither in Heaven nor among humankind can its traces be seen. Though I travel to the four seas and every corner of the world, I still walk alone. It is neither emptiness nor something real—who can see it? In a blink, in the lift of an eyebrow, the whole truth is revealed. Heaven and Earth are vast and formless; the Dharma Realm, the total sphere in which all things abide, rises beyond them. After countless kalpas of rebirth, this one encounter finally comes; the Nine Mysteries, the realms of the netherworld and often the ancestors, ascend together along the path to the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), Daoism’s highest realm.

The second says: The Sun and Moon turn without cease, never coming to rest. Spring passes and autumn arrives; how many rises and falls has the world witnessed? The Five Emperors and Three Sovereigns passed through hundreds and thousands of years, while dynasties and worldly affairs have repeatedly risen and declined. The dead are born again, and the living die in turn; when will the cycles of life and death and the transformations of all things end? Unless one reaches a state of no mind and no thought, resting at ease, one cannot be purified and freed from it all.

The Perfected One also wrote two poems. The first says: From the Eastern Sea to Western Qin, I have wandered for decades; I devote myself to investigating the Dao and De, and the profound mysteries. I eat only once a day, not to satisfy my hunger; deep in the night, I still force myself to stay awake. The actual fruits of cultivation have yet to appear, while my name has spread in vain to Shuofang, the northern frontier. Only when the great state issued a clear decree did I journey ten thousand li, crossing the sands to reach this distant borderland.

The poem says: In my youth, I traveled along the coast in search of those who had attained the Dao. In middle age, I withdrew to the heights of Long Mountain. After parting in Henan, I climbed Yellow Magpie Mountain; beyond the frontier in the north, I spoke again of fishing for the giant ao. The mountains and rivers stretch so far that one can never finish the journey. Whatever one sets out to do brings worry and weariness to the heart. I know, too, that between Heaven and Earth there are three thousand great chiliocosms, but without supernatural powers, one can never ultimately transcend them.

As the intercalary twelfth month of that year drew to a close, the scouting horsemen returned and reported to the Master together with the official envoy: the Second Crown Prince had already sent out troops, begun repairing the boats and bridges, and put down the local rebellion. He Ci and the others went to the camp to pay their respects to the Crown Prince and said that the Master wished to go and pay his respects to the emperor. The Crown Prince sent word again: “His Majesty is encamped southeast of the Great Snow Mountain. The mountain roads are now blocked by snow, with drifts stretching for more than a hundred li and lying too deep to cross. That is the route to His Majesty’s encampment. Please invite the Master to come here and wait for a suitable opportunity. When he arrives, I will send Mongol troops from the city to escort him.”

The Master said to the official envoy: “I hear that for a thousand li south of the Yellow River, nothing is being grown or raised. I need rice, flour, and vegetables for my meals. Please return and report this to the Crown Prince.”

In the spring of the Renwu year, the bianlan trees began to flower. Their blossoms resembled small peach flowers. When the fruit was picked in autumn, it tasted even better than walnuts. By the second day of the second month, at the Spring Equinox, the apricot blossoms had already fallen. Judge Li, an official of the Astronomical Bureau, and others invited the Master to visit the western outskirts of the city. The official envoy and several officials went along by boat and brought grape wine. The day was clear and bright, and the flowers and trees looked fresh. Pavilions, ponds, and towers lined the route. The group asked about the vegetable gardens, and when they stopped to rest, they sat together on the ground, all in good spirits. They discussed the mysteries of the Dao and its principles, at times raising their cups to drink. They did not return until the sun had begun to sink in the west. The Master composed this poem:

The Yin Mountains stretch five thousand li to the west; twenty stages eastward from Great Stone City. The rain and snow have just ceased, yet the distant snow mountains still look vast and indistinct. At the Spring Equinox, Hefu is already nearing the Qingming season. Samarkand is a great city, and Great Stone has its own realm; at that time, this place was called Hefu. The gardens are quiet, and even the crows make no sound. Though flowers and trees flourish, not a bird is in sight. In the spring, gentle winds and warm sunlight make the flowers seem full of feeling. Those who share the same aspirations have come here for a brief outing and a look around. After reciting poems to their hearts’ content, they return, awaiting peace throughout the land.

On the fifteenth day, the “Hundred-and-Fifth Day” of the second lunar month, the Festival of the Primordial Origin of the Highest One, the officials accompanying the party invited the Perfected One to tour the western outskirts of the city once more. Gardens stretched there for more than a hundred li, with scenery rarely matched even in the Central Plains. Yet the place was utterly quiet, and not a bird could be heard. The Perfected One therefore composed two poems for those who had toured with him.

The first poem reads: “In mid-spring, the Hundred-and-Fifth Day arrives; the spirit of the Mysterious Origin descends among humankind, and the days seem long. On nights of bright moonlight and gentle breeze, or when clouds disperse and rain lets up, the scenery is especially lovely. The gardens are so vast that one cannot walk to their end; flowers and trees fill the view, and even sitting to admire them brings fresh delight. I have not yet taken up fasting practice and withdrawn from the world. For now, I would rather follow the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and enjoy the pleasures before me in this world.”

The second poem reads: “The ancient sites in these distant lands remain vivid before our eyes, and my Han companions wish to visit them one by one. Old pavilions stand everywhere, while the flowers and plants of years past renew themselves with the seasons. The lovely scene seems to know how to keep its visitors here, but as the sun sets, how can it fail to urge us on our way? I privately think that life is short; better to go beyond the heavens and drink the wine of everlasting spring.”

In early spring, Ali Xian came from the traveling palace to the Perfected One’s residence and conveyed the imperial decree: “The Perfected One has come a long way from the land where the sun rises, crossing mountains and rivers, and has endured great hardship. Now that I have returned, I very much wish to hear you expound the Dao as soon as possible. Do not think it troublesome to come and receive me.” The emperor then said to the envoy Zhonglu: “You carried out my decree to summon the Perfected One to my satisfaction. In the future, I will find you a fine place.” He also said to Zhenhai: “You escorted the Perfected One here and have labored greatly. I commend you.” The emperor further ordered Wanhu Boluzhi to lead a thousand armored soldiers in escorting the Perfected One through the Iron Gate.

The Perfected One asked Ali Xian about the route. Ali Xian replied: “We set out from here on the thirteenth day of the first month and rode for three days, heading southeast through the Iron Gate. After five more days, we crossed the great river. Around the first day of the second month, we headed southeast over a great snow mountain. The snow lay very deep: even from horseback, probing it with a whip, one could not reach halfway down. Where the horses’ hooves had trodden, the snow was still more than five chi deep.”

They traveled south for three days and reached the imperial lodge. After arriving, the Master submitted his memorials in order. The Emperor said, “Stay a few more days before returning.” The Master therefore left behind his disciples, including Master Yin (Yin Zhiping), along with several members of his party. With the imperial messenger, the official charged with conveying the Emperor’s orders, the group numbered five or six. On the fifteenth day of the third month, they set out.

After four days of travel, they passed through Jieshi City. An imperial decree had already been issued ordering the myriarch Buruji to escort them through the Iron Gate with a thousand Mongol and Uyghur soldiers. As they climbed southeast over the mountains, the slopes were steep and strewn with boulders. The soldiers pulled the carts for two days before reaching the foot of the mountains. The river flowed south, while the army went north into the mountains to suppress bandits. On the fifth day they came to a small river, which the party also crossed by boat; trees grew thickly along both banks. On the seventh day, the boats crossed a great river in the area of the Awu Mobei River. They then traveled southeast and, by evening, reached an ancient canal.

Reeds grew thickly beside the canal, unlike those of the Central Plains. The larger reeds stayed green through the winter without their leaves withering. The travelers took some for walking sticks and laid them beneath the cart shafts at night; even when the shafts pressed down on them, they did not break. The smaller reeds shed their leaves, then put out fresh ones in spring. Farther south, the mountains held thick, sturdy bamboo, which the soldiers made into weapons such as halberds and spears. They also saw lizards about three feet long, dark blue-green in color.

It was the twenty-ninth day of the third month. The Master composed a poem:

“Though I have not yet succeeded in seeking the Dao, the demons of heaven are deeply afraid. I set out from the eastern sea and gazed west toward the place where the sun goes down. Along the way, I heard neither parrots nor barking dogs; horses and oxen took turns serving as post transport. I have crossed a thousand mountains and ten thousand rivers, yet do not know where I am.”

After four more days of travel, they finally reached the place where the Emperor had halted his progress. The Emperor sent the minister Helabode to welcome them; it was the fifth day of the fourth month. Once their lodging had been arranged, the Master entered the palace for an audience. The Emperor praised him, saying, “Other countries have summoned and invited you, but you never agreed to go. Now you have traveled ten thousand li to come here, and I greatly admire you.”

The Perfected One of Changchun (the Quanzhen Daoist Qiu Chuji) replied, “I am a man of the mountains and wilds. I have come here in answer to your summons; it is Heaven’s will.” The emperor was delighted and invited him to take a seat. During the meal, the emperor asked, “Perfected One, you have come a long way. Do you have any medicine for long life and immortality to bestow on me?” The Perfected One of Changchun replied, “I know ways to care for the body, but I have no medicine for long life and immortality.” The emperor admired his honesty and ordered two tents to be set up east of the imperial tent for him to live in.

The interpreter asked, “People call the Perfected One ‘Tengchili Menggukong,’ which in Chinese means ‘Heavenly Being.’ Is this a title you gave yourself, or do others call you this?” The Perfected One of Changchun replied, “A man of the mountains and wilds would not give himself such a title. Others call me that.” The interpreter asked again, “What did they call you in the past?” The Perfected One replied, “I once served Master Chongyang and studied the Dao with four other men from the mountains and wilds. Three of them have already ‘transformed into immortals’—a Daoist expression meaning that they attained the Dao and departed this world. I alone remained among the living, so people called me ‘Master.’”

The emperor asked Zhenhai, “How should we address the Perfected One respectfully?” Zhenhai replied, “Some honor him as a master or a Perfected One; others call him an immortal.” The emperor said, “From now on, call him an immortal.”

At that time the weather was very hot, and the emperor’s entourage was camped at Snow Mountain to escape the heat. The emperor arranged to ask the Perfected One of Changchun about the Dao on the fourteenth day of the fourth month. He ordered the outer court envoys Tian Zhenhai, Liu Zhonglu, and Ali Xian to take notes, and also assigned three attendants from the inner court to record the conversation. As the appointed date approached, someone reported that bandits were causing trouble in the Uyghur mountains. The emperor planned to lead a campaign in person, so he rescheduled the discussion for an auspicious day in the tenth month.

The Perfected One of Changchun requested permission to return to his former residence. The emperor said, “Wouldn’t making the journey again be too tiring?” The Perfected One replied, “I can return in two ten-day periods, about twenty days.” The emperor asked, “But there will be no one to escort you.” The Perfected One said, “There is Yang Agou, the imperial envoy.” Three days later, the emperor ordered Yang Agou to lead the Uyghur chieftains and accompany him with more than a thousand cavalrymen. He also arranged for the Perfected One of Changchun to return by a different route.

After crossing a great mountain, we came upon a stone gate in the mountains. Seen from afar, it looked as though it had been cut by a knife. A stone the size of a bean lay across the mountain above it, like a bridge. The water below the gate rushed fiercely. Cavalrymen drove their donkeys into the river to cross, but the animals drowned; many bodies also lay along the bank. This was probably a mountain pass that the army had just breached.

After leaving the gorge, two more poems were written. The first says:

The Iron Gate Pass north of the river is passable enough;

the stone gorge south of it is truly perilous.

Cliffs rise on both sides, towering into the clouds;

cold water churns and rushes through the mountain ravine.

Bodies lie across the roadside, so foul we cover our noses;

a donkey drowned in the stream—seeing it grieved me deeply.

For ten years, war has raged across thousands of miles.

When will the troops withdraw and peace return?

The second says:

Snow-white ridges tower high into the sky;

morning sunlight brightens the river below.

Look up: travelers edge sideways along sheer mountain walls.

Look down: trees below the perilous cliffs seem to hang upside down.

Even in May, bitter cold winds beat against our faces;

three people flushed with fever recovered on the spot.

I came here to expound the Daoist Way. Looking back,

the journey was already over; I could only choose another auspicious day

and return at the Lower Origin Festival, on the fifteenth day of the tenth lunar month.

When Perfected Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) first came to pay his respects, it was already March, and the plants were flourishing and the sheep and horses were well fed. Later, when he returned by imperial order, all the grasses had withered by the end of April. He wrote another poem:

The conditions in distant foreign lands are hard to describe;

the changes in their climate are hard to fathom.

By April, it seemed the baleful influence had vanished;

yet through spring and winter, rain fell without end.

When April came and Yang energy was at its height,

not a drop of rain fell, and drought and deadly miasma

spread early across the sky.

In high summer, when water should nourish every river,

we could only irrigate the fields.

Every kind of grass was battered down,

and the scene was like the depths of winter.

We traveled three thousand miles there and back,

setting out in March and returning in May;

along the whole route, we saw no traveler

with even a trace of rainwater on his clothes.

On the road, we met people returning from the western campaign, who had brought back a great deal of coral. One accompanying official traded two ounces of silver for nearly fifty pieces of coral, the tallest more than a foot high. Since the coral had been gathered on horseback, it had not been kept intact. Afterward, they traveled day and night, making their way across the frozen ground. Five or six days later, they reached Samarkand, known in ancient times as Xiemisigan. There was a city here called Dashi, also known as the Prefecture of the Two Rivers. Officials received Perfected Master Changchun and escorted him into the lodging house. That day was the Dragon Boat Festival.

End of Volume One of The Record of Perfected Master Changchun’s Journey West.

Recorded by the disciple Zhenchangzi Li Zhichang.

The commissioner Li Dongmai once sent a poem to the Daoist community in the east. It said: “When we set out from the coastal city in those days, the fighting at sea had not yet ceased. To spread Daoist virtue a thousand miles away, we feared neither wind nor dust nor the hardships of travel, and journeyed to a distant land. First we climbed the high ridge in the northwest, known as Yehuling, then gradually turned southeast and made for Shangjing.” From there, they traveled overland to the Hedong region and looked southeast toward Shangjing. Later they took a winding route southwest, covering four thousand li to reach Wuliduo, then continued another two thousand li southwest to Yinshan. The places beyond Yinshan are not named in the account. After crossing the mountains and continuing southwest through range after range of high mountains and streams, they traveled several thousand li and arrived at the great city called Xiemisigan.

When Perfected Master Changchun returned to Wancheng, he stayed in the old palace. Wancheng stood on a high cliff to the north, overlooking a clear stream more than ten zhang deep. The water came from the snowy mountains and was very cold. In the heat of midsummer, the Master would sit in the covered gallery on the north side to catch the breeze, and at night sleep on the rooftop terrace. In the fierce heat of the sixth month, he would bathe in the pool. Even in a faraway foreign land, the Master lived in such comfort.

The land in the Hezhong region was fertile and suited to growing all kinds of grain, though neither wheat nor soybeans were cultivated. The local wheat ripened in mid-April. After harvesting it, people left it in heaps on the ground and took it to be milled as needed; they did not finish processing it until June. Li, the official overseeing the Grand Preceptor’s residence, gave the Master a five-mu melon field. The melons were sweet and fragrant, unlike any commonly found in the Central Plains. I have heard that some grew as large as a dou measure. When the Second Prince returned in the sixth month, Liu Zhonglu asked him for melons to present. Ten melons made a full carrying pole’s load. Local fruit and vegetables were plentiful; only taro and chestnuts were scarce.

Eggplants grew to the thickness of a large finger and were purplish black. Men and women alike wore their hair braided. Men wore hats, some shaped like distant mountains, decorated with materials in various colors and embroidered with cloud patterns and other designs, then fastened with hat cords. From tribal chiefs to serving officials, all wore this kind of hat. Ordinary people wrapped their heads in white mos cloth about six chi long. The wives of chiefs wrapped their heads in fine silks, in colors such as red and purple; some were embroidered with flowers, plants, and other designs. These cloths were about five or six chi long.

Their hair hung loose. Some wrapped it in hair coverings made of cotton cloth, which were white or patterned; others used cloth or silk. They did not tie their hair into buns, but covered their heads with fabric, giving them the appearance of Buddhist nuns. Some women’s hair coverings were about five or six feet long and served as headdresses.

Some garments were made of white felt and sewn into a pocket-like shape, narrow at the top and wide at the bottom, with sleeves attached. These were called “undershirts” and were worn by both men and women. Their carts, boats, and farming implements all differed from those of the Central Plains. Local people made vessels from yushi stone, copper, and other materials. When asked about porcelain, they said they had a kind resembling Ding ware from the Central Plains. Their drinking vessels were all made of glass, while their weapons were made of bin. The market used coins without round holes, inscribed on both sides with Uyghur script.

Most local people were tall and strong, able to carry heavy loads without using shoulder poles. After marriage, a woman could marry again if her husband was poor; if her husband traveled away for three months, she was also allowed to remarry. Some local people had beards.

In the country there was an official position called “Great Stone Horse,” whose holder was responsible for identifying the country’s script and managing its registers. During the final month of winter, they observed a month-long fast. In the evening, the leader personally slaughtered a sheep for the meal, which those observing the fast ate together. The observance continued from night until dawn. In the other months, they held six monthly fasts.

There was also a ritual of honoring Heaven. A large timber was set up on high ground, projecting outward like the eaves of a house, with both its length and width exceeding ten feet. An open pavilion was built on it, with ornamental tassels hung all around. Each morning and evening, the leader climbed up, faced west, and performed a bowing ritual called “Reporting to Heaven.” They did not worship the Buddha or the Dao. The leader shouted loudly from the high platform, and men and women who heard him hurried over to kneel below. Everyone in the country did this; otherwise, they would rush toward the market.

Their clothing was the same as that of the local people. They wrapped their heads in fine moshi cloth, three zhang and two chi long, with a bamboo frame underneath.

The territory of Qiuxu, a deserted region around the Uighur lands, stretches far and wide, extending for ten thousand li. The city of Hezhong is the largest and most powerful. Copperware is so plentiful there that it seems like gold, and the military clothing worn in the markets looks like Daoist robes. People cut gold into arrowheads to use in trade, and cut white felt to sew into garments. The wondrous melons and plain dang are no ordinary produce. Who in the Central Plain, the Red County, could be fortunate enough to taste them?

Though it was the height of summer, the Snow Mountains were bitterly cold, their clouds and mists dark and gloomy. The Master then composed a quatrain:

Clouds and vapor fill the Eastern Mountain day and night;

At dawn, rosy light spreads across the sky, red for ten thousand zhang.

At night, the bright moon rises from the sea,

Its golden radiance shining straight into the blue heavens.

While staying at the lodging house, the Master had few visitors, so he amused himself by studying the scriptures. He composed another quatrain:

Traveling north beyond the Yin Mountains, the road extends for more than ten thousand li;

Traveling west past Dashi, I have stayed for half a year.

In these remote, desolate lands, the customs are crude, and it is hard to speak of the Great Dao;

Better to read in a quiet dwelling or among the secluded mountain crags.

In the seventh month, on the day called “the birth of the moon’s light” in the ancient reckoning of lunar phases, the Master sent Ali Xian to the imperial residence with a memorial, to ask when the discussion of the Dao would take place. On the seventh day of the eighth month, the Emperor’s reply arrived, and the Master set out on the eighth. The Grand Preceptor accompanied him for several dozen li. The Master said to him, “Two thousand households in the eastern part of the Uighur city have recently rebelled. Each night, fires are seen lighting up the city walls, and the people are unsettled. Grand Preceptor, you can return and pacify them.” The Grand Preceptor said, “What if something untoward happens on the road?” The Master replied, “That is no concern of yours.” The Grand Preceptor then turned back.

On the twelfth day, the Master passed through Jieshi City. On the thirteenth, he was given an escort of one thousand infantry and three hundred armored cavalry. The party traveled into the mountains along a different road beyond the Iron Gate. When they crossed Hongshui Ravine, they saw steep, towering peaks rising several li high. Following the valley southeast, they found a spring flowing from the foot of the mountain. Its water turned white in the sunlight. The Master collected two dou of it to use along the way.

We then climbed southeastward to the watershed. Looking west, I saw a deep ravine that seemed frozen over, so I washed my ears. There was red salt on the mountain, shaped like stone; I tasted it myself. In the east, salt is found only in low-lying places, but here it also comes from the mountains. The Uyghurs eat a great deal of bread and are very fond of salt. When thirsty, they drink water. Winters are cold, and even the poor have to carry salt on their backs to sell.

On the fourteenth, we reached the foothills southwest of the Iron Gate. As we neared the mountain pass, we saw that its entrance was steep and dangerous. A cliff on the left had collapsed, and the ravine stream disappeared underground; its hidden course ran for about a mile. At Mid-Autumn, we came to a river like the Yellow River, flowing northwest. We crossed by boat and lodged on the southern bank. To the west stood a mountain stronghold called Tuanbala, in a position of great strategic strength.

On the way, we met Zheng, physician to the Third Prince, who presented this poem:

“Since ancient times, the moon at Mid-Autumn has shone brightest. The cold wind arrives in season, and the night grows clearer still. The sky’s whole expanse is reflected in the Milky Way; fish and dragons across the four seas shimmer in the limpid waters. Songs and music fill the towers of Hao and Yue, while the troops of Yan and Qin enjoy abundant food and wine. I have come to the emperor’s seat, dwelling beside the river; may warfare cease and peace prevail throughout the land.”

We followed the river southeast for thirty li. With no water ahead, we traveled through the night. We passed Banli City, a large town. The local people had just rebelled and fled, but their dogs could still be heard barking in the distance. At dawn, after eating, we continued east for several dozen li. We came to a river flowing north. The horses could barely cross it, and we stopped to rest and lodge on the eastern bank.

On the twenty-second, Tian Zhenhai came to meet us. When we reached the imperial residence, the emperor sent someone to ask Zhenhai, “Does the Adept wish to see me at once, or rest for a while first?” Qiu Chuji replied, “It is my wish to enter the palace and pay my respects.” Daoist monks do not kneel when meeting the emperor. Once inside the tent, they need only bow and make a formal salute with their hands clasped.

After the audience, the emperor offered him fermented milk. When he had finished, Qiu Chuji took his leave. The emperor then asked, “Are your daily provisions sufficient while you stay in the city?” Qiu Chuji replied, “In the past, the provisions for the Mongols and Uyghurs were handled by the Grand Preceptor. Recently, food and supplies have been somewhat difficult to obtain; the Grand Preceptor is the only one managing them.”

In earlier times, the supply of provisions for the Mongols and the Uyghurs was overseen by the Grand Preceptor. Recently, food had become somewhat scarce, so the Grand Preceptor arranged it on his own. The next day, the emperor again sent his attendant, Hezhu, to convey an order, asking, “Would it be all right for the Perfected One to come here for meals every day?” Qiu Chuji replied, “I am a man of the mountains who cultivates the Dao; I prefer quiet places.” The emperor then let him follow his own habits.

On the twenty-seventh, the emperor’s retinue headed north on its return journey. Along the way, the emperor repeatedly bestowed grape wine, melons, fruit, and tea snacks. On the first day of the ninth month, the party crossed the Hang Bridge and continued north. Qiu Chuji submitted a request: “The agreed date for our discussion is near. May we summon the Grand Preceptor A’hai?”

On the fifteenth of that month, the emperor held a vegetarian banquet and sent his attendants away. Lamps and candles brightly illuminated the tent. Geli Bi, Zhenhai, and the imperial commissioner Zhonglu waited outside. Qiu Chuji entered the tent with the Grand Preceptor A’hai and Ali Xian. He submitted a request: “Zhonglu has accompanied us across ten thousand li, and Zhenhai has come from several thousand li away to see us off. May they enter the tent and listen to the teachings with us?” The emperor then summoned the two men inside.

As Qiu Chuji spoke, the emperor had the Grand Preceptor A’hai translate into Mongolian and report his words. He listened with great satisfaction. Late at night on the nineteenth, the emperor summoned Qiu Chuji again to discuss the Dao and was delighted. On the twenty-third, he called him into the tent once more, receiving him with the same courtesy as before. The emperor listened amiably, ordered those around him to take notes, and had them write down the main points in Chinese characters, saying that he wanted to remember them. He told his attendants, “I take these three principles of nourishing life taught by the immortal very much to heart. Do not let them be revealed.”

After that, Qiu Chuji traveled east with the imperial retinue, often expounding Daoist teachings. Several days later, they arrived at a point thirty li southwest of the great city of Samarkand. On the first day of the tenth month, Qiu Chuji requested permission to return first to his former residence, and the emperor granted it. The emperor encamped twenty li east of the city. On the sixth day of that month, Qiu Chuji entered to pay his respects with the Grand Preceptor A’hai. The emperor asked, “Would it be all right for those around you to stay with you?” Qiu Chuji replied, “That would be fine.” He then had the Grand Preceptor A’hai report: “I have studied the Dao in the mountains and countryside for many years. In everyday life, I like to walk and sit in quiet places. The constant movement of soldiers and horses before the imperial tent disturbs my spirit. From now on, if…”

The emperor then had Grand Preceptor Ahai deliver a message on his behalf: “I have studied the Dao in the mountains and wilderness for many years, and have always liked to walk and rest in quiet places. The constant bustle of troops and horses in front of the imperial camp makes it hard for me to find peace. From now on, may I walk ahead of or behind the procession and move about freely? The man of the mountains and wilderness has already received the emperor’s generous gifts many times.”

The emperor agreed. After the master had left, the emperor sent someone to ask, “Would you like a tulu horse?” The master replied, “I have no need of one.”

Just then, a light rain began to fall, and the grass started growing again. The middle of winter had passed; rain and snow gradually increased, and the earth began to thaw. Since arriving in this city, whenever the master had surplus grain, he shared it with the hungry. He also regularly gave out porridge to relieve hardship, saving many lives.

On the twenty-sixth, the master set out. On the twenty-third day of the twelfth month, the weather was cold and snowy, and many cattle and horses froze to death along the road. Three days later, the procession crossed the Huochan Moli River eastward—that is, the great river. When they reached the emperor’s encampment, they heard that the floating bridge over the river had broken apart during the night of the twenty-eighth.

The emperor asked about the thunderclap. The master replied, “I have heard that in this country people do not bathe in rivers in summer, wash clothes, or make felt rugs; and when mushrooms grow in the wild, they are forbidden to gather them. These practices show fear of Heaven’s might, but they do not accord with Heaven’s will. I have often heard that among the three thousand offenses, none is greater than being unfilial. That is why Heaven sends unusual signs: to warn people. Now I hear that in the local customs, many people fail to honor their parents. The emperor can use his authority and virtue to admonish the people.”

The emperor said happily, “The immortal speaks truly and exactly as I feel.” He ordered the people around him to record the master’s words in Uighur script. The master asked that the admonition be made known to the people, and the emperor agreed.

The emperor then summoned the crown prince, the princes, and the ministers, and said, “The Han people honor the immortal just as you revere Heaven. I now believe even more firmly that he truly is a man from Heaven.” He then told them what the master had said in his earlier and later audiences, adding, “This is Heaven speaking to me through the immortal. You must all keep it firmly in mind.” The master then took his leave.

On New Year’s Day, generals, medical officials, diviners, and other officials came to congratulate the master. On the eleventh, the master and his party set out eastward. Looking west toward Yemishigan (Samarkand), more than a thousand li away, they camped in a large orchard. The nineteenth was the birthday of Father Master Qiu Chuji, and the officials burned incense to wish him a happy birthday.

On the twenty-eighth, Li, an official in charge of the Grand Preceptor’s residence, came to take his leave. The Perfected One told him, “We will not meet again.” Li said, “We can meet again in the third month.” The Perfected One replied, “You do not understand the Mandate of Heaven. Yu will be heading east on his return between the second and third months.” On the twenty-first, Yu traveled one stage east and reached the great river. The place lay about three stages northeast of Sailan. Its abundant water and pasture could feed the cattle and horses, so they stopped there.

On the seventh day of the second month, the Perfected One entered the palace for an audience and reported, “It has been about three years since I left my mountain dwelling by the sea. Now that the three-year term is complete, I wish to return to the mountain.” The emperor said, “I am also about to travel east. Could we go together?” The Perfected One replied, “That would be possible if you let me set out first.” He added, “When I left, the Han people asked when I would return, and I said in about three years. Now that Your Majesty has summoned me and asked your questions, I have answered them all. I therefore ask once more to take my leave.” The emperor said, “Wait another three or five days. The Crown Prince is due to arrive. Come and discuss the Way with me again. If I can understand what I have not yet grasped, I will let you depart.”

On the eighth, the emperor went hunting below the eastern mountain and shot a large wild boar. His horse slipped beneath him, and he nearly lost control. The boar stood nearby but dared not approach. His attendants brought him another horse, the hunt ended, and the emperor returned to his residence. When the Perfected One heard what had happened, he went to the palace and offered this counsel: “The Way of Heaven cherishes life. Your Majesty is now advanced in years and should go hunting less often. Your fall from the horse was Heaven’s warning; the boar’s failure to approach was Heaven’s protection of you.”

The emperor said, “I have reflected deeply on this. The immortal’s advice is right. We Mongols have ridden and hunted with bows since childhood, and it is not easy to give up all at once. Still, I will keep the immortal’s words in mind.” Turning to Jixilitai Khan, the emperor said, “From now on, you must follow all the advice the immortal has given me.” After that, he did not go hunting for two months.

On the twenty-fourth, the Perfected One took his leave again. The emperor said, “The immortal is leaving. What should I give you? Let me think it over; wait a few more days.” Knowing that he could not leave at once, the Perfected One stayed temporarily and waited.

On the seventh day of the third month, the Master again took his leave. The emperor offered him oxen, horses, and other gifts, but he accepted none of them, saying, “Four horses to ride are all I need.” The emperor asked the interpreter Ali Xian, “How many people in the Han lands practice the Way of the immortals?” Ali Xian replied, “Many. When the immortal came here, he once stayed at Longyang Abbey in Dexing Prefecture. I often saw the authorities press the people there into corvée labor.” The emperor then said, “All those under the Master’s instruction are to be exempt from corvée.” He issued an imperial decree bearing his seal, then appointed Ali Xian Hexi as a special commissioner, with Mongol Dai and Helaba Hai as deputy commissioners, to escort the Master east.

On the tenth day, the Master took leave of the court and set out. Everyone from Taisi Khan on down came to see him off, bringing grape wine and rare fruits. They accompanied him for dozens of miles, and all wept as they parted. Three days later, the Master arrived southeast of the great city of Sairam. In the mountains nearby lived a two-headed snake about two feet long, which local people often saw.

On the full-moon day, the disciples went to the outskirts of the city to make offerings at the tomb of Master Zhao, the Venerable of Vacuity and Stillness. They discussed carrying his remains back with them. The Master said, “The body, formed from the four great elements, will in the end disperse; the luminous, true nature is free and unbound.” The others then abandoned the idea. The next day, the Master continued on his way.

On the twenty-third day, the special commissioner Agou caught up with the Master on the south bank of Chuimeibei and held a farewell banquet for him. Ten days later, the Master reached a place more than a hundred li west of the city of Alima and crossed a great river. On the fifth day of the fourth month, he arrived at the eastern garden of Alima. Master Zhang, chief artisan to the Second Prince, repeatedly entreated him: “At my residence, I have set up three altars. More than four hundred people pay their respects and recite the liturgy morning and evening without fail. I have also received you for several days. I beg the immortal master, in his compassion, to cross the river so those at the altars may have the chance to seek your instruction. I hope you can come tonight.” The Master declined, saying, “My obligations in the south are nearly upon me; I cannot change my route.” Master Zhang pressed his invitation again. The Master then said, “If nothing else comes up, I will accept your invitation.” The next day, the horse the Master was riding suddenly bolted northeast, and his attendants could not hold it back.

Zhang Gong and the others said through their tears, “We have no bond with our master.” The master replied, “If there is nothing else, I should be on my way.” The next day, the horse carrying the master suddenly bolted northeast. The attendants could not hold it back. Zhang Gong and the others wept again and said, “We have no bond with our master. Even Heaven will not let us see him off.”

At dusk, the party camped in front of Yinshan. The next day they crossed forty-eight bridges, followed the Green Stream for fifty li, and arrived at Tianchi Lake. They then traveled northeast over Yinshan for two days, until they joined the road south of Jinshan in Yuanli that led to the Great River relay station. The party passed southeast of Jinshan and continued north along the mountain range. On the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month, heavy rain and snow began to fall. By the following day, the mountains were blanketed in white. After traveling northeast along the range for three more days, they reached the foot of Abuhan Mountain. Nine disciples, including Song Dao’an, along with members of the Changchun Yuhua Association and the commissioner Guo Dequan, had all come from afar to welcome them.

After the master entered Qixia Temple, the number of people who took refuge in the Dao grew day by day. As the master stepped down from his carriage, rain began to fall again. The local people congratulated one another, saying, “In past years, it seldom rained here throughout the summer. Even when thunderstorms came, they usually fell between the northern and southern mountains. Today the rain has been abundant, all because my master’s cultivation of the Dao has brought forth a response.”

Every year, the local residents had to clear the river channel so its water could irrigate their fields and vegetable gardens. The wheat they planted did not ripen until August, and the harvest never matched that of places watered by rain from Heaven. At harvest time, field mice often caused damage, and many of them were white. The climate here was cold, so crops and plants did not bear seed until late in the season. In the fifth month, the soil along the riverbank was more than a foot deep, with about another foot of solid ice beneath it. After the purification ritual, the master had people fetch ice for use every day. Looking south, one could see thick white snow piled on the high ridges; even in midsummer, it did not melt.

There were many other strange sights here. A little to the west, beside a lake, was a “wind mound,” a place where the wind entered and emerged. The soil there was whitish, and the ground often split open, scattering powdery soil. Each year, in the second or third month, before the wind rose, a rocky cave in the southern mountain would begin to rumble, as though announcing its arrival. Then wind blew out from between the wind mounds, at first forming hundreds or even thousands of small whirlwinds that twisted like rams’ horns. Before long, they merged into one great wind, hurling sand and stones, tearing off roofs and uprooting trees, its roar shaking the surrounding region. At last, it died away in the southeast.

Farther to the southeast, behind the mountain ravine, there were three or four watermills. Once the stream reached level ground, its flow gradually weakened and finally dried up. The mountains produced coal. Farther east were two springs. Each winter, their waters suddenly surged, like rivers or lakes, then sank underground. Before long, they would burst back to the surface, bringing fish and shrimp with them. At times, the waters rose high enough to flood the local settlements. By mid-spring, the flow gradually subsided, and the ground sank along with it.

More than a thousand li to the northwest lay Jianjianzhou, which produced fine iron. Many blue mice lived there, and spring wheat was harvested. Hundreds of Han Chinese craftsmen lived there, weaving silk fabrics such as damask, gauze, brocade, and figured silk.

Looking southwest from the Daoist monastery, one could see Jinshan. Rain and hail were common on the mountain; in the fifth or sixth month, heavy snow sometimes fell, piling up more than a zhang deep. Shatuo people were sometimes found in this area. It produced an animal called the “meat rose mouse,” and spring wheat was harvested there. Hundreds of Han Chinese craftsmen lived there, weaving silk fabrics such as damask, gauze, brocade, and figured silk.

Looking southwest from the Daoist monastery, one could see Jinshan. Rain and hail were common on the mountain; in the fifth or sixth month, heavy snow sometimes fell, piling up more than a zhang deep. Shatuo people were sometimes found in this area. It produced meat rose root, which the local people called “junyan”; they called water “wusu” and grass “aibusu.” Farther into the mountain, on its northern slope, the pine trees stood about ten zhang tall.

Everyone said to the master, “This place lies far out on the frontier, and since ancient times no one has heard of the Orthodox Teaching here. In the past, only mountain spirits and ghosts confused the people. Since you established a Daoist temple here and held Zhaijiao rites in turn, nearly every day people have come to take part in the ceremonies. Most people now regard killing living creatures as forbidden. If it were not for Daoist instruction, how could such a change have come about?”

Earlier, in the renwu year, someone among the Daoist community had done something wrong, harming the local people and leaving everyone uneasy. One day, while Song Gong Dao’an was resting in his room, he suddenly saw Master Xujing, Zhao Gong, through the skylight. Zhao Gong said, “A letter has arrived.” Dao’an asked, “Where has it come from?” Zhao Gong replied, “From Heaven.” Dao’an took the letter and examined it. He saw only the two characters “Taiqing,” and then the writing vanished. The next day, a letter from the master arrived, and the demonic disturbances gradually subsided.

Later, Jian Zheluosheng slandered the master without cause. One day, he fell from his horse in front of the monastery and broke his leg. He reproached himself, saying, “This was my fault,” and confessed before the Daoist community.

As the master set out eastward, he wrote these words of instruction for everyone to read:

“On the road for ten thousand li, riding an official horse,

For three years parted from old friends.

The turmoil of war has not yet subsided, …”

As the Perfected Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) traveled east, he wrote a piece admonishing the people:

“For thousands of miles I have ridden the government’s horses. It has been three years since I left my family and friends in my hometown. The turmoil has not yet subsided, and I happened to speak of the principles of Dao and De. On autumn nights I discussed the cultivation of breath, and I also spoke to the emperor about preserving life. That is why I said I could not return home until late spring. Many wish to go home, but they have no way to express their heartfelt wishes above.”

Ali Xian and the others said to the Perfected Master Changchun, “The southern route has many stretches of sand and stone, with little water or pasture. Many envoys travel back and forth, and the horses are greatly burdened. We fear this may delay the journey.”

The Perfected Master Changchun replied, “We will travel in three groups. There is no need for us to worry.”

On the seventh day of the fifth month, he sent Song Dao’an, Xia Zhicheng, Song Defang, Meng Zhiwen, He Zhijian, and Pan Dechong ahead. On the fourteenth, he set out afterward with Yin Zhiping, Wang Zhiming, Yu Zhike, Ju Zhiyuan, Yang Zhijing, and Mo Zhiqing. Jia Guifei, Commissioner Guo, Commander Li, and several dozen others held a farewell banquet and accompanied them for twenty li. Everyone dismounted to bid farewell, weeping as they parted, and the Perfected Master Changchun urged his horse onward.

On the eighteenth, Zhang Zisu, Sun Yuan, Yang Zhijing, Mo Zhiqing, and others set out as another group. Jia Guifei, Commissioner Guo, Commander Li, and several dozen others came to see them off, traveling twenty li with them. Everyone dismounted to bid farewell, weeping and reluctant to part, while the Perfected Master Changchun rode swiftly ahead. On the eighteenth, Zhang Zisu, Sun Zhijian, Zheng Zhixiu, Zhang Zhiyuan, and Li Zhichang set out as the next group.

The Perfected Master Changchun traveled east for sixteen days and crossed a great mountain. Snow lay on the mountain, and the weather was cold. The group changed horses beside their felt tents. On the seventeenth, the Perfected Master Changchun ate nothing, drinking only a little broth from time to time. They traveled southeast across a vast sandy plain where plants grew and mosquitoes were plentiful, and spent the night east of a river.

After traveling for several more days, the Perfected Master Changchun sometimes rode in a cart. Yin Zhiping and the others asked him, “Where do you feel unwell?” He replied, “My illness is not one that doctors can diagnose. It comes from the trials of the Way of the sages and worthies, and in the end it may not be cured. You need not worry.” Hearing this, everyone looked sorrowful and could not set their minds at ease.

That night, Yin Zhiping dreamed that someone said, “You need not worry about the Perfected Master’s illness. When he reaches the lands of the Han, he will naturally recover.” They continued along the sandy road for more than three hundred li. There was almost no water or pasture along the way, and the horses traveled through the night without stopping. Only after two nights did they emerge from the sandy plain. This place lay near the northern border of the Xia people, where felt tents were gradually becoming more numerous.

The horses were quickly made ready, and those who arrived later caught up with Master Qiu (Qiu Chuji). On the twenty-first day of the sixth month, they stayed at Yuchang Pass. Master Qiu had not yet eaten. At dawn the next day, they crossed the pass and headed east, traveling more than fifty li to Fengzhou. Officials from the marshal down came out to welcome them. Yu, an official dispatched on government business, invited Master Qiu to stay at his home and served him lamb pastries. That day, everyone ate their fill as usual, and a vegetarian offering meal was also prepared; the arrangements for food and drink remained unchanged.

The Daoist community said to one another, “The dream Qinghe had some time ago has indeed come true.” It was already late summer, and a cool breeze blew in through the north-facing windows. Yu brought paper and asked Master Qiu to write something. Master Qiu wrote:

“With body at ease and mind free of worldly thoughts, a crow settles, then a roc cries out. My eyes cannot sleep, and my heart has nothing to dwell on. Clouds disperse; the moon shines pale over the stream. The night is cool, and the valley spirit clear. I do not sit here morning and evening; I travel to seek what is shaped by kneading and twisting.”

On the first day of the seventh month, the party set out again. On the third day, they reached Xiaoshui. Marshal Jiajia came out of the city to welcome them and invited them to stay at his residence. More than a thousand people came to pay their respects and worship, and the marshal grew more reverent with each passing day.

At the time, there were twenty-seven parrots. In the evening, Master Qiu went outside the city for a stroll and released the parrots into the lake. Before long, they were flying and playing amid the wind and waves, perfectly at ease. Master Qiu composed a poem:

“I raised you, thinking to make you into a dish. After meeting me, your goodness moved me, and I would not make you food. A small boat carries you to the sea where whales roam. When autumn comes, may six long feathers grow on each of your wings.”

He also said:

“In pairs and threes, like close brothers. Autumn has come, yet your wings are still not fully grown. I release you back into the deep blue sea, so you may freely give rein to your nature amid its vast, surging waves.”

The next day, Master Qiu and his party set out. On the ninth day of that month, they arrived at Yunzhong. A dispatched official, the chief administrator Abuhe, led the Daoist community out of the city and brought Master Qiu to stay at his residence in a sedan chair carried by attendants. Master Qiu stayed upstairs for more than twenty days, and the chief administrator and his subordinates came to pay their respects every morning and evening.

The officials in Yunzhong came each day to seek guidance. Qiu Chuji presented them with a poem:

“By imperial order, return home soon, while spring fills all things with life. The Three Yangs first arise, and all things begin to change; one Qi circulates, bringing nature into harmony. Relay horses carry me onward, while cloud-wreathed mountains line the road. I am now ten thousand li from the capital. When I return, who can say what the scene will be?”

On the thirteenth day, the imperial envoy Ali Xian planned to go to Shandong to pacify and counsel the people. He earnestly requested that Yin Zhiping, one of Qiu Chuji’s disciples, accompany him. Qiu Chuji said, “Heaven’s will has not yet allowed it. What good would going do?” Ali Xian bowed twice and said, “If the king arrives with a great army, the people will surely be slaughtered. I beg the Master Father, in his compassion, to offer a word of guidance.” Qiu Chuji was silent for a long time before replying, “Even if you cannot save them, that is better than sitting by and watching them die.” He then ordered Qinghe, a disciple of Qiu Chuji, to go with him and gave him two letters urging the people to submit and promising them peace.

He also heard that many Daoist priests from regions south of Xuande were coming to pay their respects. Concerned that the traveling monastery would be unable to accommodate them, he wrote to Yin Zhiping, entrusting him with overseeing affairs in the eastern region. The letter said: “I have traveled ten thousand li and will be gone for three years. There are many Daoist priests, and some are unruly rogues. Once you take up your post, deal with matters as circumstances require. Do not let religious affairs obstruct the transformation brought about by the Dao. The people’s blessings are slight, and they are easily swept along by custom; climbing a mountain is hard, but going downhill takes little effort.”

Marshal Yilaci of Xuande sent a special messenger to Yunzhong with a letter, asking that horses be prepared for Qiu Chuji. At the beginning of the eighth month, Qiu Chuji set out eastward. He passed through Baideng, Tiancheng, and Huai’an, crossed the Kui River, and reached Xuande after twelve days. The marshal followed protocol, leaving the city to welcome him in person at the western outskirts. Qiu Chuji entered the city and lodged at the state’s Chaoyuan Monastery, where fellow Daoists received him with respect.

Qiu Chuji then wrote these forty characters:

“Ten thousand li I have traveled through the human world; three years have passed since I left my native place. Looking back, I find myself grown old; what lies before me seems a dream stretched long. The sky is vast and boundless, the affairs of the world scattered and remote. South of the Yangtze, north of the frontier—from ancient times to the present, it has always been so.”

Some among the Daoist community said, “Last winter, someone saw Master Xu Jing, Zhao Gong, leading a horse in through the gate. Everyone went out to greet him, but in the blink of an eye he had vanished.” People in Dexing and Anding also said they had seen him.

Officials and generals from the prefectures north of the Yellow River, along with people from many regions, sent letter after letter inviting the master. The letters came in such numbers they seemed to gather like wheels, and he could only reply briefly. One letter said, “The court has not yet been pacified, but the Daoist tradition is already flourishing. The time is ripe for teaching and guiding people; the prospects are boundless.” The generals in every region sincerely turned to him. They only regretted that the master could not manifest himself in many places at once and answer each person’s hopes.

On the first day of the tenth month, a Zhaijiao purification ritual was held at Longmen Valley. On the fifteenth, another was held at the Chaoyuan Abbey in this prefecture. On the fifteenth day of the eleventh month, Song Defang and others, recalling how they had passed through Yehu Ridge and seen the white bones there, fulfilled a vow by holding a Zhaijiao at Longyang Abbey in Dexing, together with Lady Yin Qianyi, to deliver the souls of the dead. The weather had turned somewhat cold a few days earlier, but during the ritual, which continued for three days and one night, it was as warm as spring.

After the ritual, Marshal Jia Chang went to where the emperor was staying and conveyed his decree: “The immortal has traveled from spring into summer, enduring difficult roads. Was the food provided suitable for eating on horseback? When you reached Xuande and other places, did the local officials take care to arrange lodging and provisions? When the people there were summoned, did any come forward? I often think of the immortal; the immortal should not forget me either.”

On the sixteenth day of the twelfth month, a Zhaijiao was held at the Three Halls in Yuzhou. The master spent the winter at Longyang Abbey. Most evenings, he would walk on Long Ridge and gaze down below. After the turmoil of war, Dexing’s villages lay desolate. The master wrote a poem to express his sorrow:

“Once, the trees stood tall, their branches and leaves interwoven;

now the villages lie bare, the earth exposed.

Countless people once faced the blades of war;

how many splendid homes have turned to ash.”

He also wrote:

“Heroes grieve over this and compose ten thousand poems,

yet across all ages, how many have truly understood?

Only by exploring the quiet ease beyond the world

can one escape the cycle of rebirth and no longer become dust beneath the spring.”

On the first day of the second month in the spring of the jia-shen year, around 1224, the Perfected Changchun held a jiao, a Daoist ritual of setting up an altar to pray to the deities, at Qiuyang Abbey on Mount Jin. Qiuyang Abbey lay south of Mount Dahe, a place of clear streams and lovely scenery, where clouds and mist mingled with the moonlight among pine groves and climbing vines. It was an excellent place for cultivating the Dao. He composed a poem at the abbey:

“Behind Qiuyang Abbey, deep among the green cliffs,

vast stretches of mist and rosy clouds reflect the verdant peaks.

Beside a narrow path, peach blossoms bloom;

the spring waters rush and wind into the depths of the grotto-heaven.”

He also said:

“Across the Mount Tan region, green peaks rise high;

hermits of the grasses often pass over the mountains.

The grotto dwellings lie deep, seldom visited;

only now and then does an immortal’s song echo from the cliffs.”

The officials Jinzi Shimogong and Liu Gong, the imperial commissioner, among others from the provincial government of Yanjing, sent envoys with a memorial, earnestly asking the Perfected to serve as abbot of Great Tianchang Abbey. He agreed. The authorities then summoned him by relay post, and he traveled south across Juyong Pass. Daoist companions from Yanjing welcomed him at Shenyou Abbey in Nankou. Early the next morning, local elders and residents from near and far, along with men and women who followed the Dao, brought incense and flowers to guide him into the city. Crowds filled the roads to see him and bow in reverence.

When the Perfected had first traveled west, people had asked when he would return. He replied, “I will return in three years, I will return in three years.” Now his words had indeed come true. He stayed at Tianchang Abbey for seven days, and more than a thousand people came each day to make offerings of vegetarian meals. On the fifteenth, people invited him to go to Yuxu Abbey.

On the twenty-fifth of that month, Hachizhi relayed an imperial decree: “The immortal has come to Han lands to teach the people through the Way of quietude. Each day he recites scriptures to pray for my long life; this is excellent. Let the immortal choose a place he likes among the fertile lands and make his home there. Let Ali Xian handle the related affairs. The immortal is advanced in age and has lived long; he must be well cared for. The immortal must not forget what I said before.”

In midsummer, Jinzi Shimogong and Liu Gong, the provincial commissioner, submitted repeated memorials once again asking the Perfected to serve as abbot of Great Tianchang Abbey. On the twenty-second of that month, he accepted their invitation and set out. Several cranes flew ahead of him through the sky, heading northwest. When the Perfected stayed at Yuxu Abbey or went to someone’s home to receive a vegetarian offering, three or five cranes often circled and called overhead. In earlier times, few people in the north followed Daoism. Now the sages wished to lead people toward the Dao, and so used these marvels to make their presence known.

All who attended the gathering bowed and knelt in worship, performing Daoist rites; social customs changed as a result. The water in Jade Void Well had once been both salty and bitter. In the Jiashen and Yiyou years, many Daoists came from the west, and the well water became sweet. This, too, was regarded as the result of a favorable karmic affinity. On the fifteenth day of the last month of summer, Lord Xuancha manifested a marvel.

All who attended the gathering bowed and knelt in worship, performing Daoist rites; social customs changed as a result. The water in Jade Void Well had once been both salty and bitter. In the Jiashen and Yiyou years, many Daoists came from the west, and the well water became sweet. This, too, was regarded as the result of a favorable karmic affinity. On the fifteenth day of the last month of summer, Lord Xuancha appeared and read an imperial edict: “Since the Immortal departed, there has not been a day when I have forgotten him, and he has not forgotten me. Throughout all my lands, wherever the Immortal wishes to dwell, he may do so. His disciples often recite scriptures to pray for my longevity; this is very good.”

After Perfected Changchun returned, Daoists gathered from every region, and heterodox teachings gradually subsided. The people of the capital admired and turned toward Daoism, as though every household understood its teachings. Daoism spread widely, its flourishing exceeding that of former times a hundredfold. Accordingly, eight associations were established in Tianchang: the Equality Association, the Changchun Association, the Numinous Treasure Association, the Long Life Association, the Bright Truth Association, the Peace Association, the Calamity-Dispelling Association, and the Ten Thousand Lotuses Association.

After Perfected Changchun returned to Tianchang, an increasing number of Daoists came from distant places, one after another, seeking Daoist names. He once offered them guidance in four verses of praise.

The first said: “Worldly desires do not sever or diminish of their own accord; the Dharma realm—the realm of all things and of spiritual cultivation as understood in Buddhism and Daoism—is continually dissolving and changing. When likes and dislikes bind the heart, what can be done about sinking and drifting?”

The second said: “There is something precious that existed before Heaven and Earth; what is nameless did not simply arise from nothing. The human heart often remains hidden and unrevealed, while the Dharma realm is free to extend without limit.”

The third said: “Pursuing external things clouds the eyes; laboring to make a living wears down body and mind. The many things of this world are like illusions, yet the heart does not understand the principle of emptiness.”

The fourth said: “Yesterday’s thoughts have already vanished without a trace; today’s affairs will eventually do the same. Better to let them all go, and pass the days in stillness and ease.”

After each purification rite, he would go out to stroll through Qionghua in the former imperial gardens. Six or seven people accompanied him. They would sit quietly beneath the shade of the pines; sometimes he composed a poem, and the others took turns answering in verse.

After their conversation, when the tea had been finished, Qiu Chuji had his attendants sing several pieces from “Songs of Wandering Immortals,” music that depicts the lives of immortals. The sun was setting, yet he remained at ease, forgetting to return. The provincial officials and the commissioner, Lord Poba, therefore presented him with the gardens and ponds of the Northern Palace, together with several dozen qing of nearby land, and asked him to build a Daoist monastery there. Qiu Chuji declined, but after repeated invitations, he accepted. The authorities then issued a public notice forbidding people to gather firewood or cut trees. Qiu Chuji arranged for the Daoist community to live there, and the gardens and monastery were gradually put in order. Later, he submitted a memorial to the court reporting what had been done, and the emperor approved the request. From then on, whenever the weather was clear and the scenery pleasant, he often walked through the garden, enjoying its views.

During the Hanshi Festival, the day before Qingming when old custom forbade lighting fires, he composed two poems about spring outings. The first reads:

“A pond ten qing across lies within the imperial gardens;

Dense pines and parasol trees are veiled in tranquil mist.

The affairs of those who once filled the halls and pavilions

Have faded like a dream; the flowers and willows of spring’s three months

Seem now to belong to the immortals. Beyond the islands,

There is no place so serene and beautiful; in the human world,

Only a moon palace could rival this fairyland.

I know that all this was arranged by the workings of creation.

May this place be granted to officials and common people alike,

That all may cultivate blessings and practice goodness here.”

The second reads:

“At Qingming, apricot blossoms open, and people from every household

Come day after day to enjoy the garden. Beyond its islands,

The spring waters stretch broad and boundless; warm winds

Stir the branches and leaves, rustling through the pines.

Visitors all lament that the setting sun urges them home;

Even those who understand the Way mourn spring’s briefness

And the swift passage of time. How can one attain the Great Elixir,

Refine the body, and be reborn anew, then take flight

To Yuluo Terrace, that fabled platform in the immortal realm?”

In the fourth month of the Yiyou year (1225), the pacification commissioner Wang Juchuan invited Qiu Chuji to his residence for a vegetarian feast. Wang Juchuan came from Guanyou, in the area of present-day Shaanxi. As the two spoke of the lush bamboo and trees around Xianyang and Mount Zhongnan, Wang invited Qiu Chuji to admire the bamboo in his courtyard. Qiu Chuji said, “This bamboo is lovely. After the upheavals of war, such scenery is seldom seen. When I lived at Panxi, the dense woods and tall bamboo there were a wonder of the world. Thinking of them now feels like recalling a dream. I am old, and the day of my return is near.”

The pacification commissioner said, “Give me several dozen bamboo poles. I will plant them in front of the windows on the north side of Baoxuan Abbey, just to block the view.” He added, “The wars throughout the realm have not yet ended, and the people are living in hardship. His Majesty now honors Daoism and respects the Daoist tradition, hoping to rely on a perfected one’s power in the Dao to protect the people. Why have you suddenly said such a thing? I beg you to show great compassion and keep the salvation of the world in your heart.”

Perfected Qiu Chuji tapped the ground with his staff and said with a smile, “Heaven’s mandate has already been set. How could people decide it?” No one understood what he meant.

At the end of the fifth month of the Xia calendar, the Perfected One climbed to the summit of Shouleshan and looked out over the gardens. The trees were lush and green, and the scene seemed like a painting. His companions rested beneath the trees without feeling much of the summer heat. The Perfected One then composed a five-character regulated poem:

“This place lies near the frontier; its cities have endured through the ages. Though many palaces have fallen into ruin, lovely gardens remain. Green trees grow thick upon thick, and gentle breezes stir the quiet air. By day, I roam among islands like those of the immortals; from a height, I gaze across heaven and earth.”

One day, when the Perfected One returned from Qiong Island, Chen Gong Xiuyu came to pay his respects. The Perfected One showed him a seven-character regulated poem:

“Green mountains rise high, sheer cliffs piercing the clouds; dense, shadowed cypresses partly conceal distant halls. Mists and rosy clouds stretch for ten thousand acres before my eyes, while the moonlit breeze along the river cannot be fully surveyed. Tall pines stand beside a deep ravine; strange rocks are set in the open, as if brought from Lake Tai. Such is a life of lasting leisure. Cultivating oneself and the Dao, accumulating blessings and doing good, surpasses the splendor of the capital.”

On the first day of the ninth month, Wang, the pacification commissioner, believed that the planet Yinghuo (Mars) had invaded the Tail Lodge, a constellation, foretelling disaster in the Yan region. He planned to ask the Perfected One to conduct a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) and asked how much it would cost. The Perfected One said, “Even when a single thing is out of its proper place, I cannot help feeling compassion. How much more so for the people of an entire region? In recent years, the people have suffered greatly from conscripted labor and military service, and both the government and the people have been drained of their resources. I will cover the expense from the abbey’s ordinary reserves. The officials in the capital need only fast and purify themselves, then wait for the ritual to be held. There is no need for any other additional expense.”

They agreed to hold the purification ritual for two days and nights. Despite his advanced age, the Perfected One personally presided over the prayers at the Xuantan altar, the ritual platform used for Daoist ceremonies.

On the evening the Zhaijiao (purification ritual) ended, the pacification commissioner congratulated him with delight: “The Yinghuo star—the planet Mars, as the ancients called it—has moved away by several lodgings. We need worry no longer. The perfected one’s virtue has brought such a swift response!”

Qiu Chuji said, “What virtue do I have? People have performed these prayers since ancient times. The only concern is that their intentions may not be sincere enough. This is what the ancients meant when they said that a heart of utter sincerity could move Heaven and Earth.”

On the ninth day of the ninth month, the Double Ninth Festival, Daoist practitioners came from far away and gathered. Someone presented chrysanthemums. Qiu Chuji composed a lyric to the tune “Hate and Joy Come Late”:

“There is a wondrous flower, unlike all others by nature. When the autumn wind has passed through stem and root, it opens its blossoms, as though myriads were blooming. Its tender yellow hue, like gold, reflects the clear, open brightness of Heaven and Earth. Brought here for the Double Ninth Festival, it fills a corner of the mat; seated among the guests, one gazes upon a scene of quiet clarity. It seems immortal, shining long without fading or withering, just the perfect companion…”