《抱朴子内篇》Vol. 4

Why is this so? Although that person is old, the congenital qi (the fundamental qi on which life depends) with which they were endowed was originally abundant, so the depletion is lighter and recovery is easier; therefore they can attain immortality. Although this person is young, the congenital qi with which they were endowed is scant, the depletion is severe, and rescue is difficult; therefore they cannot attain immortality.

Hibiscus and willow have ample innate generative qi: even if branches are broken off or the plant is inverted or laid sideways, they can grow again. Among trees that are easy to keep alive, none are easier than these. Yet if they are planted too shallowly, or after planting are not left in peace for long—if the bark is constantly cut, or the tree shaken or pulled—even with rich soil and spring rain, they will still wither. The roots have not taken hold; before new shoots can sprout, the fluid essence within cannot coalesce, and the generative qi cannot circulate smoothly.

The human body is more easily harmed than these two kinds of tree and harder to nurture. The ways people harm the body are more severe than cutting bark or shaking and pulling trees; those who help in recovery are few, while factors that damage the body are many—so bodily decline is hardly surprising. Exhaling stale breath and inhaling fresh breath is using breath to nourish vital qi; but when vital qi has already weakened greatly, it is hard to increase again. Taking medicinals is using blood and qi to supplement blood and qi; but when blood and qi are about to run dry, supplementation is also difficult.

Panting and uneven breathing after rushing about, or coughing and chest tightness, or overexertion in work with frequent shortness of breath—these are signs that vital qi is damaged. A dull complexion, withered skin, parched lips, weak pulse, and the skin texture and pores (couli) also decaying and failing—these show that blood and qi are diminished. When blood and qi are already weak on the outside, the inner root of life will wither along with them. At that point, even the finest medicinals cannot save one.

Those who cultivate the Dao yet fail to succeed, or who manage their livelihoods only to lose their lives, are not without blood and qi; it is that the root within them that transforms and generates blood and qi has already been lost, leaving only the dregs of the peripheral flow. It is like charcoal dropped into water: though the fire is extinguished, the smoke does not disperse at once; when a tree’s root and trunk are severed, the branches and leaves may still grow for a time. These people seem still to have blood and qi, like charcoal that still smokes or a broken tree that still bears foliage—but the root that generates blood and qi, smoke, and foliage has long since perished.

People often only on the day they notice illness believe the disease has just begun; this is like taking the day the breath ceases as the moment the body truly dies. They blame only wind, cold, heat, and damp, not knowing that wind, cold, heat, and damp cannot harm the robust. Only those whose bodies are weak and whose vital strength is insufficient cannot bear them and are invaded by them.

How can we see this? Suppose several people, alike in age and in strength of constitution, with the same coarse or fine diet, travel together into the desert and sleep exposed on a bitterly cold night. Saliva freezes above; frost congeals below; cold wind snaps branches and frightens them at night; phlegm and spittle freeze at the lips. Yet among them perhaps only one catches cold—not everyone falls ill. This is not that the cold favors one person over another, but that some bodies cannot endure it.

Therefore, eating the same food, one person alone falls ill—not because the food itself carries a partial poison. Drinking from the same vessel, one stays sober and another becomes drunk—not because the wine’s power differs toward different people. Suffering the same scorching heat, one alone dies of heatstroke—not because the weather is harsher to one than to another. Taking the same medicine, one grows dizzy and distressed—not because the drug’s toxicity plays favorites.

Thus, when a gale enters a forest, the withered branches break first; when great waves strike a cliff, the cracked places collapse first; when fire spreads across a plain, the dry grass and dead wood burn first.

When a longwan (a type of jade vessel) falls to the ground, only those that are brittle break. From this we can see that when people lack the way of nurturing life, the body is already depleted to begin with; external factors such as wind, cold, heat, and dampness merely seize the opportunity to trigger illness. If one can keep upright qi (the force that maintains the body and repels disease) from declining, so that form and spirit support each other, external pathogenic influences will find it hard to harm the body.

Those who cultivate the Dao and nurture life often worry that they have started too late; they need not worry about starting from a low level. A young, vigorous person who overworks and indulges excessively will find many kinds of illness gathering together, life and fate in peril, brief as morning dew. Such a person, even without obtaining the great medicine (the key elixir or longevity medicine spoken of in Daoist practice), and taking only herbal remedies, can at best suffer somewhat less than ordinary people—not extend the ultimate limit of lifespan.

Therefore the Immortal Scriptures say: “In nurturing life, take not being harmed as the root.” This is an important principle. Shennong (the Divine Farmer) said: “If a hundred diseases cannot be cured, how can one attain longevity?” These words are indeed trustworthy.

Someone asked: “When you speak of harm, do you mean sexual desire between men and women?”

Ge Hong (style name Baopuzi) said that the path to long life is not limited to a single method. The key to nourishing life and longevity lies in huainian—restoring vitality to an aging body. Those of superior endowment who understand this method can extend their years and dispel illness; those of lesser capacity who carefully tend themselves can also benefit. If one learns huainian techniques while still young and strong, takes Yin elixir (a Daoist internal medicine) to nourish the brain, and gathers the “Seven Fluids” (refined essences or fluids in Daoist practice) in high places, one may live to about one hundred twenty even without other medicines—though one cannot become an immortal. Those who do not know methods of nourishing life are like, in the words of the ancients, holding hot soup in a cup of ice or wrapping fire in feathers: neither can last long.

To think without rest when one’s talent and strength are insufficient harms the body; to lift heavy weights when one’s strength is inadequate also harms the body. Grief and emaciation, excessive joy, urgent craving, prolonged laughter, irregular sleep and activity, drawing the bow and shooting, drunken vomiting, sleeping on a full stomach, running until breathless, shouting or weeping loudly, and improper mingling of yin and yang qi—all these harm the body. Harm accumulates day by day and in the end brings early death; early death is not in accord with the way of nourishing life.

Therefore methods of nourishing life include: do not spit saliva too far; do not walk with steps too hurried; do not overuse hearing or sight; do not sit or lie too long, nor exhaust yourself to the limit. Add clothing before the cold arrives, remove it before the heat comes; do not eat only when starving, nor eat to excess; do not drink only when parched, nor drink too much. Overeating leads to stagnation and illness; overdrinking easily produces phlegm.

Moreover, do not overwork, nor be overly idle; do not rise too late, do not sweat without limit, nor sleep too much; do not ride fast in chariots or gallop on horseback, do not gaze into the distance for long, do not eat much raw or cold food, do not drink wine facing the wind, do not bathe too often, nor indulge excessive desires, chase unreachable wishes, or deliberately devise odd and clever things.

In winter, one should not make the body excessively warm; in summer, one should not indulge in extreme coolness. Do not sleep under the open sky among the stars, and when sleeping, do not leave the shoulders exposed. When encountering severe cold, intense heat, strong winds, or thick fog, do not rashly place yourself in such conditions, and do not bathe too frequently. Do not pursue overly lofty ambitions and distant goals, and do not deliberately create strange or novel things.

In diet, the five flavors should not be eaten in biased excess. Too much sour harms the spleen, too much bitter harms the lungs, too much pungent harms the liver, too much salty harms the heart, and too much sweet harms the kidneys—this is the natural principle expressed through the mutual generation and restraint of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). What is meant by “harm” is not necessarily felt at once; it means that over time life span is shortened.

Those who are skilled at nurturing life adjust the timing of rising and resting with the four seasons; in daily life they follow moderate, balanced routines; they nourish sinews and bones through suitable bending and stretching; they use methods such as breath regulation to prevent illness and dispel pathogenic influences; they use tonifying and regulating methods to keep the flow of qi and blood unobstructed; they know how to arrange labor and rest, and when to restrain and when to relax. They restrain anger to preserve yin qi, and curb excessive joy to nourish yang qi. After doing these things, they first take herbal medicines to remedy bodily deficiencies, then take the Golden Elixir (the elixir refined in Daoist practice) to seek lasting stability. The entire principle of long life is contained in this.

If someone is determined to follow every whim, believing himself insightful and versed in fate, unconstrained by unorthodox views, and only indulges desires and exhausts his vital energy with no intention of seeking longevity, then when he hears these words they pass like wind through his ears or lightning before his eyes—he pays them no mind at all. Even if he sinks into pleasure and weakens day by day until his breath fails amid splendor, he is still content with that; how could one speak to him of the way of nurturing life? He not only refuses to accept it but will say these words are absurd and false. To expect such a person to believe teachings on nurturing life is like showing a bright mirror to the blind, or offering string and bamboo music to the deaf.

Volume 13 of the Inner Chapters of Baopuzi (Baopuzi Neipian) ends here.

Editorial note: Several characters in the original text have been emended according to Wang Ming’s critical edition; material in parentheses has been supplied on the same basis. In one place the manuscript read “san” (three); quotations in Yunji Qiqian (Collected Essentials from the Cloudy Satchel), juan 35, and Taiping Yulan (Imperial Readings of the Taiping Era), juan 668, show that the reading should be “yi, er” (one, two)—likely a copyist’s mistake that merged the two numerals into a single character for “three.”

Baopuzi Neipian, juan 14, is titled “Diligent Seeking” (Qinqiu).

The Baopuzi says that heaven and earth’s greatest De (Virtue/Power) is to let the ten thousand things grow, and that life is worth cherishing and protecting. Therefore, among the most precious and most closely guarded teachings of the Daoist tradition, nothing matters more than methods for pursuing longevity. When such methods are transmitted, one must bind oneself with a blood-oath vow; if they are passed to unsuitable people, one will suffer heavenly punishment.

Our late master did not lightly transmit the Dao to others. Even when someone sought the teaching with great diligence, he still had to be rigorously screened and confirmed as truly fit before instruction was given. How much less could precious methods be flaunted and casually told to those who neither love the Way nor ask about it, or who do not seek with sufficient sincerity?

Some people are fated never to become immortals. Even if they saw immortals in the world every day, they would still treat them as a wholly different kind of being, or call them ghostly transformations, or assume they had merely happened upon natural spontaneity—they would never believe that immortals are achieved through cultivation. If the heart does not believe at all, then even if immortals like Chisong and Wang Qiao took him by the ears and exhorted him in person, he would take their words for demonic absurdities.

There are indeed people in the world with insight who believe in the way of immortality, but they often cannot find a clear master who can point out the essential keys. Those who truly grasp the crux and obtain the true Dao are extremely few; one cannot expect to meet them in haste. Still, such people are only rare—they have never been absent from the world. Seekers of the Way are not broad or steadfast enough in their quest; if one truly has the affinity for immortality, one will naturally meet the right person. There are cases of seeking without obtaining, but there has never been obtaining without seeking.

There are also many deceitful people who steal a Daoist’s name to cheat others out of money. Though they have no real skill, they refuse to admit they know nothing; often knowing only the surface, they still pose as famous experts, then dress themselves up with heterodox arts and pretense. Those who earnestly love the Way but cannot tell true from false paths keep knocking on their doors to ask, and end up deceived and confused; some are even tied down and can no longer go on seeking extraordinary masters, and are told that “the Dao is already complete here.” Misleading so many who sincerely wish to seek the Way is truly lamentable and worrisome.

When people hear that there are those in the world who know how to dissolve the Five Clouds, command the Eight Minerals, refine the Nine Elixirs, and work the arts of yellow and white (gold and silver), they search far and wide for extraordinary masters and ask them for instruction, assuming that the whole secret of the Way lies in these methods. Many who earnestly seek the Dao are led astray in this way—a matter both lamentable and troubling.

Others, hearing the same claims—that someone can dissolve the Five Clouds, command the Eight Minerals, refine the Nine Elixirs and the yellow-and-white arts, and even refine jade-like and cinnabar-bright substances, congeal frost and snow in a divine furnace, and gather spirit fungi on Mount Song—reject it all outright, saying: “Only immortals such as Master Red Pine and Wang Qiao understood such arts. When people today say they know them, they are merely deceiving others.” Those of shallow insight, failing to see the deception in that dismissal, abandon the thought of traveling far to seek teachers. That, too, is deeply sad.

The years race past; human life is brief. In the blink of an eye one passes from youth to old age—so quickly it is hard to put into words. A lifespan of a hundred years amounts to little more than thirty thousand days. In childhood one barely understands things; in old age and decline there is little joy. After subtracting the periods of infancy, vigorous adulthood, and feeble senility, and after the stretches lost to hardship, worry, and illness, the years one can truly live at ease may amount to only about half of a lifetime. Even granting a full century, the days one can spend in untroubled contentment might be no more than fifty or sixty years—and those pass in an instant. Days of sorrow, aging, and confusion may number six or seven thousand, and they vanish just as quickly. Moreover, those who actually live out a complete hundred years are perhaps not one in ten thousand. When one reflects on this, we need not mock the summer insect or the morning mushroom (creatures whose lives last only a season or a single dawn); those who do not understand the way of life are the ones most to be pitied.

There is a saying: “In the world, each day that passes is one day less; it is like leading cattle and sheep toward the slaughter—every step forward brings death a little nearer.” The image is coarse, but it hits the truth. The reason the discerning are not consumed by fear of death is not that they have no wish for long life. Rather, they do not know a method to escape death, and anxious fretting would be useless—hence the classic line that one who is content with Heaven’s mandate and understands fate has no need for worry. That does not mean they have no desire to endure.

Jidan (the Duke of Zhou) once asked to die in place of King Wu of Zhou, and Confucius too leaned on his staff and grieved that his own death was near. From this we know that even sages did not wish to die before their time. When ordinary people read Zhuang Zhou’s metaphor of the “Great Dream,” they compete to proclaim that life and death are no different.

Such talk forces bizarre doctrines into the shape of broad-minded detachment: on the surface people deliberately voice words that suppress feeling and go against human nature. What Confucius meant by facing the decisive moment of life and death in the proper way was precisely to expose this posture. Look at those who preach this doctrine today: as soon as they fall ill they rush to acupuncture, and when danger comes they fear death as much as anyone. A common failing among the worldly is to slight what is truly trustworthy, turn away from the classics and their authoritative glosses, and read instead the masters of the hundred schools. Unless one offers clever paradoxes that defy common sense, one is judged crude and shallow—incapable of understanding Laozi and Zhuangzi.

Then those who have no real insight but only flatter the age are carried off by empty theories and cannot find their way back. Laozi took “long life and sustained vitality” as his aim. Zhuang Zhou, by contrast, said he would rather wag his tail in the mud than be a turtle kept on an altar for display, or an ox led off to sacrifice. He also said he would rather go hungry than accept the River Lord’s stipend. Clearly Zhuang Zhou did not truly treat life and death as identical. Later students fail to examine whether a teaching is sound; they seize on a single sentence and conclude—surely that is a mistake?

When a person is buried deep beneath the nine springs, in endless darkness, first becoming food for ants and at last merging with dust and soil, the heart cannot but shudder and sigh. Since there is a wish to live, how can one fail to set aside what is not essential and turn instead to cultivating the subtle art of nurturing life?

If one does not believe in the teachings of longevity and nurturing life, so be it. But if one believes yet worries that one cannot escape worldly desires, cannot devote oneself to nurturing life, and treats it only as something for spare moments after worldly business is done, then in practice one easily violates the way of nurturing life. A frequent problem is starting too late, so success is often hard to achieve. What people usually hurry after in daily life is power, profit, and indulgence; if the mind remains tied to these, it is hard to give full attention to nurturing life.

Ordinary people spend their whole lives chasing power, profit, and desire. If one cannot preserve oneself, then no matter how high one’s rank or how great one’s authority—even with gold piled like mountains and beauties beyond counting—none of it truly belongs to oneself. Therefore, those of superior understanding first cultivate the path of longevity; once longevity is secured, one may act as one wishes. If one has not yet ascended to the mysterious realm and left the mundane world behind, one may still for a time be an earthly immortal (dixian) among humankind. Like Peng Zu and Laozi, living only a few hundred years in the human realm yet still enjoying a life in accord with ordinary feeling, then calmly ascending as an immortal and departing—this too is a fine outcome.

To achieve longevity, however, one must have an excellent teacher; if the teacher is not given the honor due, cultivation cannot succeed. In the past, the Empress Dowager of the Han studied the Book of Documents with Xia Hou Sheng and rewarded him with a hundred jin of gold and countless other gifts. When Xia Hou Sheng died, the Dowager again granted his family two million in cash and observed mourning in plain dress for a hundred days.

When Emperor Cheng was still Crown Prince in the Eastern Palace, he studied the Analects with Zhang Yu. After he took the throne, he enfeoffed Zhang Yu as Marquis of Guannei, granted him a fief of a thousand households, appointed him Grand Minister of the Imperial Household, and bestowed a hundred jin of gold; later he promoted him to Chancellor and advanced his title to Marquis of Anchang. When Zhang Yu asked to retire in old age, Cheng granted him a comfortable carriage, four horses, a hundred jin of gold, and tens of thousands in cash. When Zhang Yu fell ill, the emperor personally visited his home and performed obeisance at his bedside.

When Emperor Zhang was still Crown Prince, he studied the Classic of Filial Piety with Huan Rong. After he took the throne, he appointed Huan Rong Grand Minister of Ceremonies. The emperor himself went to Huan Rong’s residence, had him sit facing east, and prepared for him a lectern and staff; he also summoned the officials and Huan Rong’s hundreds of disciples, took the classic in his own hands, and expounded it. The emperor enfeoffed Huan Rong as Marquis of Guannei with a fief of five thousand households. When Huan Rong was gravely ill, the emperor went in person to see him, alighted from his carriage at the lane, hurried forward with the classic in both hands, and observed the etiquette of a disciple toward a teacher. When Huan Rong died, the emperor wore plain mourning dress for him.

These men were not honored for storming cities, fighting in the wild, repelling enemies, expanding territory, raising banners on the battlefield, or displaying loyalty and righteousness in service to the state.

Some texts mention "Qilian Method" and "Zhuanyuan Gong"—likely names of Daoist techniques or cultivation practices. A person who merely expounds and spreads the wording of one scripture can receive such lofty respect, yet what he says is only repeating what the ancients said. Even an emperor in the highest position still lowers himself and respectfully serves his teacher.

Some people in the world wish to try cultivating the path of long life, yet refuse to learn humbly from someone qualified to be a teacher. They only demand the most crucial secrets in arrogant haste—how could they obtain them? A disciple who is respectful and humble, who runs errands and serves the teacher, does not in itself benefit the teacher. Yet if the disciple’s sincerity is insufficient, the teacher will not teach with full effort. If the teacher does not teach fully, how can the secret methods be completely learned? Sometimes one must first be taught only superficial content—how could that suffice to achieve the work of long life without death?

There are also those who outwardly delight in cultivating the Dao but inwardly lack true faith. They only want something for the moment and temporarily put on a respectful appearance; before many days pass, neglect shows itself. If they meet a perceptive teacher who wishes to observe closely how the seeker’s words and conduct change, the teacher may deliberately delay for a time and withhold teaching, using this to test the person’s resolve. Then such people’s true and false intentions will eventually be revealed, and they will not receive instruction. Even if taught, the teacher will not speak fully or disclose the whole truth. Without complete transmission, studying the Dao naturally brings no benefit.

When Chen Anshi was thirteen, he was originally only the son of a retainer of Gai Guan Shuben, yet he obtained the way of immortals first. Gai Guan Shuben was then over seventy, with hair fully white, yet morning and evening he bowed to Chen Anshi and said: “The Dao is worthy of honor; virtue is worthy of respect. Whoever attains the Dao first is the teacher; I dare not slacken in the courtesy due a disciple.” Therefore Chen Anshi transmitted important methods to him, and Gai Guan Shuben later departed as an immortal.

At birth, one first receives spirit from Heaven and Earth, then receives breath from one’s parents—but without a clear teacher transmitting the way that transcends life and death, there is no means to escape death.

Even if stone still retains residual heat after being split open, a person’s life is already nearing its end and daily decline. Seen in this light, the grace of a ming shi (enlightened cultivation teacher) truly surpasses Heaven and Earth and weighs far heavier than one’s parents—how could one fail to revere and seek such a teacher?

Baopuzi said: The ancients were plain and upright; they valued practice and slighted empty talk. Therefore those who governed did not exalt rhetorical flourish, and those who cultivated the Way did not prize verbal disputation. Later, custom decayed and pure simplicity was lost; outward adornment grew ever more elaborate. Confucian classics piled up like mountains, and the neishu (inner books) transmitted by shujia (masters of arts and cultivation) became too numerous to count.

Beginners in the Way could not immediately obtain the essentials of cultivation. People also often felt that books arranged from shallow to deep and covering every topic were more satisfying. Hence later masters who thoroughly understood daoshu (methods of the Way)—such as the shujia Yu Ji, Rong Song, and Gui Bo—each wrote works of a thousand or more sections. Yet most of these works were admonitions and moral instruction; they were unwilling to transmit clearly the great direction and root intent of cultivation.

The most profound and authentic secrets were sometimes passed only by word of mouth, sometimes written on no more than a square foot of silk and hidden in collar or belt. Without long attendance on the teacher, diligent practice, and repeated testing, one could not receive them. The teacher would impart different content according to the disciple’s devotion, endurance of hardship, intelligence, and strength of will. Over hundreds and thousands of years, occasionally someone would pass hidden essentials from pillow or side to a disciple. Some would use secret recipes only to compound elixirs; when the medicine was finished they would divide it among disciples so they could extend life and avoid death—yet never pass down the written formula.

Therefore among daoshi (Daoist practitioners) in the world, those who understand jindan zhi shu (the art of the golden elixir—refining and ingesting elixirs to seek longevity) are fewer than one in ten thousand. Narrow-minded people suppose that all immortal methods are written in vast libraries of books, or consist only of rituals like sacrifice and prostration. In truth, the key to longevity lies in the great medicine; it is not something obtained through cijiao (Daoist sacrificial and prayer rites) alone. The Qin and Han dynasties once promoted prayer on a grand scale, sacrificing to Taiyi, the Five Spirits, and deities such as Chen, Bin, and the Eight Gods—at times expending cattle and sheep, grain, cloth, and sums of money reckoned in the hundreds of millions—yet brought no real benefit.

What is more, ordinary people whose virtue is incomplete and whose bodies have not been properly nurtured still try to notify ghosts and spirits with offerings of the three sacrificial animals and wine, praying for longevity and health—how deeply deluded that is.

Some who love the Way truly wish to cultivate, yet refuse to seek out qualified teachers diligently or to prepare special medicines. They only read and discuss, day and night, tens of thousands of volumes of irrelevant books until old age brings them nothing—then they conclude that there is no path to immortality in the world at all. Others have the whole household kowtow and pray toward empty space, slaughter livestock, and burn incense for blessings; even when the sick do not recover, deaths follow one after another, and the family fortune is exhausted, they still see no wonder and never wake up—they only say they were not devout enough.

If they applied that same diligence to finding a teacher who knows the methods, and spent that money on medicines, they could still obtain the way of the immortals, long life, and release from the dusty world. Praying to empty space and slaughtering animals for incense cannot cure illness or extend life—like tilling stony fields in old age yet expecting a full harvest: the strength is spent, but the direction is wrong. It is also like heading toward the state of Chu while walking toward Yan: even on a fine horse you will never arrive—not because you travel too slowly, but because the road is wrong.

Some are credulous by nature and quick to trust others; their wit is not enough to tell truth from falsehood or gauge depth and shallowness, and their experience is so limited they cannot judge people’s quality. Later generations include foolish, shallow folk who, on meeting anyone who claims a secret transmission, easily take him as master. In fact many mediocre, ignorant people borrow the name of “one who has the Way” so that their reputation far outruns their real ability; they deceive by boasting while inwardly they are greedy and base, intent only on profit. When others ask them something, they deliberately speak in riddles and put on airs, as if they held profound and precious methods they would not lightly pass on.

When people came to him with requests, he answered in line with what they wanted to hear—bowing low and rising, smiling all the while. Sometimes he even promised to teach them more after a while. The deceived did not catch on; they wanted to leave but could not bring themselves to go, thinking only that they had not served diligently enough or given gifts generously enough. So they became still more devout and respectful, plying him with jewels and rare treasures, even willing to act as menial servants—unafraid of heavy loads or long journeys, undaunted by danger—hoping that accumulated toil would prove their sincerity, enduring hardship in the hope of hearing some extraordinary teaching.

Thus they wasted years for nothing and spent what their parents had provided, with no thought for wife or children; braving frost and snow, treading ice and cold, they followed this person year after year, exhausting money and strength, and in the end gained nothing. From the start he had meant to deceive them, yet never felt ashamed. He himself was empty and had nothing to teach—what method could he have to bring anyone to accomplishment?

I have seen many such people with my own eyes—at least a dozen or more. Some claim fame so great that they have lived long in the world, and people even say they have lived three or four hundred years. They change their names and call themselves sages, mixing among ordinary people, yet many serve and follow them. I will not write their names here.

Moving among the people, ordinary folk cannot tell true from false or good from bad, and together they praise them, spreading absurd stories, so these skilled impostors gain undeserved renown. As rumor spreads, it becomes harder to judge. Even discerning people, if they have not looked closely and rely only on hearsay, may be taken in and go astray—a thing that truly makes one sigh. I often see such people deceive the world for power and profit; sooner or later they are punished. The net of Heaven’s way seems wide, yet in the end nothing escapes it.

Only those who are truly resolved to seek the Dao will take these words to heart. Most people in the world chase empty reputation and are rarely willing to verify what is real. Hearing that so-and-so has many disciples—even a hundred or more—they assume he must have something extraordinary, rush to gather around him, and willingly become attendants who wait on him day and night. In this way they waste their own time for cultivation and inflate people of shallow understanding.

They no longer search for subtle principle, while that person may even grow rich on the strength of his following. Even after long attendance and careful observation, they may still never receive a method for attaining the Great Dao. The foolish do not know that such a person is unworthy of service—how could they understand the reasoning? It is truly lamentable!

This is like looking for a great mountain in a ridge of earth only a zhang deep, or seeking a fish large enough to swallow a whole boat in a hoofprint-sized puddle: even after long effort, how could one ever find them? Alas! Later students, though they should make finding a teacher a priority, must above all put careful choice of a teacher first. Someone narrow in vision, shallow in conduct, deficient in virtue, slight in cultivation, and thin in karmic affinity cannot set others on the path to the Dao, nor has he enough practice to repay a disciple’s deep regard with real benefit. One should ponder this deeply and not toil in vain.

Ge Hong observed that some Daoists enjoyed nothing but empty reputations. They were adept at inventing falsehoods to mislead seekers and routinely disguised their own faults and ignorance. Ashamed to admit ignorance, they put on a show of wide learning yet refused to learn from anyone more accomplished, clinging stubbornly to shallow views as if staring at a wall with no way forward. They did not merely keep quiet: they resented those with genuine attainment, spoke against them, and feared being outshone.

Such people were hardly sincere about the quest for longevity. They wanted disciples and money to gratify their desires, unaware that Heaven sees what is hidden—so they would bring disaster on themselves. The poor should not pretend to be rich, nor the lowly to be high-born; how much less should someone without moral cultivation take disciples in vain? Even ordinary folk ought not to envy the able; Daoists above all should stand on loyalty and openness—yet these men nursed the opposite in their hearts.

Human beings cannot see or hear the spirits, but the spirits easily perceive human words and deeds. It is like someone outside a curtain who cannot see within yet behaves insolently, assuming those inside cannot see him either. Or like the thief who, when the bell rings, covers his own ears for fear others will hear.

Some, dull in spirit, sought only to hoard a fine name and amass followers: outwardly they chased reputation, inwardly they counted profit. They envied anyone stronger and competed for power and gain more fiercely than laypeople. They wielded speech like a blade, using blame and flattery to build factions; their mouths spoke kinship while their hearts held distance, professing shared purpose while scheming for money in secret.

They then use their lips as blades, forming factions through slander and flattery; close on the surface yet distant within, harmonious in appearance yet each going their own way in action. On the mouth they pretend words of shared purpose; in secret they harbor malice like stinging wasps and scorpions. Heaven and humanity both loathe this—it only invites disaster.

Even reading the Five Classics, one should not be ashamed to learn from those of lower rank and shallower learning, to advance virtue and study so that learning accumulates day by day and flourishes. As for coarse skills like archery and charioteering, basic abilities like writing and reckoning, daily work like farming and sericulture, small techniques like using compass and measure—one still needs a teacher’s transmission to grasp the principles within; how much more methods for seeking long life, extending years, and transcending worldly birth and death—they concern saving human lives; how can one not earnestly seek instruction?

How can one care only for sparing the reputation of being a student, and willingly remain long in ignorance, unchanged until old age, unrepentant even at death? Such people are truly the foolish and stubborn among the common folk. Others feel shame and alarm for them, yet they never look at how ridiculous their own words and deeds are.

Even as Confucian scholars, one should be still and plain, outwardly keeping simplicity; knowing yet as if not knowing, learned yet as if not learned—not letting mediocre people easily see through one’s learning. When others praise, do not rush to ask or respond; even when responding, defer first then speak. Among Daoists, how can there be those who insist on calling ignorance knowledge, calling absent skill possession, blustering and showing off only to seek private gain?

After losing the way and still not turning back, one might as well go all the way; if someone truly does this, presumably they would not take correction as shame. I say this not from idle talk—I truly hate those who falsely display and seek private gain and cannot keep silent. I only pity the foolish and cannot bear to watch an infant fall into a well. If reading this one can awaken, that counts as obtaining one dose of immortal medicine; what would I have to ask in return? If one refuses harsh truth that goes against the ear, danger is at hand; even without taking the pulse, it can be seen.

Ge Hong (author of Baopuzi) said: Suppose someone has committed a capital crime and another person can save him—he will surely not shrink back because of the fatigue of running about, some humiliation, or a few words spoken in a low and deferential tone; he will certainly regard that as a debt of gratitude for saving his life.

Nowadays some Daoists of mixed and shallow learning, having failed to obtain the great Way of the Golden Elixir (the practice of refining the elixir and seeking longevity), obviously cannot achieve long life. Even if they learn some arts that ward off death—such as long-term abstention from grain without starving, commanding spirits, making oneself seem to vanish while seated, seeing a thousand li afar, foreknowing a person’s rise and decline, detecting hidden demonic ailments, or foreseeing fortune and misfortune—these skills still do not help extend life. Yet they are ashamed to call at a teacher’s door and disdain learning from those with learning and real accomplishment. This is like refusing a single day’s slight hardship and willingly bearing extreme suffering—a failure to grasp what weighs more and what weighs less.

The ancients said: “Life, for me, is a benefit far too great.” Judged by its worth, even emperors cannot compare with gaining the method of long life; judged by its importance, even possessing the wealth of the empire is not worth exchanging for such an art. Hence the saying: “Better a living rat than a dead king.”

Governing a state so that it is secure, and cultivating oneself so that one is preserved—neither happens from nothing; each requires its proper method. If, out of craving brief empty fame or shame at the small effort of receiving a master’s transmission, one abandons the quest for the path to longevity, to say that is not folly—I truly cannot believe it.

Suppose someone could spare people from mandatory execution or slaughter—people would surely accept gladly: to leave heavy punishment for light, to escape pain like being scorched and keep one’s life; even to endure some suffering would seem more worthwhile than dying and coming back to life. People simply do not know which day they will die, so in ordinary times they do not worry about it. If they truly knew death was near, and mutilations such as cutting off a foot or nose could delay the day of death, they would surely be willing to accept them. How much more so when merely sweeping, serving towels, and doing one’s utmost for someone more capable than oneself can win instruction that keeps one from death—what is there to complain of? Yet those of shallow vision precisely fear doing this.

Suppose someone, ashamed to run fast, would rather wait to be burned alive by wildfire; ashamed to seek shelter from wind, would rather sink into an abyss and drown—the world would surely call him senseless. Everyone knows to laugh at such refusal to flee disaster—so why do they not see that, facing real death and still refusing to seek the way to escape it, is equally laughable?

Baopuzi states: In the past, many people wrote books on the Dao, but most devoted themselves to elaborate and ornate language, exalting abstruse and empty principles. People like me who earnestly investigate the correct path to longevity and critique the faults in cultivation practice are rarely seen. I truly hope that those who have lost their way can know to turn back: even if one misses an opportunity in the east, one may still gain in the west; even if one has already fallen into a well, reaching for the rope to save oneself is better than allowing oneself to sink. Some, however, know they are ill yet refuse treatment, and reject effective remedies—there is truly nothing to be done for them.

Who is without fault? To err and yet be able to reform is like the sun and moon, which after eclipsing return to brightness, or like Yan Hui (Confucius's disciple, renowned for his ability to correct his errors). My further intention is to enable those who come after, who love and pursue the way of nurturing life, to choose their teachers and methods with care. Therefore, I offer sincere and good counsel with all my heart, without using flowery or exaggerated words. When I speak, I go straight to the heart of the matter; what I put down in writing appears sharp. I value the way of longevity, and so I criticize and suppress heterodox teachings—I have no other motive.

Baopuzi also says: I deeply worry that those who study the Daoist arts and seek to nurture life follow teachers who are unsuitable, and in the end achieve nothing. When this happens, those who come after, seeing that they could not attain longevity, will conclude that there are no methods of becoming immortals in the world at all.

Those who know they cannot discipline themselves rigorously and restrain themselves to cultivate the profound Dao often end up losing on both counts: going forward, they miss out on the pursuit of official rank and salary; going back, they gain no effect in delaying aging. They harm themselves and also cause those who come after to lose confidence. Attaining immortality can be reached through learning and cultivation—it is as clear as planting seeds of ji (grain) and having the opportunity to harvest. However, without plowing there will be no good crops; without diligent cultivation, one cannot obtain the achievement of longevity and transcending worldly birth and death.

End of Chapter Fourteen, Inner Chapters of Baopuzi.

Someone asked: “Can people who practice grain abstinence (bigu)—refraining from eating the five grains and cultivating through fasting—live long? How many methods of grain abstinence are there, and which is best?”

The reply was: “There are three kinds of grain abstinence. The upper method is taking spirit pills (lingdan); the middle is taking Qi (vital energy); the lower is taking water. These three methods all belong to the path of grain abstinence, but their effects are not the same. The upper method is the best.”

The questioner asked again: “What is meant by taking spirit pills, taking Qi, and taking water?”

The reply was: “Taking spirit pills means ingesting the Golden Elixir (jindan) and other elixirs, so that one’s form and spirit are both preserved and one does not feel hunger or thirst. Taking Qi means drawing in clear Qi and expelling turbid Qi, so that the pulse and breath run smoothly and one does not feel hunger or thirst. Taking water means drinking only water and not eating grain, so that the stomach and intestines are empty and one does not feel hunger or thirst. These three methods all enable grain abstinence, but the upper method is the most effective, the middle is next, and the lower is the least.”

The questioner asked again: “Can ordinary people practice grain abstinence?”

The reply was: “Ordinary people can practice it, but they must have a master to guide them and must not practice blindly on their own. If they practice without guidance, they may harm body and life. Therefore one must be careful.”

The questioner asked again: “How long can one practice grain abstinence?”

The reply was: “That depends on one’s physical condition and level of cultivation. Some can practice for a few days, some for a few months, some for a few years. But one must not force it; one should practice according to one’s capacity. If one overdoes it, one may harm body and life.”

The questioner asked again: “What should one pay attention to when practicing grain abstinence?”

The reply was: “When practicing grain abstinence, one must keep the mind tranquil, avoid lust and desire, and not overwork body or mind. One must also drink enough water and not let the body become dehydrated. If one feels unwell, one should stop at once and must not force oneself to continue.”

The questioner asked again: “After grain abstinence, can one resume eating grain?”

The reply was: “One can resume eating grain, but one must do so gradually and must not eat too much at once. One should begin with light, easily digested food and slowly return to a normal diet. If one eats too much at once, one may harm the stomach and intestines.”

The questioner asked again: “What benefits does grain abstinence have?”

The reply was: “Grain abstinence can cleanse the stomach and intestines, eliminate toxins from the body, strengthen the body, and extend life. It can also improve mental state and increase spiritual power. But these benefits only appear when one practices correctly; if one practices wrongly, one may harm body and life.”

The questioner asked again: “What harms can mistaken grain abstinence cause?”

The reply was: “Mistaken grain abstinence can cause malnutrition, weakness, dizziness, palpitations, and other symptoms. In severe cases it can endanger life. Therefore one must practice under a master’s guidance and must not practice blindly on one’s own.”

The questioner asked again: “Are there masters who teach grain abstinence?”

The reply was: “There are masters who teach it, but one must choose carefully and must not follow false teachers. A true master has deep cultivation and rich experience and can guide the disciple safely through grain abstinence. A false teacher lacks cultivation and experience and may lead the disciple into harm.”

The questioner asked again: “How can one tell a true master from a false one?”

The reply was: “A true master is humble and low-key, does not boast of his abilities, and does not crave fame or profit. A false teacher is arrogant and boastful, exaggerates his abilities, and seeks fame and profit. One can also judge by the master’s conduct and by the results of his disciples’ practice.”

The questioner asked again: “Thank you for your answers. I understand now.”

The reply was: “You are welcome. If you have more questions, you may ask again.”

Ge Hong replied: Duan gu—abstaining from grain and ordinary food—can at most spare one the trouble of eating; it cannot by itself grant long life. When I ask people who have practiced long-term grain abstinence, they say that afterward illness and discomfort are somewhat fewer than when they ate grain.

Taking shu-class medicinals, huangjing (a staple Daoist tonic herb), and yuyuliang pills (pills made with yuyuliang and other ingredients), twice daily for three days, can increase one’s strength so that one can carry loads and walk long distances, the body feels lighter, and fatigue comes less easily. As for taking various mineral drugs, or long-term zhong-shou (holding inner qi and taking no food), or methods such as swallowing qi, taking talismans, or drinking divine water—these can only keep one from feeling hungry; the body still cannot bear hard labor.

Daoist writings do say that to attain long life one should keep the intestines and stomach clean, and that to avoid death there should be no residue in the bowels; they also say that those who eat only plants run well but are dull, meat-eaters are strong and fierce, grain-eaters are clever but not long-lived, and those who live on qi alone are spiritually clear and do not die. These are one-sided claims of the qi-circulation school; one cannot rely on that single approach alone for cultivation.

If one wishes to take jindan dayao (the great elixir pills of Daoist alchemy), it is best to stop eating for about a hundred days before taking them. If that is impossible, one may take them directly—attaining immortality may be slightly slower, but there is no serious harm. In years of famine, those who retreat into the mountains and know this method can avoid starving to death; apart from that, there is no need to rush into duan gu, because hasty grain abstinence brings little real benefit.

Moreover, someone who merely gives up meat while living among others, when smelling rich and savory food, often still feels desire arise in the heart.

If you cannot yet leave worldly life or set aside family obligations, you need not treat giving up grain as the mark of success in cultivation, and you should not make yourself suffer for it. It may be better not to practice grain abstinence at all and instead limit how much you eat and keep hunger and fullness in balance. Roughly a hundred bigu (grain-abstinence) methods have been handed down from antiquity. Some use a stone preparation called Shouzhong: after taking several dozen pills, one can go forty or fifty days without hunger. Others use medicines refined from pine, cypress, and other trees to support the body, but their effect is inferior to the “great elixir” (dayao), and they sustain one for at most about ten years. Some methods allow abstinence from grain for a hundred or two hundred days; others require a daily dose of medicine to avoid hunger.

Another approach is to eat a lavish meal until one is very full, then take medicine so that the food stays in the body undigested; it is said that one can then abstain from grain for three years. When one wishes to eat grain again, azuki seeds and lard are used to expel the medicine, and the food taken earlier comes out with it, still intact.

In Luoyang there was a Daoist priest, Dong Wein, who lived at Baishe and ate nothing at all. Chen Zixu lived with him, looked after him, and studied the Way under him; only after a long time did he receive this method. It is said that more than ten ingredients—including licorice, saposhnikovia root (fangfeng), and amaranth seed (xianshi)—are pounded into a powder; one first takes three cun on a measuring spoon (a dose held in an ancient utensil used to measure medicine), then swallows twelve pebbles the size of sparrow eggs, and can abstain from grain for a hundred days. One then continues the powder on schedule, and strength and complexion remain normal. To resume eating grain, one must drink a soup of sunflower seeds (kuizi) to expel the stones before eating again.

There is also a preparation called Chilong xue Qinglong gao (“Red Dragon Blood, Green Dragon Paste”): cinnabar, azurite (cengqing), and other medicinals are mixed with water, stones are added and boiled briefly until they soften and can be eaten; if they are not removed promptly, the stones soon dissolve entirely. Eating such stones is said to relieve hunger and strengthen the body. There is also Yinshi san (“Stone-Attracting Powder”): one square-cun spoonful is added to a dou of white pebbles with water and boiled together until the pebbles are cooked through and become like taro, usable as a substitute for grain. It is said that Zhang Taihuan’s whole household and several dozen disciples secluded themselves on Mount Linqi and used this method to eat stones for more than ten years, all of them stout and in good health.

It is said that even if one obtains white stone, it is still inferior to using red dragon blood and green dragon paste; once these medicinal substances are obtained, they can be taken, though they still require cooking, and the trouble lies in gathering firewood. Some rely on Fulu (talismans and registers), some use water alone, and others combine talismans with water. Some eat nine dried jujubes daily and drink one or two sheng of wine; others substitute different foods. Some swallow breath in timed doses through the twelve double-hours, beginning at midnight and proceeding in the order “nine-nine, eight-eight, seven-seven, six-six, five-five.”

There are also methods of gathering and ingesting the Qi of the five directions according to the seasons: in spring, face east and draw in green Qi symbolizing the Year Star (Jupiter) to enter the liver; in summer, take red Qi symbolizing the Sparkling Deluder (Mars) to enter the heart; in the last month of each season, draw in yellow Qi symbolizing the Quelling Star (Saturn) to enter the spleen; in autumn, draw in white Qi symbolizing the Great White (Venus) to enter the lungs; in winter, take black Qi symbolizing the Chronogram Star (Mercury) to enter the kidneys.

Zhongyue Daoist Qie Yuanjie absorbed the “essence of the Six Wu,” and it is said to have worked well. For example, on a jiazi day at the wuchen double-hour, one would face the chen direction and swallow breath for ten consecutive days; when the next jia day arrived, one would face the direction of the wu day in that ten-day cycle and perform the method again. Gan Shi’s method was to summon the Six Jia and Six Ding Jade Maidens (protective spirits in Daoist practice), call each by name, recite an incantation over water, and then drink it; it is said this could even keep cattle and horses from going hungry. Others visualize a figure named Huangshangzi within the spleen and simply close the mouth and swallow inner Qi. All these methods are claimed to be genuinely effective.

I have often seen people who practice Duan Gu (grain abstinence): some go two or three years without eating grain, stay light and strong, look well, and tolerate cold, heat, damp, and wind—though most do not become noticeably fat. Although I have not seen anyone live for decades on herbs alone, ordinary people die within about ten days if they stop grain entirely, yet these practitioners can maintain themselves for years as if nothing were wrong. Given that, why doubt that Duan Gu can be sustained for a long time? Still, if someone practicing Duan Gu grows steadily thinner, they should watch themselves carefully; I fear such cases may not last.

Those who have practiced methods such as grain abstention (bigu) and qi-swallowing (fuqi) all say that at first one’s strength declines somewhat, and only afterward does one gradually grow stronger—month by month better, year by year better. If one keeps at it in this way, one can sustain it for a long time without worry. People who attain longevity and the Way have none who did not reach it step by step through taking medicines, swallowing qi, and the like; they succeed because they do not act recklessly. Most who take medicines while abstaining from grain go through a phase of extreme bodily weakness at the beginning. Those who use only talisman water (fushui—water empowered by talismanic ritual) or who rely solely on swallowing qi likewise become tired and thin for the first forty days; only after that do they grow robust.

Master Zheng said that he was never much of a drinker. Formerly, in Tongshan, he had abstained from grain for about two years yet could drink several dou of wine without becoming drunk. From this one may infer that not eating grain makes one better able to tolerate poisons; tolerating poison is also taken as a sign of being less prone to illness. I therefore asked him: “Where does the wine in the mountains come from?” Master Zheng said: “First brew cloud-liquid (yunye—a medicinal wine), without straining off the lees; then grind cassia, aconite, licorice, and five or six other medicinals into powder, mix them into pills, and dry them in the sun. Take a pill the size of an egg, put it in one dou of water, and it at once becomes good wine.”

There is also a method called “Yellow Emperor’s Cloud-Liquid Spring”: malt, rice, and seven or eight medicinals are combined into a preparation; each time one sheng is put into one sheng of water, like adding water to thousand-year vinegar—the preparation seems never to run out, and the wine’s flavor stays good and unchanged; drinking it is said to be very beneficial to people.

Talisman-water grain abstention, though it makes one weak at first, is also a method worth knowing for those who understand it. If one suddenly meets a famine year and has no time to prepare medicinals, talisman water is a better expedient. Master Feng, relying only on swallowing qi, had already abstained from grain for three years. Watch him climb mountains, walk, or carry on his shoulder a load of about one hu—he is not tired all day long.

He also often drew the bow and hardly spoke; even when he did speak, he refused to raise his voice. When asked why, he said: “Grain abstinence (duangu) depletes essential qi (jingqi); it is the thing most to be avoided.”

I have also often seen shallow Daoist priests who, to show off the extraordinary and win a reputation for “not eating,” in fact do not understand the principle at all—they merely pretend not to touch soup and rice. Yet when it comes to wine, they can drink more than a dou a day; cured meat, jujubes, chestnuts, eggs, and the like never leave their mouths. Some eat large quantities of meat, swallowing only the broth and spitting out the flesh, so that dozens of jin of meat pass their lips in a single day. This is nothing but enjoying fine food under another name.

Generally, heavy drinkers who take only wine and dried meat and no grain can hold out for half a year or a year without immediate decline—but that still cannot be called true grain abstinence.

In Wu there was a Daoist priest named Shi Chun who often performed xingqi (circulating qi to heal) for people; while treating the sick he would not eat, and only after the patient recovered would he take food—sometimes waiting a hundred days, sometimes a month. When Emperor Jing of Wu heard of this, he said: “At this rate he will soon starve to death.” He had Shi Chun summoned, locked up, and placed under guard. Shi Chun asked only for two or three sheng of water and lived that way for more than a year; his complexion became fresher and more cheerful, and his strength was as before. The emperor asked how much longer he could keep it up; Shi Chun said there was no fixed limit—he could go on for decades; he feared only dying of old age, not hunger. Only then did the emperor release him.

From what Shi Chun said, one can see that grain abstinence does not prolong life. Some people today also know Shi Chun’s method.

Someone asked: “Is there a method to make one unafraid of cold?”

Baopuzi replied: Some people on the day of the Beginning of Winter take the “Six Bing Six Ding” talismans (fulu named after the Bing and Ding heavenly stems), or keep the mouth closed and circulate the qi of the five fires twelve hundred times, and then feel no cold through the whole twelfth month. Others drink “sun wine,” or take the cinnabar–purple quartz powder in lacquer; one can also first take one “male pill,” then two “female pills.” Another book says to take the female pill first, then the male. These too can keep one from feeling cold for a day and a night.

The female pill is made from orpiment, azurite, alum, and magnetite; the male pill from realgar, cinnabar, and chalcantite. These methods, however, do not help one extend life.

Someone asked: How can one avoid feeling hot?

Baopuzi said: Some methods involve taking talismans associated with the Liuren and Liugui cycles on the day of Lixia (the beginning of summer); some rely on applying the Qi of Liugui (using breath or vital energy according to prescribed methods); some involve ingesting substances tied to the “mysterious year.” Others say one can take the “Mysterious Water” pill—some texts write “water” as “ice”—or take Flying Frost powder. These medicines, however, must be compounded with top-grade bark from Xiaoqiu and the blood of a black snake taken at noon on the fifth day of the fifth month while walking northward, so few people can gather all the ingredients. Only You Bozi and Wang Zhongdu are said to have worn heavy fur coats, exposed themselves to the blazing summer sun, and surrounded themselves with twelve braziers yet felt no heat and did not sweat; reportedly they used arts of this kind.

Someone asked: How can one avoid harm from swords and other weapons?

In the Baopuzi it is said: I heard that the Great August Emperor once studied important Daoist arts from Master Jie. If one can write talisman-characters of the Northern Dipper and of the sun and moon, one need not fear swords or other weapons. He tested several dozen men at his side; they often charged to the front and broke into enemy ranks, yet in their whole lives never suffered injury.

Master Zheng said: merely reciting the names of the five kinds of weapon also has efficacy. The sword is called “Great Chamber,” overseen by the star Xu; the bow is called “Bend and Stretch,” overseen by the star Shi; the arrow is called “Hesitate and Wander,” overseen by Yinghuo (the ancient name for Mars); the sword (blade) is called “Miss and Wound,” overseen by the Horn star; the crossbow is called “Gaze Afar,” overseen by the Extended Net star; the halberd is called “Great General,” overseen by the Three Stars (Shen). Before battle one should softly intone the incantation.

Some people on the fifth day of the fifth month make a Red Spirit0 talisman and paste it on the chest; some on the bingwu day at noon make the “Lord of Yan, Dragon and Tiger, Three Pouch” talisman. The year talisman is replaced each year, the month talisman each month, the day talisman each day. Others wear the Queen Mother of the West military-trust talisman, the Yinghuo Vermilion Bird talisman, the Southern Pole “Melting Metal” talisman, the “Turning Aside Blades” talisman, or the Zhurong talisman; some apply Jade Tie Powder, or bathe in scallion broth that has been treated by jin (prohibitory) methods; some take chaste-tree to make the “Six Yin Divine General” talisman and point the talisman at the enemy.

Still others, when the moon is in eclipse, take blood from under a three-year toad’s throat bearing the eight characters and write it on the sword or blade they use; or they wear the “Martial Prestige” talisman or the “Flaming Fire” pill. When the two armies clash with blades, some step through set positions on the ground and invoke the chiefs of the four directions—this too is said to show clear effect. In the world today many people still know Daoist arts that use jin methods to avoid the five weapons.

Someone asked about the way of yinlun—the method of hidden withdrawal and reclusive cultivation, living apart from the world.

Baopuzi says that methods of concealment fall into five kinds: whether sitting, standing, or vanishing suddenly, each has its corresponding technique. These arts, however, cannot extend one’s lifespan; if one displays them in the world for no good reason, one only invites strange and absurd talk, so they should not be used casually. Only when war, crisis, or other dire circumstances leave no choice may one employ them to escape danger.

Master Zheng said that after taking the “Great Concealment Talisman” (Da Yin Fu) for ten days, one turns left when wishing to hide and right when wishing to appear. Other methods include smearing the body with jade pills, using “Snake-Foot Powder,” carrying the “Mother-of-Separation Herb” in one’s bosom, or breaking off “Green Dragon Grass” and hiding beneath the “Six Ding.” Some enter bamboo fields, hold “Heaven’s Pivot Soil” in the hand, or go to the “River Dragon Stone Chamber” and hide in the shadow of “Cloud Canopy.” Others sink into the Clear Bell Abyss, ride the “Heaven-One Horse” through the Purple Chamber, ascend the Heaven-One Bright Hall, enter the Jade Maiden Golden Casket, or stand with one’s back to “Fu” and face “Guan,” beneath the “Three Covers.” These names all belong to Daoist techniques and divine imagery in the scriptures.

The text also lists various talisman objects and materials, such as headcloths, shoes, gall-bladder decoctions, and child’s-clothing talismans, as well as green liquid, cassia stems, the Six Jia parents, side-sealing glue, piebald-horse mud pills, wood-demon seeds, and metal-merchant mugwort. By these means one may change into a child, an old person, a bird or beast, grass or trees, or domestic animals; one may also align with wood, stone, water, or fire so that one’s appearance seems to merge with them. This is called “shifting form and changing appearance,” but it still does not count as being fully concealed.

Someone asked: Emperor Wu of Wei once arrested Zuo Yuanfang and put him in shackles, yet he slipped free on his own—what method did he use?

Baopuzi replied: I do not know exactly which art Master Zuo employed at that time; however, the transformation techniques mentioned above cannot make a person completely invisible.

Someone asked: “Emperor Wu of Wei once arrested Zuo Yuanfang, put him in shackles, and imprisoned him, yet he was able to free himself on his own. What technique did he use?”

Baopuzi said: “I cannot know for certain what technique Lord Zuo employed at that time. However, I have looked through many recipe books (fangshu), and they record numerous methods said to make fetters and bonds come undone by themselves: for example, taking coix seed (yiyiren) three times a month, together with the ‘Three-Five Yin Elixir’ (sanwu yindan); or using ‘ouya yangbao’; or on the seventh day of the seventh month walking eastward to obtain and use the ‘tiaotuo chong’ (jumping-escape insect); or taking the ‘longzi’ (dragon offspring) from stones on the fifth day of the fifth month and using it while wearing only a single garment; or taking the wedge left in wood struck by lightning at the summer solstice; or using a twenty-one-character astronomical talisman (tianwen fu); or using ‘zijie qu fu xue’ (self-release with father’s blood); or using ‘yuzi yuliang’ (jade-grain surplus grain); there are also those who mix ‘shanjun mu’ (Mountain Lord’s eye), ‘hebo yuliang’ (River Lord’s surplus grain), and ‘fuyun zi’ (floating-cloud sediment) and smear it on the body. These are all said to enable a person to slip free on their own. However, Lord Zuo’s transformation techniques had no fixed pattern; he may not have relied on these methods to escape. He may have applied Six Jia transformation (liujia bianhua—a method of invisibility and shape-shifting through Six Jia numerology), so that his true form (zhenxing, the actual body) could not be seized by others.”

Someone asked: “Can those who cultivate the Dao avoid falling ill?”

Baopuzi said: “Those who bring the way of nurturing life to the utmost…”

Ge Hong said that if one wishes to practice the way of nurturing life thoroughly, one should take divine elixirs, persist in circulating Qi, perform daoyin morning and evening, move the body and harmonize the ying and wei (the nutrient and defensive aspects of Qi that flow inside and outside the meridians), and keep these practices unbroken; one must also restrain sexual activity and diet, avoid invasion by wind, cold, and damp evils, and refrain from doing what lies beyond one’s strength. In this way one can avoid illness.

Yet people live in the human world, their minds are hard to fix on one thing, and cultivation cannot be sustained without interruption; they often slack off and refuse diligence, so illness is hard to avoid. If one only believes in the Dao in one’s heart but takes no concrete steps that benefit the body; and if unfavorable fate and a damaged constitution coincide, the Three Corpses (San shi)—spirits that Daoist tradition holds dwell in the human body, cause disease, and harm cultivation—will take advantage of weakness and ill fortune to draw in perverse qi and ghostly influences. When many misfortunes gather at once and punitive stars align in the same direction, disaster can be severe. Even the robust may fall ill; those already sick may suffer a flare-up.

Therefore the ancients who first set out on the path of cultivation all studied medicine at the same time, to meet immediate calamities. Ordinary Daoist practitioners do not understand this: they rely only on what they have heard in doctrine and do not master methods of curing disease; they cannot leave the world to retire and devote themselves to Neidan and internal practices to ward off illness. When they themselves fall sick they have no remedy—worse off than ordinary people who simply take decoctions in earnest. As the proverb puts it: trying to learn the gait of the people of Handan and failing, one forgets even how the people of Shouling walk.

When treating sudden acute illnesses, one often needs many costly drugs—sometimes dozens at once. Unless one lives in a wealthy household in the capital, it is hard to keep such things on hand in ordinary times, and there is no time to gather them when crisis strikes. Some treatments also rely heavily on acupuncture; as for moxibustion, instructions often fail to say clearly which region to treat or at what distance, and merely list names of points on the body—opening points, ying-shu (transport) points, and the like. Unless one is an experienced physician who knows the medical classics and has studied charts such as the Mingtang Liuzhu Yance Tu (illustrations of meridian flow, infusion points, and body posture), how could one make sense of it all?

I have compiled a hundred-volume medical work entitled Yufang (Jade Casket Formulas), arranged by disease name so that categories are clear and nothing is jumbled. Ninety-three of those volumes consist of simple, easy formulas—brief in content and straightforward to verify. The drugs they use are the sort one sees everywhere in village hedges and field margins, ready to hand at a glance; the formulas needed for various emergencies are all included. With this book in the home, one need not depend on a physician.

Many who practice medicine by inheriting the family trade enjoy great renown yet lack real competence, living instead on reputation and fees. Poor people in retirement often cannot afford to summon such doctors; even when they do, inept treatment frequently does harm. Rather than entrust oneself to someone who does not understand medicine, it is better to grasp the essentials of treatment oneself. Physicians are not always available at once; even when found, they may not come promptly. A minor illness that could still be cured, if neglected, may deepen until it is beyond remedy—past the point where even the finest care can save one. In an emergency, traveling far to seek a doctor and obtain drugs often means wasted delay and sometimes death.

One might ask: Can one know in advance what fortune or misfortune lies ahead, whether one’s situation will be safe or perilous, and when to advance or withdraw—and does such foreknowledge truly preserve the person? Is there any art that makes this possible?

In the Baopuzi, it is said that looking up to observe celestial signs, looking down to examine geography, judging wind and qi, reckoning with counting rods, working through the Sanqi method (an ancient prognostic technique), operating the Nine Palaces (Nine Palaces directional art), consulting the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), investigating where “flying and hiding” (terms for changes in hexagram qi) gather, discerning anomalous signs in things, and then divining fortune and misfortune with tortoise shells and yarrow stalks—all belong to relatively shallow and commonplace methods. They require repeated manipulation, drain one’s mental energy, and cannot be fully relied upon.

If one can see affairs throughout the realm without stepping beyond the curtain, that counts as reaching a wondrous level. Some methods draw on arts such as the Sanhuang Tianwen, summoning spirits such as the Director of Fate, the Director of Peril, the lords of the Five Sacred Peaks, the chiefs of field paths and roadside pavilions, and the Liuding spirits to appear, and then questioning them about various matters. In this way, good and ill fortune become clear, as if in the palm of the hand; whether near or far, shallow or deep, one can know in advance.

Some summon the Six Yin Jade Maidens; it is said that after sixty days of practice one can succeed, and thereafter employ them for a long time. Others perform sacrifices to call the Eight Scribes; the Eight Scribes are the numinous essences of the Bagua, and they too can help one foreknow what has not yet happened.

Another method is to ingest drugs such as kudzu flower, autumn awn, and hemp sprouts, each in the amount prescribed by a daogui or fangcun bi (standard alchemical measures). After taking them, one suddenly feels as if about to sleep, and hears someone inform one of the fortune or misfortune of matters not yet decided.

Still others use a bright mirror more than nine inches across to reflect themselves, while concentrating the mind on what they seek. After seven days and seven nights, they can see immortals—who may be male or female, old or young. After such a vision, the heart knows what will happen a thousand li away. One mirror may be used, or two, called the “Sun-and-Moon Mirror”; or four, called the “Four-Rule Mirror.” With the Four-Rule Mirror, one is placed respectively in front, behind, left, and right. It is said that with the Four-Rule Mirror one can see many spirits who come to manifest—some gazing into the distance, some riding dragons or tigers, wearing caps and robes whose colors differ from those of the mundane world; these forms are recorded in corresponding illustrations in the scriptures.

To practice these Daoist techniques, you must first memorize in secret the names, ranks, and vestments and appearances of the deities you intend to invite and visualize. Otherwise, when a spirit suddenly appears, you may forget which one it is or even panic in fear—and that can harm you. For practice, it is best to choose a quiet, secluded mountain forest, so that outer sights do not enter your eyes and outer sounds do not reach your ears; only then is the art easy to complete.

When you encounter deities such as the “Three Boys and Nine Maidens Longevity Lord,” or “Nine-Headed Serpent Body with One Hundred Twenty Officials,” do not stare at them closely. If a spirit questions or rebukes you, do not answer. Even if you see attendants blazing with light, warriors and soldiers in armor in formation, or someone riding a dragon or tiger, playing flute or beating drums, do not raise your eyes to look or open your mouth to speak. Fix your mind solely on visualizing the true form of Laojun (Lord Lao, the Supreme Lord Laojun revered in Daoism, identified with Laozi). Once Laojun appears, rise and perform two bows.

In visualization, Laojun’s surname is Li, given name Dan, style name Boyang. He is nine chi tall, with a yellow complexion, a mouth shaped like a bird’s beak, a high nose bridge, and eyebrows fine and long—five cun; his ears are seven cun long. Three lines run vertically on his forehead from top to bottom, and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) appear beneath his feet. He sits upon a divine tortoise, within a golden tower and jade hall; the steps are paved with white silver. He wears robes like five-colored cloud and mist, a tiered crown on his head, and the sword Fengchui at his belt.

Behind Laojun follow one hundred twenty Yellow Boys; to his left are twelve azure dragons, to his right twenty-six white tigers; before him twenty-four vermilion birds (zhuque), behind him seventy-two dark warriors (xuanwu); twelve qiongqi lead the way in front, thirty-six bixie follow behind. Lightning coils in the sky above, and radiance flashes. These descriptions come from immortals’ scriptures. It is said that seeing Laojun can extend life, make the mind as clear as sun and moon, and grant understanding of all things.

Someone asked about methods for keeping the teeth firm and strong.

Ge Hong’s Baopuzi says that if you nourish the teeth daily with Hua Chi (the Flower Pool—the saliva in the mouth), rinse them with sweet fluid, and knock the upper and lower teeth together three hundred times each morning, the teeth will stay firm and will not loosen for a long time. You can also take such preparations as rehmannia decoction, Xuandan soup, snake-fat pills, alum powder, or jujube-thorn powder. These can make teeth that have already loosened firm again and can cure worm-eaten teeth. Taking Lingfei powder is even said to make teeth that have already fallen out grow back.

Someone asked about methods to sharpen the hearing.

Ge Hong said you can practice daoyin (guiding and pulling): exercises such as Dragon Guide, Tiger Pull, Bear Classic, Turtle Swallow, Swallow Flight, Snake Bend, and Bird Stretch, together with bending, stretching, and reaching up and down, so that the red and yellow inner light (visualized in practice) stays in the Dongfang (the inner chamber in the head). Add Ape Crouch, Rabbit Startle, and similar movements until you have done twelve hundred repetitions in all; then hearing will not decline. For those already deaf, one may fumigate the ears with the dark tortoise method, or pack the ear with jujube spikes, sheep dung, cassia down, and sparrow cassia; or mix langdu with cold ge, or aconite with scallion juice, and put it in the ear; or pour in the steamed brain of carp—all are claimed to cure deafness.

Someone asked about methods to brighten the eyes.

Ge Hong said you can guide the qi of the Triple Burner upward, visualize great fire gathering at the Li position in the south, wash with bright stone, warm with sunlight, burn the Bingding cave-vision talisman, and wash the eyes with wine mixed from that. People in antiquity used this method to write at night. You can also boil turnip seeds in bitter wine, dry and grind them to powder, and take one fangcun bi (a small ancient measuring spoon) three times a day; after a full dou (about ten liters) of the powder, it is said one can see in the dark. Others decoct dog bile with green sheep, turtledove, abalone shell, motherwort, and other ingredients into Baihua powder; or decoct cloves and coptis with milk and drop it into the eyes. The scriptures say these methods cure all kinds of eye disease and make vision clearer than usual.

Someone asked about methods for climbing high places, crossing dangerous ground, and walking long distances without fatigue.

Ge Hong (a Daoist scholar of the Eastern Jin and author of Baopuzi) said that only by taking what is called the “Great Medicine” can the body become light, strong, and able to work without fatigue.

Someone who has just entered the mountains and whose body is not yet nourished and strengthened may wash the feet with Cloud-Pearl Powder, Hundred-Flower Sweet Wine, or Dark-Child Decoction, and take such medicines as Tiger Gall Pill, Vermilion Bright Wine, Heavenly Male Crane-Fat Pill, Flying-Edge Decocted Extract, Autumn Awn, Plantain, and Alisma Powder. After ten days of use, not only will long walks not tire one, but walking speed can increase to three times the usual pace.

If one can practice “stride-riding” (cheng jie)—the Daoist lore of traversing vast distances by technique or meditative visualization—one can travel the whole realm without mountains and rivers as barriers. There are three methods of stride-riding: Dragon Stride, Tiger Stride, and Deer-Lu Stride. Some people travel far by taking talismans and concentrating in visualization: to go a thousand li, they focus for one double-hour; if they sustain that visualization through all twelve double-hours of day and night, it is said they can cover twelve thousand li in one day and night, and for farther distances they continue in the same way. Others make a flying cart from jujube-heart wood, with a ring-shaped mechanism of ox hide, and drive the mechanism with a sword so the cart moves. Still others visualize themselves riding a carriage drawn by five serpents, six dragons, and three ox-heads, ascending along the gang qi for forty li—a state called “Taiqing (Great Clarity).” The force within Taiqing is so intense it can overwhelm a person.

The master said that when a kite flies higher and higher, it only spreads its wings without flapping and still advances on its own, because it gradually rides the air currents. When a dragon rises above the clouds to about forty li, it too flies by itself. These accounts are said to come from immortals and circulate among the people; ordinary people do not know what is truly the case.

Practicing stride-riding also requires long-term fasting and abstaining from meat and blood food; only after a full year may one ride the “King’s Stride.” Even talisman-taking and visualizing the Five-Dragon Stride is considered the method that reaches the farthest; other methods go at most a thousand li. How high one flies, whether one stops or continues, each has its rule and cannot be done arbitrarily. Without observing the prohibitions, one must not rashly ride the stride, or there is danger of falling.

If someone asks: “The Guwen jing (Turtle Text Classic) mentioned in the chapter on Laozi says that after ‘medicine soldiers’ and in the years of Metal and Wood, great pestilence will surely come, with only one survivor in ten thousand. Is there any way to escape it?”

Baopu zi replied: “Immortals who ward off plague have secret transmitted ritual methods. Visualize your whole body turned into jade in five colors, matching the four seasons: in spring, green; in summer, red; in the last month of each season (jixia), yellow; in autumn, white; in winter, black. Then visualize yourself wearing a golden headcloth, your heart like a flame, bright and about the size of a dou (a dry measure)—then you need fear nothing.

“There is another method: visualize your hair loose and covering your entire body, each hair tip linked to a great star. Visualize yourself arranged as the seven stars of the Northern Dipper (Beidou), with the ladle’s bowl (dou kui, the front four stars) over your head and the handle pointing forward.

“You may also visualize the qi of the five viscera (zang) pouring out from between the brows like mist and cloud wrapping your body: liver qi green, lung qi white, spleen qi yellow, kidney qi black, heart qi red, the five colors interwoven. Then you may sleep in the same bed as someone stricken with plague.

“You may also perform Yu Steps (Yubu, the ritual footsteps of Yu the Great), calling the jade maiden on duty; or hold your breath and visualize strong men wielding thousand-jin golden hammers, a hundred and twenty of them guarding you.

“You may also use Ghost-Shooting Pills (Shegui wan), Red Cart Messenger Pills (Chiche shizhe wan), Champion Pills (Guanjun wan), Xu Changqing Powder (Xu Changqing san), Jade Casket Essence Powder (Yuhan jingfen), Green Ox Daoist Body-Fumigation Pills (Qingniu daoshi xunshen wan), Cuiwen Powder (also written Quewen or Xingwen Powder), Grass Jade Wine (Caoyu jiu), Yellow Court Pills (Huangting wan), the Yellow Talisman (Huangfu), Laozi Neck-Center Talisman (Laozi lingzhong fu), Chixuzi Peach-Fan Talisman (Chixuzi taofan fu), and the like—all said to work well.”

End of juan fifteen of the Inner Chapters of Baopu zi.

Volume 15 of the Inner Chapters of Baopuzi ends here.

In the commentary notes, yuan tuo (“original lacuna”) means that character was missing in the transmitted text and has been supplied from Wang Ming’s collated edition; “originally read …, emended according to Wang Ming’s collated edition” means the received text had a different character, now corrected following that edition.

This is Volume 16 of the Inner Chapters of Baopuzi, titled Huangbai. Huangbai denotes the techniques for refining gold, silver, and related metals.

In the Baopuzi, Ge Hong writes that the scriptures recording immortals and huangbai shu—methods for turning medicinal substances into gold and silver—amount to twenty-five juan and more than a thousand chapters. “Huang” means gold and “bai” means silver. People in antiquity treated these techniques as deeply secret and avoided naming them plainly, which is why they used “huangbai” as a covert term. Some sections carry titles such as “gengxin”; geng and xin likewise stand for gold and silver. Most of these procedures, however, are abstruse and difficult to grasp; only a few can be explained in a clear and intelligible way.

Most people suspect that such methods are empty and fantastic—the same stance they take toward disbelieving in immortals. I once studied under Master Zheng and learned the Jiudan and Jinyin Ye jing, and I also asked him to transmit to me the five juan of the Huangbai Zhongjing. Master Zheng said that he and Lord Zuo had tried refining at Tongshan in Lujiang, and both attempts succeeded. Refining nonetheless requires strict fasting and observance of taboos, and the labor is extremely demanding—no different from refining the Golden Elixir (jindan) or seeking immortal elixirs.

Ordinary people often ridicule me for pursuing heterodox paths and for insisting on probing what the world supposedly can never understand. Why do I persist? If I merely wanted posthumous renown, my more than one hundred juan of outer chapters and miscellaneous writings would already be enough to express my aims; I would not need to add this material. Moreover, the inner chapters speak plainly, without ornate artifice. I also know that when people discuss such topics they tend to find them remote and impractical; they prefer teachings that stay close to everyday life and readily win broad assent.

Even so, I cannot refrain from treating these subjects. Though I know the world is reluctant to listen, I still commit them to writing—because I have witnessed their effects myself, and because those who taught me did not speak in vain. My household was poor and I lacked resources; I faced repeated hardships and lived in continual want. Roads were blocked and I could not obtain the needed materials, so in the end I never found the leisure to refine them myself. To tell others that I understand how to refine gold and silver while I myself go hungry and cold is like a person who cannot walk peddling a cure for lameness—winning belief is genuinely difficult. Still, when things fail to work out, one cannot on that basis conclude that they are impossible altogether.

I set these words down so that curious readers in later ages who cherish the true Dao may find my book and grasp what daoist arts mean and what they can do—not to hawk them like a cure for a crippled leg, begging people to believe; that truly cannot work. Yet affairs and reason do not always bend to our wishes, and one cannot treat every case alike.

The arts of transformation can accomplish almost anything. A body that is plainly visible may be made to vanish; spirits and ghosts that are normally unseen may be brought into view. Those who can do such things are not rare. Water and fire belong to heaven and earth, yet one may obtain them through the yangsui (fire-drill mirror) and the fangzhu (water-gathering vessel). Lead, though white by nature, may be refined into red cinnabar; cinnabar, though red, may in turn be turned back into white lead. Cloud, rain, frost, and snow are all qi of heaven and earth, yet they can also be produced by medicinal means, and what is made in that way does not differ from what arises of itself.

As for birds and beasts and every creeping thing, each has the form that creation gave it—yet there are countless reports of them suddenly shedding their old shape and becoming something else, in types too many to list. Human beings are the most spiritually endowed of the ten thousand things, yet there are also stories of men and women exchanging bodily form, or turning into cranes, stones, tigers, apes, sand, or giant soft-shelled turtles (bie)—and such accounts are not few. That high mountains become abysses and deep valleys become lofty hills is transformation on the largest scale. Change is simply the way of heaven and earth; why then insist that gold and silver cannot be produced by transforming other substances?

Consider: fire taken with the yangsui and water drawn with the fangzhu—how do they differ from ordinary water and fire? A serpent becoming a dragon, or chaff from miscanthus refined into grease—these too are no different from things that come about naturally. Still, the root and origin of these changes all lie in natural resonance (ganying); unless one exhausts principle and sees through the nature of the ten thousand things, one cannot grasp their fundamental purport; unless one traces what begins and penetrates what ends, one cannot know how things truly stand.

Narrow-mindedness and shallow knowledge are like those shut inside a cage or a nest who still presume to fathom unfathomable subtleties and dismiss divine transformations as empty fantasy. Simply because the Duke of Zhou and Confucius never spoke of such things and ancient classics never recorded them, one declares outright that they are impossible—is that not far too crude?

Ordinary people, because Liu Xiang’s efforts at refining the golden elixir did not succeed, say that no such method exists in the world at all. This is like seeing a farmer occasionally hit by flood or drought and fail to harvest, and then concluding that the five grains cannot be sown or cultivated.

Wu Dawen, Interior Minister of Chengdu, was broad in vision and rich in learning. He once said that when he studied the Way under the Daoist Li Gen, he saw with his own eyes Li Gen smelt lead and tin, drop into the crucible a medicine no larger than a bean, and stir with an iron spoon; when it cooled, the lead and tin had turned to silver. Li Gen passed the secret formula to Wu Dawen. Wu Dawen wished to refine it himself; after a hundred days of purification fasting he was ready to begin, but because he clung to official business he never succeeded. He often sighed and said, “Affairs of the human world are truly not worth holding onto.”

Huan Junshan also records that in the Han dynasty the Yellow Gate Attendant Cheng Wei loved the arts of yellow and white (methods for refining gold and silver). He married a woman skilled in such arts. Once Cheng Wei was to accompany the emperor on a journey but had no suitable clothes and was deeply troubled. His wife said, “Give me two bolts of fine silk.” As soon as she spoke, the silk appeared before them for no visible reason.

Cheng Wei tried to refine gold according to the method in the pillow book Hongbao (a work said to record alchemical techniques) but failed. When his wife came to see him, he was fanning charcoal to heat a tube filled with mercury. She said, “Let me try something for you to see.” She took medicine from her pouch and added it bit by bit to the mercury; after a while she opened the vessel and the mercury had become silver.

Cheng Wei was greatly startled and said, “The Way is clearly with you—why did you not tell me sooner?” She answered, “This Way must be passed to someone with the right affinity.” From then on Cheng Wei urged her day and night, sold fields and houses to supply her fine food and splendid dress, yet she still would not teach him the method. Cheng Wei discussed with companions using the lash to force her to yield. She had long seen it coming and told him, “The Way must go to the right person. Meet the right person and even a chance meeting on the road is enough to teach; if it is not the right person, agreement on the lips without sincerity in the heart—even cutting the body inch by inch and breaking the limbs apart—will not bring the Way forth.”

Wei kept pressuring his wife and would not stop. His wife then went mad: she ran out naked, smeared mud all over her body, and eventually died. The priest Zhe learned of this and said to Wei: “The methods of the Dao must be passed only to the right person. When you meet such a person, even if you encounter them on the road, you should teach them; if someone is not the right person—agreeing in words but not believing in the heart—even if you cut them to pieces, the methods of the Dao will not be transmitted to them.”

Recently, Hua Lingsi, former prefect of Lujiang, was a man of outstanding talent and wide learning; he mostly did not believe in things that defied common sense. Later a Daoist priest taught him the art of refining “yellow and white” (the technique of transmuting base metals into gold and silver). He had the priest demonstrate. The priest said that if you melted lead in an iron vessel and threw in a powder of medicinals, it would turn into silver; melt that silver again and add another medicine, and it would become gold.

Hua Lingsi also learned from this priest the art of “penetrating vision” (the ability to see distant or hidden things). In less than a hundred days of practice, when he lay down at night he could clearly see the stars in the sky and the scenes in neighboring households, as if houses and fences no longer blocked his sight. He also had a concubine named Yaohua who had already died; afterward he saw her appear in form and could converse with her as before. When he performed sacrifices to a temple spirit, he even heard the spirit respond to his obeisance; his bed seemed to shake and make sounds.

Hua Lingsi sighed and said: “In the world there is truly nothing that is absolutely impossible. Even if the Five Classics do not record it, one cannot simply decide from one’s own opinion that it does not exist.” Yet those who have never heard of such arts, when they suddenly hear these things—how could they not be astonished?

Refining “yellow and white” and refining the spirit elixir (shendan) alike require a hundred days or more of fasting, purification, and cleanliness; one must also understand books of formulas and grasp their essentials before one may begin. Those who are impure, unintelligent, or rarely exposed to numerological and occult learning are not suited to practice. Some arts also require oral transmission of secret formulas and must be passed personally from master to disciple. In practice one should enter a quiet, clean place deep in the mountains and not let worldly fools know. Liu Xiang, by contrast, refined only inside the palace and had palace women attend and supply his needs.

Liu Xiang practiced refining only within the palace, with palace staff supplying whatever he needed. Those people could hardly have kept proper fasting and purification, or cut off ordinary contact and kept outsiders away. Under such conditions, how could the work succeed?

Huan Tan’s Xinlun (New Discourses) records that when Shi Zixin was appointed aide to the Chancellor, he was given a room in the official compound and officials, soldiers, and government slaves were assigned to serve him, yet the refining of gold still failed. The Chancellor, feeling his own resources were insufficient, reported the matter to Empress Dowager Fu. At first she lost interest in gold refining; later, when she heard that refined gold could be used to prepare drugs for prolonging life, she changed her mind. She then appointed Shi Zixin as a Gentleman of the Palace, lodged him in the Northern Palace, and sent people to provide for his needs.

What sense is there in working on such a secret, miraculous formula inside the palace with ordinary people mixed in disorder? Even in civilian dyeing of silk, one avoids letting unrelated people watch, or the dyeing fails—and transforming base metal into gold or silver should be all the more guarded. Whether the task is great or small, one must grasp the essential method. Without the method, if everything is done in a confused jumble, one cannot even succeed at brewing wine, making sauce or vinegar, or cooking a meal—how much less at something as weighty as refining gold?

I once asked Master Zheng: “Laozi said not to prize rare goods. In ages of great peace, people cast gold into the mountains and threw jade into the valleys. I do not understand: if the ancients valued gold and jade, why did they still leave behind the methods for refining them?”

Master Zheng answered me: “Laozi’s words are aimed at those who sift sand and drill rock, who overturn mountains and fill ravines, who travel ten thousand li without fear of being crushed or drowned, all to hunt for treasure. They disrupt the people’s seasons of production, never know when they have enough, and pour their energy into ornamenting useless things. There are also those who set their hearts on the Dao and long for long life, yet at the same time engage in trade, fail to keep faith and modesty, rush about for profit even at the risk of their lives, and do not cultivate a clear heart and few desires. As for Realized Persons who refine gold, they do so to ingest it themselves and thereby attain immortality—not to grow rich. Hence the scripture says: gold can be refined, and the world can be delivered; silver too may be ingested, though its effect is inferior to that of gold.”

I raised an objection, saying: “Why not simply ingest the gold and silver already found in the world, instead of refining other substances into gold and silver? People practice gold refinement intending to ingest it and become immortals—not to grow rich. The scriptures say that gold can be refined, that people in the world can be delivered, and that silver may also be ingested, though its effect falls short of gold’s.”

I raised another objection, saying: “Why not ingest the gold and silver already found in the world, and refine instead? What is refined is not natural gold and silver, so it is not authentic; what is not authentic is counterfeit.”

Master Zheng replied: “Gold and silver in the world are perfectly good, yet Daoist priests are mostly poor—hence the saying, ‘There is no wealthy Daoist priest, and no corpulent immortal.’ A master–disciple group may be as few as five or as many as ten; where would enough gold and silver come from for all to ingest? Besides, they cannot travel far to gather supplies, so refinement is necessary.

“The gold that is refined is the condensed essence of many medicinals, and is better than natural gold and silver. The Scripture of Immortals says, ‘Elixir essence begets gold’—meaning gold produced by elixir medicines. Where cinnabar (zhusha, the vermillion ore) occurs in the mountains, gold is often found beneath. Once refined, it is true metal, the same within and without; repeated smelting does not diminish it. That is why alchemical texts say it can be used to make nails—showing how hard and strong it is. This follows the natural Way; how can it be called counterfeiting?

“Counterfeiting means coating iron with azurite (zengqing, a copper-bearing mineral) so the surface turns red like copper, or treating silver with egg white so the surface turns yellow like gold. Such methods only change the outside; the inside does not change.

“Lingzhi and other fungi grow naturally, yet the Scripture of Immortals also records cultivating lingzhi with five ores and five kinds of wood. Lingzhi gathered after cultivation is no different from wild lingzhi; both can extend life. That cultivation can likewise show that refining gold is not counterfeiting. When a pheasant becomes a shen (a legendary clam-like creature), or a sparrow becomes a clam, the result is indistinguishable from what nature produces.

“Thus the Scripture of Immortals says: ‘Flowing Pearl (liuzhu, an alchemical term for a substance in the elixir process), after nine transformations—the father does not tell the son; it can turn into yellow and white (gold and silver), transforming into one another by nature.’ It also says: ‘Refining cinnabar into gold and ingesting it to ascend as an immortal is the way of the superior adept (shangshi); ingesting lingzhi, practicing daoyin (methods of guiding the body and regulating qi), and swallowing and retaining breath to achieve long life is the way of the middle adept (zhongshi).’”

Relying solely on consuming herbs and plants to prolong life and extend years is a method at a relatively lower level of cultivation. Ancient texts also say that gold and silver can be artificially refined—this is their natural disposition—and that longevity can likewise be attained through study and practice. The Yudie Ji (Jade Register Record) states that all people under heaven are capable of achieving long life; it is only that they often fail because of hesitation and indecision.

Mercury, once condensed and refined, can be transformed into gold, even to the point of being made into nails. The Tongzhu Jing (Bronze Pillar Scripture) says that cinnabar can be refined into gold and the “river chariot” into silver; when the method is correct, genuine products can be produced. Once one has obtained this art, one can cultivate an immortal body. Huangshanzi said that gold exists naturally between heaven and earth, and that he too could refine it: with two parts of a yellow substance and one part of a red substance, it could quickly be completed—there is no need for doubt. The Guijia Wen (Turtle Shell Inscriptions) says: “My fate is in my own hands, not decided by heaven; when the elixir pill is refined into gold, one may endure for hundreds of millions of years.” Would the ancients deceive me?

Those who understand this art are mostly poor. The required medicinal materials are sometimes inexpensive in themselves, yet they grow in remote regions and are hard to obtain in times of disorder. Items such as Ronggu and luxian (brine salt) were very cheap in peaceful ages; today, even if one pays without haggling, they cannot be bought. Qiangli Shizhan is said to cost ten million cash for a single jin, and still cannot be found. In such circumstances, even knowing the formula is no different from not knowing—a cause for deep regret.

Those who possess the method sometimes live in poverty and hunger, without money to compound the medicine; the wealthy often do not understand the method at all. Even when they do understand, they may not believe it. And even when some believe, they usually already possess much gold and silver—why would they spend ready cash on medicinal ingredients? They fear that money invested will be lost in vain, or that what is refined will disperse and vanish, and so they refuse to try. Count further: the cost of buying medicine compared with what refinement yields could originally be quite profitable; yet one must also observe fasting and endure hardship, so very few can actually do it. Moreover, without a clear master personally transmitting the secret oral instructions, one truly cannot lightly open the furnace and begin refining.

Physicians’ prescriptions are often written in deceptively plain language, yet formulas that are commonly used and genuinely effective are still kept secret. Some drug names in prescription books—such as “Official’s Traveling Daughter After Use,” “Adhesive for the Oblique Side,” “Lord of Feng’s Mud Pellets,” “Wood Demon Child,” “Golden Merchant Fungus,” “Flying Lord Root,” “Hidden Dragon Liver,” “White Horse Sweat,” “Floating Cloud Sediment,” “Dragon’s Child Red Garment,” “Night-Shining Bone,” “Hundred-Flower Sweet Wine,” and “Winter Zou Fast”—all refer to ordinary things close at hand; but without the oral key to decode them, people still would not know what they mean—how much more so for the art of refining gold and silver?

Those who understand this art today do not keep its secrets merely because the materials are precious. Once the work succeeds, there is hope of long life. The path of longevity is the highest reach of Daoist practice, which is why the ancients valued it so highly.

Drugs named in prescription books sometimes bear the same names as common medicines yet are not those things at all. For example, “Riverbank Maiden” is not a woman, “Lingyang Ziming” is not a man, “Yu’s Leftover Grain” is not rice, and “Yao’s Broth” is not water. When ordinary people see a formula listing “dragon gall,” “tiger palm,” “chicken head,” “duck foot,” “horse lung,” “dog blood,” “rat tail,” or “ox knee,” they assume these are all flesh and blood; when they see “broken basin,” “overturned basin,” “pot bottom,” “great halberd,” “ghost arrow,” or “heaven hook,” they take them for iron or pottery vessels; when they see “Envoy of the Barbarian King,” “Lean-on-the-Mother-in-Law New Wife,” “Wild Old Man,” “Field-Guard Official,” “Dai Wen’s Bath,” or “Xu Changqing,” they think these are people’s names. In fact, most of these are hidden names for herbs or drugs.

If even nearby herbs go unrecognized, who can fully grasp subtle and secret arts? That Liu Xiang failed in his gold-making is hardly surprising. Whoever holds the crucial oral instructions need not be a sage or a person of exceptional talent to succeed; ordinary people can do it too. Was Liu Xiang stupid? He simply had not received the formula.

Now I will record brief and effective methods for kindred spirits in times to come. First take Wudu realgar—realgar from Wudu—with color like a cockscomb, bright and free of impurities; the amount may be chosen at will, but not less than five jin.

First take realgar from Wudu, with a color as red as a cockscomb, bright and lustrous, free of mixed impurities. Take as much as you wish, but no less than five jin. Pound it into powder, mix it with ox gall bile, and cook until dry.

Prepare a cauldron with a capacity of about one dou, shaped like red earthenware ware. First spread a layer of powdered ro salt and chalcanthite (shidan) on the bottom, about two fen thick; then add a layer of realgar powder about five fen thick, and cover it with ro salt. Alternate layers in this way until all material is used. Finally add a layer of broken charcoal on top, about two cun thick, each piece the size of a jujube pit. Seal the outside of the cauldron with mud mixed from earthworm-mound soil and ro salt; invert another cauldron over it and seal that entirely as well, about three cun thick, so that no air leaks. Leave it to dry in a shady place for one month, then heat it with a horse-dung fire at gentle intensity for three days and three nights. When cool, open it, take the copper from the bottom of the cauldron, and refine it with bellows until it flows like molten iron in a bronze statue.

Next hammer this copper into tubes and fill them with “cinnabar water” (a liquid prepared from cinnabar). Heat again with a horse-dung fire at gentle intensity for thirty days; when the furnace is opened, refine with bellows, take the resulting gold, form it into tubes again, and continue filling with cinnabar water. Then heat once more with horse-dung fire at gentle intensity for thirty days, open the furnace, remove the product, and pound it.

Take two parts raw cinnabar and one part mercury; combine them. After thirty days of heating, open the furnace and refine with bellows to obtain gold; form it into tubes again and fill with cinnabar water. Then heat again with horse-dung fire at gentle intensity for thirty days, remove and pound. When two parts raw cinnabar and one part mercury are smelted together, the mercury congeals at once into gold. The gold obtained is bright and fine and can be used to make nails.

Method for preparing cinnabar water

Place one jin of cinnabar into a fresh bamboo tube, then add two liang each of chalcanthite (blue vitriol) and saltpeter. Layer these materials evenly above and below inside the tube. Seal the mouth of the tube and close it tightly with bone-dye pellets. Once the seal has dried completely, place the bamboo tube in strong bitter wine and bury it three chi deep in the ground. After thirty days, the contents will turn into a liquid that is red in color and bitter in taste.

Master Jinlou learned a method for refining gold from Qinglinzi: first forge tin into square sheets, each six cun long and wide and one cun two fen thick. Mix red salt with ash lye into a paste and spread it on the tin sheets to a thickness of about one fen. Stack the prepared tin sheets layer by layer in a cauldron made of red clay. For every seven jin of tin use four jin of red salt; seal the mouth and seams of the cauldron tightly and heat it slowly over a horse-dung fire for thirty days.

When you open the fire and inspect, the tin will have turned ash-like; if grains gather and form bean-shaped pieces, they are taken to be gold. After it cools, put it in an earthen jar (tu’ou) and heat it with a charcoal fire, blowing the coals; refine it ten times in this way and the process is complete. By this method, ten jin of tin can yield twenty liang of gold. Only earthen cauldrons from the regions of Changsha, Guiyang, Yuzhang, and Nanhai are suitable; local people often cook with such cauldrons, so they are not hard to obtain.

Method for Preparing Red Salt

Take one jin each of cold salt, cold water stone, cold yunie, and white alum, put them in an iron vessel, and heat with a charcoal fire. When everything has melted and turned red, remove and set aside for use.

Master Luli learned another method for transmuting gold from Jiqiuzi: first take two parts alum water stone, put it in an iron vessel, and heat with charcoal until it boils; then add an appropriate amount of mercury, stir until they blend, boil six or seven times, and pour onto the ground—it is said to become silver.

Next take one part each of cinnabar water and azurite water, and two parts realgar water, put them in a container and heat gently to boiling, stirring repeatedly to mix them. Then move it to a charcoal fire and heat to boiling, add an appropriate amount of silver, boil six or seven times, and pour onto the ground. After it congeals, it is said to become top-grade “purple-polished” gold.

Method for preparing realgar water: Put one jin of realgar into a freshly cut bamboo tube, add two liang of xiaoshi (saltpeter), pad and cover both ends, and seal the mouth of the tube with lacquer-bound pills. Then place the tube in strong vinegar or strong bitter wine and bury it three chi deep in the ground. After twenty days, the realgar will dissolve into liquid.

The method for preparing bailiu water (liquid made from bailiu) and fanshi water (liquid made from fanshi) is the same; only put each material in its own bamboo tube.

Methods for refining gold.

Make a large iron cylinder with an inner diameter of one chi two cun and a height of one chi two cun; also make a small iron cylinder with an inner diameter of six cun, and polish its inner wall smooth. Take one jin each of red halloysite, saltpeter, mica, ochre (daizheshi), and condensed water stone, plus half a jin of sulfur and four liang of azurite; grind all together finely, sift, mix with vinegar, and coat the inner wall of the small cylinder to a thickness of about two fen.

Take one jin of mercury, half a jin of cinnabar, and half a jin of “liangfei.” To prepare liangfei when none is on hand: put ten jin of lead in an iron cauldron and heat it on a furnace until the lead melts, then add three liang of mercury. Skim off what rises first with an iron spoon—this is called “liangfei.” Stir until lead and mercury are blended and no mercury is visible. Put the mixture into the small cylinder, cover the top with mica, and cap it with an iron lid pressed down firmly.

Set the large cylinder on the furnace, melt lead and pour it into the large cylinder so the lead submerges the small one, leaving only half a cun exposed at the top. When the lead is melted, apply fierce fire continuously for three days and three nights; what is refined is then called “Purple Powder” (zifen).

Again take ten jin of lead, melt it in an iron vessel, and heat for about twenty days, then transfer to a copper vessel. After the lead melts, add seven fangcun bi of Purple Powder and stir so it submerges the small cylinder, still leaving half a cun at the top; once the lead is melted, apply fierce fire for three days and three nights again—the product is also called Purple Powder. Finally, melt ten jin of lead, add seven fangcun bi of Purple Powder, stir, and it is said that gold can be refined thereby. To refine silver, put mercury in an iron vessel, add more than three cun of Purple Powder, heat until they unite, then pour into water—it is said that silver can be refined thereby.

“Wuchengzi fa” (the Method of Master Wucheng) is the name of this refining procedure.

Make an iron tube nine inches long and five inches in diameter. Pound three jin of realgar fine, then take one portion each of earthworm droppings, mole cricket, and similar materials, mix them into a paste, and coat the outside of the iron tube so that its diameter is reduced to three inches, leaving four inches at the mouth. Add two he of cinnabar water, dry it thoroughly over a fire of horse dung, then place it inside a copper tube, seal it tightly with a copper cap, fill the rest with fine yellow sand, and coat the top again with earthworm-droppings paste so that it is completely airtight. Put it in a bed of charcoal with three inches of charcoal all around, heat until the mouth of the tube turns red, then remove and cool. All the realgar will have entered the copper tube. Repeat in the same way until all three jin of refined realgar has entered the tube. Take it out and mix the refined realgar with yellow sand in equal amounts to form the furnace charge; the intensity of the fire may be adjusted as you see fit.

When using it, place the charge in glowing charcoal, then add mercury. When the mercury begins to move, add lead. The realgar will rise from the sides and gather in the center; pour it onto the ground and it will turn into gold. After a total of one thousand five hundred jin has been refined, the furnace will lose its efficacy.

This gold must be soaked for one hundred days in wine fermented with vitex and red millet; afterward it becomes soft and can be worked. Form it into pills the size of small beans and take three pills daily. After consuming one jin, it is said that the three worms, corpse-inhabiting demons, and similar pathogenic agents within the body will lie dormant and vanish, and all illnesses will be cured; the blind will see again, the deaf will hear again, and the aged will return to the condition of thirty years of age. Even if one enters fire, one will not be burned, and various evil influences, poisons, cold wind, summer heat, and damp qi cannot harm the person. After consuming three jin, it is said one can walk on water, the spirits of mountains and rivers will come to protect one, and one’s lifespan will equal that of heaven and earth.

Boil one pill in silk-reeling blood (some editions read “ailanthus” for the plant name), then rub it on the corners of the eyes, and one will see ghosts and things underground and can write at night. Coat one pill with white goat’s blood and throw it into water, and fish and dragons will appear at once and can be caught. Coat one pill with green goat’s blood and cinnabar chicken’s blood and hang it on the city gate; within a radius of one li no epidemic will occur. Smear it on the foreheads of cattle, sheep, and other livestock, and they will not catch plague, nor will tigers or leopards attack them.

When the pill is mixed with tiger gall and snake fat and cast toward the enemy from above the position of the Monthly Establishment (yuejian—the direction corresponding to the earthly branch of the current month), the enemy forces are said to fall into disorder for no reason, slaughter one another, and flee.

When the pill is mixed with blood and hung on the city gate, people within about a li are said not to catch plague; when the mixture is daubed on the foreheads of cattle, sheep, and other livestock, they are said not to fall ill, and tigers and leopards will not come near.

When the pill is mixed with ox blood and thrown into a well, the well water is said to boil at once; thrown into running water, the water is said to flow backward for a hundred paces. Mixed with white dog blood and placed in the hall of a Du shrine, ghosts and spirits are said to appear and may be commanded. Mixed with rabbit blood and placed in a Six Yin site (a place aligned with yin directions), the Kitchen Maiden of the March (xingchu yunü), who provides food, is said to arrive at once and supply meals for sixty or seventy people.

When the pill is mixed with carp gall and taken into water, the water is said to part to each side by one zhang (about 3.3 meters), allowing one to breathe and walk underwater; worn on the body in rain, one’s clothes are said not to get wet. Boiled with purple amaranth, held in the mouth and the decoction swallowed, one is said to go without hunger for a hundred days. Boiled with lodestone and placed in the hair bun, one is said to be unharmed by swords or flying arrows when meeting robbers; if someone shoots an arrow, the arrow is said to fly back at the shooter.

When soil from the directions of the Six Ding and Six Ren (spirit generals in Daoist numerology) is mixed with the pill and used to cover the body, one is said to become invisible. Holding one pill and spitting fire toward the north, fire is said to go out. On a geng or xin day at the shen or you hour (afternoon/evening), facing west and throwing the pill at a tree, the tree is said to wither that same day. Taking another pill, performing the Pace of Yu (Yubu—the ritual “stepping the Big Dipper” gait) and throwing it at a tiger, wolf, snake, or viper, they are said to die immediately.

When the pill is ground fine and the powder used to write on stone, the writing is said to sink into the stone; written on metal or wood, it likewise penetrates the grain so deeply that scraping cannot remove it. When someone dies suddenly and has been dead less than one full night, placing one pill in water at the Monthly Establishment position, letting the water enter the throat, then holding water in the mouth and spraying it on the dead person’s face, is said to restore them to life.

Smear fox blood and crane blood onto a single pill, then place the pill inside a melon. Point your finger at various things while reciting aloud, and they will seem to change at once: mountains appear to shift, trees appear to be uprooted and moved elsewhere—onlookers can all see these sights, yet in reality nothing has actually moved.

Whenever one undertakes the refinement of “huangbai” (the alchemical art of transmuting base metals such as gold and silver into precious metal), one must erect an altar and offer worship to Taiyi, the Mysterious Woman (Xuannü), and Laozi, and perform the seated or standing jiao sacrificial rites. When refining the “Nine Elixirs” (jiudan), one must also burn the five aromatics frequently so that the incense fire is never interrupted.

After the gold has been successfully refined, first take three jin of it and cast it into deep water, then take one jin and put it out in the marketplace; only then may one use the gold as one wishes.

Volume 16 of the Baopuzi Neipian (Inner Chapters of the Master Who Embraces Simplicity) ends here.

What follows are collation notes explaining that certain characters and phrases in the original text have been corrected or supplied on the basis of Wang Ming’s critical edition.

Volume 17, “Deng She” (Ascending and Crossing): Someone asks about methods for ascending mountains.

Baopuzi says: Those who enter the mountains—whether to cultivate the Dao and refine elixirs, or to withdraw from turmoil—often do so without knowing the proper methods, and many come to harm. Hence the saying: “Below Mount Taihua, white bones lie everywhere.” It means that some people know only one or two things and fail to prepare fully; though they wish to preserve life, they lose it in vain.

Mountains, large or small, all have spirits; great mountains have greater spirits, lesser mountains have lesser ones. Without the appropriate methods for entering the mountains, one may meet disaster: illness, injury, or terror; strange lights and sounds; trees that snap without wind, or rocks that fall for no reason; loss of mind, frantic running, falls into ravines, or attacks by tigers, wolves, and venomous creatures. One must not enter the mountains lightly.

The best times to enter are the third and ninth lunar months, known as “months when the mountains open”; one should also choose an auspicious day and hour within those months. If urgency prevents waiting for those months, at least select a favorable day and time.

Before entering, ordinary people should keep purification for seven days and avoid defilement; when setting out, carry a “mountain-entry talisman” (a protective fu worn when entering the hills) and perform the “Three-Five Whole-Body Method” (a rite that shields the body according to fixed numerical patterns).

Each of the Five Sacred Mountains also has years of calamity, as each region of the Nine Provinces has its cycles of rise and decline. Where “flying talisman baleful qi” (qi believed to bring disaster) is said to affect a place, local leaders should not hold zhaijiao there. According to the Zhou Gong City Name Record, the world is divided into regional domains; where calamity strikes one may withdraw, but it cannot be removed by ritual supplication alone. The same applies to dwellings—and to mountains.

Another major taboo: in years of Jia, Yi, Yin, and Mao, do not enter the Eastern Sacred Mountain in the first or second month; in years of Bing, Ding, Si, and Wu, do not enter the Southern Sacred Mountain in the fourth or fifth month; in years of Geng, Xin, Shen, and Yu, do not enter the Western Sacred Mountain in the seventh or eighth month.

In years of Wu and Ji, as well as in the last month of each season, one must not enter the Central Sacred Mountain (Zhongyue); in years of Ren and Gui, and in years of Hai and Zi, as well as in the tenth and eleventh months, one must not enter the Northern Sacred Mountain (Beiyue). When traveling to Mount Huashan, Huoshan, Hengshan, Taishan, Songshan, and the like, one must likewise avoid the corresponding forbidden years and months; whenever one goes in the direction of these sacred peaks, the same taboos apply.

Legend has it that when all things grow old, their essences can transform into human form to bewilder the eyes and test the mind, yet they cannot alter the true shape revealed in a mirror. Therefore, those who entered the mountains to cultivate the Dao in antiquity would hang a bright mirror at least nine inches in diameter on their backs, believing that in this way the laomei (old mountain sprites) would not dare approach. If something came to test them, they would turn and look at its reflection in the mirror: if it were an immortal or a benevolent mountain spirit, the mirror would still show a human form; if it were a bird, beast, or demonic creature, the mirror would show its original form. When a laomei departed, it always walked backward; one could turn the mirror to shine on its back—if it had no heels, it was a laomei; if it had heels, it was a mountain spirit.

Long ago, the Daoist masters Zhang Gai (also written “Zhang He”) and Cheng Ou’gao (also written “Ou Hao”) devoted themselves to cultivation in a stone chamber on Mount Yuntai in Shu. Suddenly a man dressed in yellow silk robes and wearing a hemp headcloth came before them and said, “You Daoists have labored hard, cultivating in so secluded and hidden a place!” The two turned to look in their mirror and saw that he was in fact a deer. They asked him, “You are an old deer of the mountains—how dare you pretend to be human?” Before they had finished speaking, the figure turned into a deer and fled.

Below Linlu Mountain stands a pavilion inhabited by ghosts and demons. Those who lodged there often fell ill or died. At night, dozens of shadowy figures would appear—some dressed in yellow, some in white, some in black, both men and women among them.

Later, a man named Qie Boyi once stayed at the pavilion. He lit lamps and candles and sat reading scriptures aloud. At midnight, more than ten figures came before him and sat down, playing chupu (an ancient gambling game) among themselves. Qie Boyi secretly shone a mirror on them and discovered they were in fact a pack of dogs. He rose with his lamp, pretending to accidentally set fire to his own clothes, which then gave off the smell of burning hair and fur. Concealed in his bosom was a small knife, and seizing the moment, he grabbed one of the dogs and stabbed it. At first the creature cried out in a human voice; when it died, it reverted to the form of a dog. The rest fled. From that time on, the strange occurrences ceased entirely. Such, it is said, is the power of the mirror.

When a superior cultivator enters the mountains, he carries the Sanhuang Neiwen (Inner Text of the Three Sovereigns, a Daoist talisman classic) and the Wuyue Zhenxing Tu (True Form Chart of the Five Sacred Mountains, depicting the mountain shapes used in Daoist cultivation). With these, he can summon the mountain gods, consult the registers of ghosts and spirits, and call forth local earth gods and mountain spirit officials for inquiry. Thus the monsters transformed from trees and rocks, and the essences of mountains and rivers, dare not approach to test him.

A cultivator of the next rank sets out the Seventy-Two Spirit-Suppressing Talismans to restrain various evil influences; he also uses seals such as the Zhuguan Seal and the Baoyuan Twelve Seals to seal off the four sides of his dwelling, so that no hundred evils dare draw near. Still lower in rank, one who holds the Eight Majesties Scepter (a Daoist ritual implement) and wears the Laozi Jade Tally can command the mountain gods—how then could the mountain spirits dare to harm him?

I heard Master Zheng speak of these matters, yet one cannot fully understand the actual circumstances. My own teacher often admonished his disciples: "When a person seeks the Dao, if he is as urgent as one who worries over poverty at home or frets over a lowly position, how could he fail to attain it?"

The only worry is that one’s resolve is not firm: rushing after immediate affairs while forgetting long-term aims. When one hears the Way, one is delighted and hurries forward to listen; before long, one forgets it entirely. What has just been gained is not yet consolidated, while losses as great as a mountain keep occurring. How then can one fully grasp the subtlety and depth of the ultimate principle, or reach a lofty and far-reaching level?

Ge Hong said that on certain days one should avoid entering the mountains: the wu (noon) day of the first month; the hai day of the second month; the shen day of the third month; the xu day of the fourth month; the wei day of the fifth month (some texts read xu instead); the mao day of the sixth month; the jiazi day of the seventh month; the jia and zi days of the eighth month; the yin day of the ninth month; the chen and wei days of the tenth month; the jichou day of the eleventh month; and the yin day of the twelfth month. Days considered auspicious for entering the mountains include jiazi, jiayin, yihai, yisi, yimao, bingxu, bingwu, and bingchen—all regarded as greatly favorable.

Ge Hong said that according to the Jiutian Miji (Secret Record of the Nine Heavens) and Taiyi Dunjia (Taiyi stratagem and concealed stems)—works used in Daoist prognostication and day-selection—in months of thirty days one should avoid the third, eleventh, fifteenth, eighteenth, twenty-fourth, twenty-sixth, and thirtieth; in months of twenty-nine days, avoid the first, fifth, thirteenth, sixteenth, twenty-sixth, and twenty-eighth. Entering the mountains on these days will surely bring tests from the mountain spirits: what one seeks is hard to obtain, and what one undertakes is hard to complete. This applies not only to Daoist priests; ordinary people who enter the mountains on these days also meet danger and may encounter tigers, wolves, or venomous creatures.

Ge Hong said that the disposition of Heaven and Earth and the shifts of Yin-Yang and good and ill fortune are exceedingly deep and hard to fathom, and difficult to explain in full. When I myself enter the mountains, I too meet peril and encounter tigers, wolves, and poisonous insects.

Baopuzi said that how heaven and earth move and turn, and what is auspicious or harmful in the shifts of yin and yang, is deep and obscure—hard to see clearly and impossible to spell out in full. He did not have to insist that such things certainly exist, yet he did not dare claim they were wholly absent either.

Still, the Yellow Emperor and Taigong trusted and acted on such ideas; in later times, thoughtful men such as Yan Junping and Sima Qian did the same. Scriptures and their commentaries record ways to reckon the calendar, fix the seasons, and tell whether a day is yin or yang, firm or yielding, lucky or unlucky. The old line “ji ri wei xu” (“only xu days are auspicious”) goes back a long way. Rulers of every age kept the Grand Astrologer (Taishi), and for enfeoffment, appointments, founding institutions, and great rites—ancestral temple offerings, suburban sacrifices to heaven and earth—they chose propitious hours. Yet lately some shallow, mediocre minds have taken themselves for people above the world…