《淮南鸿烈解》Vol. 4

On the day Beginning of Winter, the Son of Heaven personally led the Three Dukes, the Nine Ministers, and the senior officials to the northern suburbs to welcome the new year. After returning, he bestowed rewards on the descendants of those who had died in loyal service to the state, and offered care and support to orphans and widows. A child who has lost his father is called an “orphan”; a woman without a husband is called a “widow.”

During this month, the Grand Diviner, the official in charge of sacrificial prayers, was ordered to make offerings and prayers to the spirits, examine the results of divinations made with tortoise shells and yarrow stalks, and carefully distinguish the hexagrams in order to determine what was auspicious and inauspicious. The Son of Heaven began wearing fur garments and ordered the officials to safeguard the state’s property. He instructed the Minister of Works, who oversaw civil administration, to inspect reserves, repair the city walls, strengthen the defenses of gates and lanes, mend bolts and locks, carefully manage the keys, and securely seal away the state seals. The borders were also to be repaired, strongholds reinforced, and minor roads closed. Funeral arrangements were to be properly regulated: the thickness of coffins and burial garments, and the size and height of tombs, were all to be determined carefully according to rank.

During this month, the official in charge of artisans was to inspect their work, display the vessels used in sacrifice, and examine them according to the established standards. Such vessels were to be sturdy and durable. Those who produced shoddy, poorly made work, or who deliberately pursued unconventional ornamentation, were to be punished according to the law.

A grand winter sacrifice and banquet were to be held this month. The Son of Heaven prayed to the Celestial Powers—which included the sun, moon, stars, and other spirits of the heavens—for blessings in the coming year. He also held a great sacrifice at the communal altar, the site for worshipping the spirit of the soil. After the sacrifice, he feasted his ancestors, observing the ritual principle of putting public duties before private ones. Farmers were also comforted and given time to rest. The generals and commanders were ordered to teach and practice military affairs, including archery, chariot driving, and contests of strength.

Next, the Water Conservancy Official and the fisheries superintendent were ordered to collect taxes from rivers, ponds, lakes, and marshes, without arbitrary seizure or excessive levies.

If the spring commands were carried out in the first month of winter, the ice would not freeze solid, Earth Qi would leak out, and the people would be prone to disperse. If the summer commands were carried out, violent winds would become frequent, winter would not be cold enough, and hibernating insects would emerge again. If the autumn commands were carried out, the seasons for snowfall and frost would become irregular, minor hostilities would break out repeatedly, and the territory would be encroached upon.

The Minister of War was responsible for this tenth month, since military affairs were to be taught and practiced in winter. The tree associated with this month is the sandalwood tree, which belongs to Yin wood.

In midwinter, the Dipper’s Yaoyao star points toward the Zi position. At dusk, the Eastern Wall lunar mansion lies due south; at dawn, the Zhen mansion lies due south. The Eastern Wall is one of the seven mansions of the Northern Black Tortoise, and this month it stands at the southern meridian at dusk. The Zhen mansion is one of the seven mansions of the Southern Vermilion Bird, and this month it stands at the southern meridian just before daybreak.

This month corresponds to the north. Its celestial stems are Ren and Gui; its creatures are shelled animals; its musical tone is Yu; its pitch pipe is Huangzhong; and its number is six. Huangzhong means “Yellow Bell.” Yang energy gathers beneath the earth while Yin energy flourishes above it. All things wither and yellow, and the shoots of plants lie hidden in the soil; hence the name “Yellow Bell.” Its flavor is salty, its scent is putrid, and the well is the object of sacrifice, with the kidney offered first.

The waters rise gradually, and the earth begins to crack as it freezes. The ganju, or mountain crow, falls silent, while tigers begin to mate. The commentary explains that Yin energy is strong at this time, so the ganju does not call. The tiger is Yin within Yang; when Yin energy is strong, members of its kind respond to one another and mate.

The Son of Heaven wears black, rides a black horse, wears dark jade, and raises a black banner. He eats millet and pork, drinks water from the Eight Directions, kindles fire with a yangsui mirror, and burns pinewood. The women serving in the Northern Palace wear black and play stone chimes. Weapons must be forged, and pigs are the principal livestock kept. The Son of Heaven holds court in the Grand Ancestral Temple of the Dark Hall. This is a north-facing hall with a central chamber inside.

The Son of Heaven orders the appropriate officials not to break ground or build, not to demolish houses, and not to conscript large numbers of people. Such acts are said to disturb the life force stored by Heaven and Earth. Hibernating creatures may die as a result, and the people may contract epidemic disease; some may even lose their lives. At the same time, thieves are to be captured swiftly, and those who indulge in wickedness or engage in deceit and fraud are to be punished. This month is called “Chang Month,” because Yin energy dwells above, with the people living beneath it.

The Son of Heaven then orders the officials in charge of the palace to restate the palace rules: inspect the palace gates and lanes carefully, keep watch over the buildings, and make sure the doors are firmly shut, in keeping with Yin energy. Women’s work is to be reduced.

Next, he orders the officials responsible for brewing: the glutinous millet and rice used for wine must be ready, and the preparation of the starter and malt must be done at the proper time. The grain must be soaked and steamed cleanly, and the spring water must be clear and cold; only then will the wine be good. The pottery vessels must meet standards, the heat must be right, and nothing must go amiss.

The Son of Heaven also orders the relevant officials to sacrifice to the Four Seas, the great rivers and waterways, and the famous lakes and marshes.

In this month, the spirits who can bring forth clouds and rain should be worshipped. If farming families have failed to store and accumulate grain, or if cattle, horses, or other livestock have strayed, they may be reclaimed without questions or blame. In the mountains, forests, lakes, and marshes, officials responsible for these places should instruct those who gather wild greens or hunt animals. Anyone who encroaches on or robs another should be punished severely and may not be pardoned.

This month falls around the winter solstice, when the days are shortest and Yin and Yang contend. A noble person should observe purification: keep the dwelling closely screened, remain calm in body and mind, stay away from music and beautiful women, and restrain appetites and desires. Those who are greedy and unrestrained, or who make excessive demands, should also be checked. These measures settle the body and mind, preserve one’s nature, and rein in desire.

In this month, the liting grass puts forth new shoots, yuncao begins to grow, the earthworms curl up, and the elk shed their antlers. These changes are all signs that the faint Yang energy is beginning to stir. Once the springs and streams begin to flow, trees may be felled and bamboo cut. Unneeded officials should be dismissed, useless implements put aside, courtyards, gates, and lanes repaired, and prisons built. These measures accord with the season in which Heaven and Earth withdraw and store their energies.

If the summer ordinances are carried out in midwinter, drought will strike the state, the air will grow hazy with mist, and thunder will sound. Summer Yang energy is hot, so it brings drought; clear and turbid energies disturb one another, so mist spreads; and since there should be no thunder in the eleventh month, thunder is said to sound contrary to its season. If the autumn ordinances are carried out, rain will be excessive, melons and fruits will fail to ripen, and large-scale warfare will break out in the state. Autumn corresponds to Metal, and Metal generates Water, so rainfall increases; the prevailing energies of Metal and Water also bring military calamity. If the spring ordinances are carried out, pests will damage the crops, springs will run dry, and many people will fall ill. In spring, Yang energy rises and dormant insects begin to stir, making them more likely to harm grain; imbalance between Yin and Yang also increases outbreaks of disease.

In the eleventh month, the commandant oversees government affairs, and jujube trees are planted. Winter is suited to organizing the army, so the commandant takes charge. Jujube trees are chosen because their wood is red inside.

In the last month of winter, the Dipper’s seventh star, Yaoyao, points toward the Ox position. At dusk, the Lou mansion lies in the southern sky; at dawn, the Di mansion lies there. Lou is one of the seven mansions of the White Tiger in the west, and Di is one of the seven mansions of the Azure Dragon in the east.

This month corresponds to the north, the days of Ren and Gui, animals such as beetles, and the feather tone. In the musical system, it corresponds to Dalu. “Lu” carries the meanings of helping growth and carrying something forward. All things begin to stir underground, though they have not yet broken through the soil and appeared. It is as if they turn and shift within Yin energy, gradually turning toward Yang energy and thereby fostering growth. Hence the name “Dalu.” The number associated with this month is six, its flavor is salty, its characteristic odor is decay, and its ritual offering is made to the well, with the kidneys offered first.

The geese begin flying north, and magpies begin raising their nests. When the geese are around Lake Pengli, they all face north, preparing to fly to the northern wilderness. Sensing Yang energy beginning to stir, magpies start building their nests higher. Pheasants call at dawn, and roosters also crow to seek mates. The Book of Songs says, “The pheasant calls at dawn, still seeking its mate”; this refers to pheasants calling in the morning and looking for a mate. Chickens, too, call to attract mates.

The Son of Heaven wears black clothes, rides a black steed, wears black jade ornaments, and raises a black banner. He eats wheat and pork and drinks water suited to the influences of the eight directions. He drills into pinewood to make fire. The women who attend the Son of Heaven in the Northern Palace also wear black. Stone chimes are struck in the palace, forged weapons are used, and the principal livestock kept there are pigs. The Son of Heaven hears court affairs in the room on the right side of the Dark Hall; “right room” refers to the room at the eastern end.

The court orders the relevant officials to hold the Grand Nuo rite. Livestock are dismembered in the four quarters as offerings, and an earthen ox is led out. The Grand Nuo is a rite for driving away Yin evils, warding off pestilence, and ushering in Yang energy. Dogs and sheep are dismembered in the four quarters to avert pestilence in every direction. The earthen ox is brought out to encourage the people to prepare for plowing.

The court orders the fishing officials to begin catching fish. The Son of Heaven goes fishing in person and first presents the catch at the ancestral temple where the spirit tablets are kept. The people are ordered to bring out the five grains, while the farmers arrange for paired plowing, repair their plows, and prepare their tools. “Paired plowing” means two people working together to cultivate the land.

The court orders the music officials to hold a grand ensemble, after which musical activities cease. It then orders the four officials in charge to gather the prescribed amount of firewood for burning at the ancestral temple and at various other sacrificial ceremonies.

In this month, the sun reaches the end of its course, the moon completes a cycle, and the constellations make one circuit of the sky. This refers to the twelve celestial divisions reaching the region of the Ox mansion, the moon arriving at the end of its former lunar station, and the twenty-eight mansions once again completing their passage across the southern sky. The old year is drawing to a close and the new year is about to begin, so the farmers are to rest quietly and no longer be called away for labor. The Son of Heaven, the dukes, ministers, and senior officials put the state’s regulations in order and discuss the seasonal calendar, making preparations for the new year.

The Son of Heaven orders the Grand Astrologer to arrange the ranks of the feudal lords and assign the sacrificial animals for offerings to the August Heaven, the Supreme Thearch, and the soil and grain altars. He also orders the states ruled by members of the imperial clan to provide the animals needed for sacrifices at the ancestral temple. Court ministers and senior officials, down to the common people, make offerings at the appropriate mountains, forests, and famous rivers according to their duties.

If the autumnal ordinances are carried out in the last month of winter, white dew will fall early, shellfish will behave abnormally, and people living near the borders will take refuge inside the cities. White dew belongs to autumn, so its appearance at the wrong time is a sign of disorder; abnormal behavior among shellfish is likewise regarded as an omen of calamity. Metal energy governs military affairs, so border residents will enter the cities to protect themselves.

If the spring ordinances are carried out, fetuses and young creatures will be harmed, and stubborn illnesses will become widespread in the country. This is called “going against the season.” The last month of winter should be severely cold, but if warm spring ordinances are imposed, the climate falls out of balance, harming fetuses and young creatures and increasing the number of serious illnesses. This results from violating the seasons and disrupting the climate.

If the summer ordinances are carried out, floods will damage the land, the snow that should fall in its season will not come, and ice will melt. Summer is hot and rainy, so if its conditions occur at the wrong time they may cause flooding. Snow failing to fall when it should, and ice melting when it should remain frozen, are also signs that the seasons have fallen out of order.

For the twelfth month, the tree associated with the official in charge of criminal cases is the oak. At the end of the year, criminal cases are to be reviewed and decided, so the judicial official oversees these matters. Oak can be used to make axles. It is said to be difficult to drill into it to make fire, which is also considered to accord with the season at year’s end, when the old Qi is cleared away and the new Qi welcomed.

The “Five Regions” describe the territories of the five directions and the deities who govern them. The eastern territory extends outward from Mount Jieshi, passes through Korea and the Land of Giants, and reaches the place where the sun rises: the land where the Fusang tree grows, and where blue soil and trees flourish. Taihao, the emperor embodying the Wood De of the East, and Goumang, the deity who governs the plants and trees of the East, rule this region, which spans twelve thousand li. The text says that Taihao is none other than Paoxi, while Goumang is the deity of Wood.

The decrees issued by the deity of the East are to lift various restrictions and open the passes, making obstructed places accessible and allowing blocked affairs to move forward; to act with patience and composure; to dispel resentment and malice; to exempt people from forced labor and punishment, spare them from hardship, and end the use of penalties; to open the gates and bridges, release goods and resources, resolve hostilities with foreign lands, pacify the four quarters, enact policies of gentleness and benevolence, and restrain the overbearing and violent. “The strong” here means those who harm and oppress others and disobey the laws; they should be restrained.

The southern territory begins beyond the Land of Beihusun, passes through the land of Zhuanxu, and extends southward to the remote wilderness of Weihu and Yanfeng. According to tradition, the Land of Beihusun lies north of the sun, so the doorways there all face north. The Red Emperor, the emperor embodying the Fire De of the South, and Zhurong, the deity who governs Fire, rule this region, which likewise spans twelve thousand li. The Red Emperor is Yandi, also known as Shennong. Zhurong was Wu Hui, grandson of Zhuanxu and son of Laotong. He once served as the Fire Official under Gaoxin and became the deity of Fire after his death.

The decrees issued by the deity of the South are to grant titles to the virtuous, reward those who have rendered service, care for the worthy, and relieve those suffering from hunger, thirst, and want; to recommend those diligent in farming, aid the poor, look after orphans and widows, and care for the frail and ill; to provide generous stipends and substantial rewards, restore clans that have been destroyed, continue family lines without heirs, enfeoff the feudal lords, and appoint the able and worthy to assist in governing. These measures follow the way of giving that accords with Yang Qi.

The boundaries of the Central Region extend eastward from Mount Kunlun, crossing two Huanshan Mountains. Here, “from” means “starting at,” and “crossing” means “passing over.” Huanshan may be Mount Chang, but the basis for saying there are two mountains is unclear.

This is where the sun and moon pass on their courses, and where the Yangtze and Han Rivers rise. The Yangtze originates at Mount Min, and the Han River at Mount Fanzhong. Many people live here, and the land is suitable for growing the five grains. Longmen, the Yellow River, and the Ji River are connected. People used Xirang—mythical soil that can grow by itself—to block the floods and bring flooded lands under control. This region extends east to Jieshi and spans twelve thousand li in every direction. It is governed by the Yellow Emperor and Houtu.

The Yellow Emperor was the son of Shaodian. He ruled the world through the virtue of Earth and was known as Xuanyuan. After his death, he became the divine ruler in charge of the central Earth virtue. Houtu was the son of the Goulong clan, named Houtu, and was able to govern the lands of the Nine Provinces. After his death, he was worshipped as the Earth god. Their principles of governance were to be fair without showing favoritism, discerning without being harsh; to embrace and protect all things, nurturing every one without neglect; to give widely without partiality, and to be upright, composed, and calm. They provided relief, cared for the old and supported the weak, comforted the bereaved and visited the sick, and saw all things through to the end of their return.

Earth is the sovereign of the four directions; that is why all things are said to return ultimately to Earth.

The northern boundary extends from the Nine Marshes, the wetlands of the north, to the dark lands at the far north, and farther north still to the Valley of Lingzheng. The Nine Marshes are the northern wetlands. “Xia” means vast, while “hui” means dim and dark. This region has severe cold, frozen earth, and ice piled deep, as well as snow, hail, frost, and sleet. Water courses spread across the plains for twelve thousand li. It is governed by Zhuanxu, one of the legendary Five Emperors, and Xuanming, the water deity.

Zhuanxu was the grandson of the Yellow Emperor. He governed the world through the Virtue of Water and was known as the Gao Yang clan. After his death, he was honored as the northern emperor associated with the Virtue of Water. Xuanming’s origins are as follows: Jintian had a legitimate son named Mei, who once served as the teacher of Xuanming. After Mei died, he was worshiped as the deity who governs water.

The seasonal ordinances for this period are these: reaffirm all prohibitions, secure and seal things away, repair defenses, passes, and bridges, forbid the people to move, end the granting of clemency in criminal cases, and execute the guilty according to the law. Close the city gates and lanes, thoroughly search outsiders, prohibit social visits and travel, forbid nighttime feasting, and close the gates early and open them late to guard against wrongdoers. The ruler should repair defenses and put the passes and bridges in order, prohibit migration, execute the guilty according to the law, close the city gates and lanes, search outsiders closely, forbid social visits and nighttime feasting, and close the gates early and open them late, keeping wrongdoers out. These measures must be enforced firmly. The seasonal turning of Heaven has reached a critical point, and executions must not be pardoned; even if the offender is a noble relative, the law must be applied. Do not undertake waterworks, open the granaries, or pardon offenders. These ordinances accord with the season when Yin Qi grows stern and destructive.

The six directions:

The first month of spring corresponds to the first month of autumn, the second month of spring to the second month of autumn, and the third month of spring to the third month of autumn. The first month of summer corresponds to the first month of winter, the second month of summer to the second month of winter, and the third month of summer to the third month of winter. In the first month of spring, shadows begin to lengthen; in the first month of autumn, they begin to shorten. “Lengthening” means growing longer, and “shortening” means growing shorter.

In the second month of spring, all things begin to sprout and farmers begin sowing; in the second month of autumn, harvesting and storage begin. In the third month of spring, all things grow on a large scale; in the third month of autumn, the work of gathering and storing also expands greatly. In the first month of summer, Yang Qi begins to spread gently and settle; in the first month of winter, the cold becomes harsh and killing. In the second month of summer, shadows grow longer until the summer solstice; in the second month of winter, they grow shorter until the winter solstice. At the summer solstice, the sun reaches its northernmost point, and at the winter solstice, its southernmost point. The “lengthening” and “shortening” referred to here describe the changes in shadows before the summer and winter solstices. In the third month of summer, the season for extending benevolence comes to an end; in the third month of winter, the season for punishments comes to an end. “The work of De is complete” means that the process by which Yang Qi spreads through and nourishes all things has reached its close; “the work of punishments is complete” means that judicial affairs have run their course.

Thus, if governance is mishandled in the first month, cool winds will not arrive on time in the seventh month. If it is mishandled in the second month, thunder will not fall silent in the eighth month. If it is mishandled in the third month, frost will not descend in the ninth month. If it is mishandled in the fourth month, ice will not form in the tenth month. If it is mishandled in the fifth month, hibernating insects will emerge in the eleventh month. If it is mishandled in the sixth month, the leaves of trees and plants will not fall in the twelfth month, but dead leaves will remain on the branches. If governance is mishandled in the seventh month, the severe cold will not recede in the first month, and the east wind will not thaw the ice. If it is mishandled in the eighth month, there will be no thunder in the second month. If it is mishandled in the ninth month, the spring winds of the third month will not abate. If it is mishandled in the tenth month, trees and plants will not bear fruit in the fourth month. If it is mishandled in the eleventh month, hail and frost will fall in the fifth month. If it is mishandled in the twelfth month, the Five Grains will grow abnormally in the sixth month, producing fruit directly without first flowering.

When spring governance follows the commands of summer, there will be signs of dispersal, because abundant Yang Qi is spreading outward. When spring governance follows the commands of autumn, there will be floods; when it follows the commands of winter, the climate will become harsh and severe. When summer governance follows the commands of spring, there will be strong winds, as Wood Qi is vigorous in spring. When it follows the commands of autumn, plants will become wild and tangled; when it follows the commands of winter, there will be obstruction and stagnation. “Obstruction” means division and blockage. It symbolizes the winter season’s punitive judgments, which impede benevolence and prevent its benefits from flowing down to the people.

When autumn governance follows the commands of summer, trees will blossom luxuriantly. When it follows the commands of spring, plants will grow excessively, with flourishing branches and leaves; when it follows the commands of winter, plants will wither. “Withering” means falling away. When winter governance follows the commands of spring, the climate will spread outward like spring Qi; when it follows the commands of summer, there will be drought; when it follows the commands of autumn, there will be heavy fog, because autumn Qi tends toward Yin, and disordered Yin Qi produces dense mist.

The great patterns governing the movement of Yin-Yang have six standards: Heaven is like a plumb line, Earth like a level, spring like a compass, summer like a balance, autumn like a square, and winter like a weight on a scale. The plumb line corrects the myriad things; the level determines whether they are even and true; the compass draws circles; the balance weighs and levels; the square checks whether things are square; and the scale weight measures lightness and heaviness.

As a standard, the plumb line demands uprightness without contention, endurance without end, persistence without decline, and a legacy that is not forgotten even after ages have passed. It accords with Heaven’s De and connects with the brightness of the spirits: what is desired can be attained, and what is loathed can be removed. From antiquity to the present, this standard has remained unchanged. Its De is precise and profound, and its vastness is sufficient to encompass all things. Therefore, the Lord on High made it the foundation of the myriad things.

As a standard, the level demands evenness without bias, uniformity without partiality, breadth that can encompass, and generosity that can bring things into harmony. It is gentle without being weak, sharp without being damaged. Its movement is unobstructed, its transformations are simple and orderly, it opens the way for things with method, and it is thorough without leaking. When this standard is followed, all things can be brought into balance. The people will form no dangerous schemes, and resentment will not arise. Therefore, the Lord on High made it the measure that levels the myriad things.

As a standard, the compass turns without obstruction and draws circles that are complete and whole. It is generous without indulgence, vast enough to encompass, responsive to things in a principled way, and orderly in carrying out affairs. When actions are broad-minded and straightforward, the people’s resentment has no chance to arise. If the compass’s measure is not lost, vitality can be regulated and flow smoothly, and the various forms of Qi can circulate freely.

As a standard, the balance acts with leniency but without delay, and handles affairs fairly without inviting resentment. It grants favors without boasting of its De, and offers comfort and care without imposing punishment. It keeps the people’s stipends fair and uses them to aid those in need. When Yang Qi is abundant and full, and action is guided solely by De, all things are nurtured and flourish: the five grains ripen, and the realm is prosperous. When governance does not stray from its standards, the workings of Heaven and Earth are clear and orderly.

As a standard, the square is solemn without departing from the right path, and upright without confusion. It collects resources without provoking resentment and receives goods without bringing harm. Its authority does not leave people frightened and disoriented, and its commands are carried out once issued. Punishments and executions must be appropriate if enemies are to be overcome. When the standard of squareness is not lost, discipline can bring the people into compliance.

As a standard, the scale weight acts swiftly and decisively without going too far. It executes the guilty without arbitrarily harming the innocent. It makes things full and substantial while remaining thorough and discreet. It makes no use of what is corrupt, and condemns and executes offenders without granting clemency. In handling affairs, one must keep faith and remain resolute and firm, seeking to eliminate harsh and wicked practices without partiality. Therefore, when winter’s order is enacted, the soft and weak must overcome the strong, and gentleness must overcome hardness. If the standard of weighing is not lost, the myriad things can be stored away and lie dormant.

In the system of the Mingtang, the palace where government policies were enacted and rites performed in ancient times, stillness takes the level as its standard, while movement takes the plumb line. Spring governance follows the compass, autumn governance the square, winter governance the scale weight, and summer governance the balance. In this way, dryness, dampness, cold, and heat arrive in their proper seasons, while sweet rain and nourishing dew fall at the appointed times.

This concludes juan ten of Huainan Honglie Jie. The numbered notes above are textual emendations. They explain that some characters in the main text were originally miswritten, omitted, or duplicated, and have been corrected on the basis of the Jijie edition.

Huainan Honglie Jie, juan eleven, recorded by Xu Shen, Libationer to the Grand Commandant.

“An Inquiry into the Obscure” (Lanmingsun): The title means observing the beginnings of changes that are deep and mysterious. Principles of the utmost subtlety can resonate with Heaven above and extend to the limitless, hence the title “An Inquiry into the Obscure.” This is the source of the chapter’s name.

In the past, Shi Kuang performed a piece called “White Snow.” White Snow was the name of a work for Taiyi’s fifty-string zither. As he played, uncanny beings descended, storms suddenly broke out, Duke Ping of Jin fell gravely ill, and drought cracked the land of Jin. The commentary explains that these uncanny beings included creatures such as black cranes, as well as headless ghosts wielding spears and dancing. Duke Ping was the son of Duke Dao of Jin. “Gravely ill” means that the illness was severe; “red land” refers to a great drought. Only an enlightened ruler could master such portents and keep them from bringing disaster. Duke Ping’s De was too shallow to withstand them, so he fell seriously ill and the land suffered a drought.

A lowly woman cried to Heaven for justice, and thunder and lightning struck down Duke Jing’s high terrace, injuring his limbs; the sea also rose greatly. According to the story, the woman was a widow from Qi. She had no son, had not remarried, and served her mother-in-law with great respect. The mother-in-law had no son, only a daughter. Greedy for her mother’s property, the daughter wanted her mother to remarry. The widow steadfastly refused, so the daughter killed her mother and falsely accused the widow. Unable to defend herself, the widow cried to Heaven in deep anguish. Heaven then sent thunder and lightning to destroy Duke Jing’s high terrace. “Collapse” means to fall down; “limbs” refers to the body’s arms and legs. The sea rose sharply as well.

The blind musician and the widow were of low status, even lower than officials who managed vegetables. Such officials had little authority, as slight as a feather. Yet these people were wholehearted and wholly absorbed in what they did; their intentions reached the Nine Heavens—the eight directions and the center, as conceived by the ancients—and their sincerity moved Heaven. This shows that Heaven’s punishment reaches everywhere. Even if people hide in an empty, dark place or within layers of sealed stone chambers, barriers and obstacles cannot help them escape. “Heaven” here means the Lord on High: those who do wrong will still be punished, however well they conceal themselves.

When King Wu of Zhou set out from Mengjin to attack King Zhou of Shang, the huge waves raised by Yang Hou surged upstream, while violent winds darkened the sky. People and horses could no longer see one another. Yang Hou was ruler of the state of Lingyang. Legend says he drowned and, after death, became a spirit who could raise great waves to harm people; these were therefore called “Yang Hou’s waves.” At that moment, King Wu held a yellow axe in his left hand and a white banner in his right. He glared and waved his weapons, saying, “I bear the great charge of the world. Who dares obstruct my will?” The wind then died down and the waves stopped. Here, “to cross” means to subside.

Duke of Luyang was fighting the state of Han. The battle was at its height, and night was falling. He raised his spear and swung it toward the sun, which actually retreated by three encampments. Luyang was a county of Chu. The Duke of Luyang was the grandson of King Ping of Chu and the son of Sima Ziqi; his name was Luyang Wenzi. After Chu arrogated the title of king, even the officials who governed its counties were called “dukes.” “Three encampments” means the distance covered by three stages of marching and setting up camp.

Those who preserve their inborn nature, keep to their original integrity, and do not harm themselves can move Heaven through sincerity, even when faced with danger. If they never depart from the Dao’s root, what could they fail to accomplish? To say that sincerity reaches Heaven means that sages, through their pure nature, communicate upward with Heaven and receive its aid. “Root” means the foundation of the Dao. When a person’s inborn nature does not scatter outward, their life accords with the Dao.

Life and death lie within the same domain; neither can be coerced by force. A lone warrior can become a hero of three armies. “Wu” means a warrior; in the Jiang-Huai region, people called a scholar or officer a “wu.” Such a person seeks only fame, yet still manages to hold fast to his convictions. How much more so for those who take Heaven and Earth as their dwelling, embrace the myriad things, befriend the workings of creation—the transformations of Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang—and contain the Qi of supreme harmony? Though their outward appearance is like that of ordinary people, within they possess the great Dao. They observe the transformations of the Nine Heavens and consult the signs of the tortoise shell, and so know what ordinary people cannot. Could such people’s inner minds really wither and die? When the mind accords with the Dao, it is not confined in the way one is when relying only on observing the heavens and practicing divination.

In the past, Yongmen Zi was received by Lord Mengchang because he was skilled at singing in a mournful style. Yongmen Zi, whose name was Zhou, played the zither well and could move people with his lamenting songs. He lived near the western gate of the Qi capital, and so took “Yongmen” as his surname. Lord Mengchang, whose name was Tian Wen, was the chief minister of Qi. When they met, Yongmen Zi spoke his mind, struck his chest, and gave voice to his feelings. Lord Mengchang listened, sighed aloud, and wept without stopping, overcome by grief. When the feelings of the inner spirit come to light, they can make others feel sorrow; this power to move people cannot be learned by instruction. If ordinary people do not understand its essence and merely imitate his manner, they will be ridiculed. “The essence that governs the outward form” refers to the inner essence that shapes a person’s appearance.

Pu Qie Zi could hit a flying bird from a height of a hundred ren, while Zhan He could fish in a deep pool. Both had mastered the secret of stillness and single-minded focus, and accorded with the Dao of Taihao, the vast and far-reaching harmonious Qi. Pu Qie Zi was an archer of Chu; one ren was about seven feet. Zhan He was a man of Chu who understood the arts of the Dao. Legend says he was skilled at fishing and could make fish swim toward his bait. Both had grasped the subtle workings of things.

Things respond to one another in intricate and mysterious ways. Human knowledge cannot describe them all, and eloquence cannot explain them completely. When the east wind comes, clear wine boils over. When silkworms produce silk, a zither string tuned to the shang note may snap. These are examples of things responding to one another. When silkworms mature and spin silk, the threads become brittle as the old is replaced by the new. The shang note belongs to Metal and is the sharpest, most urgent of the five musical notes, so the zither string is liable to break. The commentary also explains this through the Five Phases: shang belongs to Metal in the west, while silkworms belong to Fire. When Fire is strong, Metal is suppressed, and the zither string responds by snapping.

Draw a circle with ash beneath a window, following the moonlight, and leave a gap. A corresponding gap will appear in the halo around the moon. When a whale dies, a comet appears. These are all phenomena in which things affect and respond to one another. The halo around the moon is called a “lunar ring” here and is believed to be associated with military encirclement. A whale is a large fish, said to grow several li in length; when one dies by the shore, it is said to bring about an unusual celestial sign such as a comet.

When a sage rules, he embraces the Dao without making a show of it, and his beneficence reaches the people everywhere. When ruler and ministers are at odds, five-colored clouds called “bei” and “jue” appear beside the sun. This is seen as a sign that the energies of Heaven and Earth are responding to one another. “Bei” refers to five-colored vapors extending outward on both sides of the sun; “jue” refers to vapor extending outward. Vapor that extends inward is called “er”; vapor extending outward above the sun is called a “crown.” In the mountains, clouds resemble plants and trees; above water, they resemble fish scales. In drought, clouds look like smoke and fire; above deep water, clouds rise like waves. The clouds in different places each take the form of the things associated with that place.

The yangsui can draw fire from the sun, and the fangzhu can draw dew from the moon. This is because Yin and Yang share the same Qi and can respond to one another and transform each other. There are too many things in Heaven and Earth that respond to one another for even an expert in calendrical calculation to count them all. A person can use what is at hand to examine their signs, but cannot fully grasp changes that are indistinct and without form. Even so, by reasoning from what can be seen in the palm, people can seek out the patterns that governed the beginning of Heaven and Earth, and thereby summon water and fire. Legend says that King Wuding of Shang dreamed of a worthy man and ordered a painter to draw his likeness. He searched everywhere and eventually found Fu Yue at Fuyan, then appointed him chief minister. Fu Yue assisted Wuding, and Shang rose to renewed strength. After Fu Yue died, his spirit was said to have taken its place among the stars in the constellation called Chenwei, also known as Ce. This story is used to show that sincerity can communicate upward with Heaven and Earth.

The Qi of extreme Yin is clear, cold, and desolate; the Qi of extreme Yang is blazing and vigorous. When the two Yin-Yang energies meet and harmonize, all things come into being. If there were males but no females, how could things reproduce, transform, and bring forth the myriad beings? This is what is meant by “reasoning that needs no words” and “the Dao that requires no proclamation.”

Therefore, to bring distant lands into allegiance, one should practice Wuwei (non-action). “Distant lands” refers to the border regions in the four directions. To guide these regions, one should follow things as they are and refrain from unwarranted interference; then the remote lands will naturally come to submit. To make those nearby feel close, one should create fewer disturbances. “Those nearby” refers to the states of the Central Plains. When disturbances are few, those nearby will naturally draw close and submit.

Only someone who travels at night can accomplish this. “Traveling at night” is a metaphor for operating unseen, without leaving a trace. The Dao carries out its wondrous transformations in hidden and subtle ways, and so can govern the world. Another interpretation is that a person who enters the Dao is like someone traveling at night through darkness and obscurity, yet knows how to bring the distant near and draw those nearby into allegiance.

Thus, when warhorses are taken out of service and put to plowing, the tracks of war chariots do not extend to distant borderlands. The phrase “turn the warhorses loose to fertilize the fields” comes from the Laozi. It means that warhorses are stopped from running into battle and instead used to plow and fertilize the land; this is a result of putting supreme De (Virtue/Power) into practice. Another explanation is that when a ruler lacks the Dao, warhorses breed in the countryside. If there is no warfare, the horses can be put to work in the fields, and the tracks of chariots will not reach distant lands. The marks left between a chariot’s wheels are called “ruts.”

This is called “sitting while traveling, sinking into obscurity, dark by day and bright by night”: though seated, one can set wondrous transformations in motion, whose effects are swifter than a fast horse carrying a message. Rising and falling, brightness and darkness—all accord with the Dao. Making glue melt in winter or producing ice in summer means acting against the seasons, and is difficult to achieve. The Dao does not deliberately favor anyone or keep anyone at a distance. Those skilled in following the Dao have an abundance of efficacy; those who are not skilled seem deficient. To follow the Way of Heaven brings good fortune; to oppose it brings misfortune.

This is like the Pearl of Marquis Sui and the jade disc of He Shi: whoever obtains them becomes wealthy, and whoever loses them becomes poor. Marquis Sui was a feudal lord of the Ji clan in the Han River region. According to legend, he healed an injured great snake. Later, the snake emerged from the river with a luminous pearl in its mouth to repay him, and so it was called the Pearl of Marquis Sui, said to be a night-shining pearl. Bian He of Chu found a rough piece of jade on Mount Jing and presented it first to King Wu of Chu, then to King Wen. Both times, jade workers mistook it for an ordinary stone, and Bian He was punished by having his feet cut off. Clutching the uncut jade, he wept until his tears turned to blood. After King Cheng came to the throne, Bian He presented it once more. The king ordered it split open and examined, and it proved to be fine jade, which was made into a pure white disc that glowed at night.

The principles of gain and loss are profound and subtle; they cannot be clarified by argument and debate alone. How do we know this? Yellow medicine can penetrate to the bones, while licorice helps flesh grow. To demand that a medicine that reaches the bones also grow flesh, or to judge a medicine that grows flesh by whether it reaches the bones, is like Wangsun Chuo trying to double a remedy for paralysis on one side of the body and use it to bring the dead back to life. Such reasoning is mistaken. Wangsun Chuo is said to have been a Zhou man, though another account says he was a descendant of Wangsun Jia of Wei. The point of the example is that a medicine that cures paralysis on one side of the body cannot be assumed to revive the dead if taken in a double dose.

Fire can char wood, but that does not mean it can melt gold. A lodestone can attract iron, but that does not mean it can lift tiles. The efficacy of things cannot simply be inferred by comparing their strength. Kindling fire from the sun with flint, a lodestone attracting iron, and a crab ruining lacquer—putting a crab into lacquer prevents it from drying and makes it unusable—are all particular properties of those things. A sunflower turns toward the sun, but even the cleverest person cannot make it shine.

Therefore, observation through the eyes and ears is not enough to discern the principles of things, and reasoning with the mind is not enough to determine right and wrong. A state governed by cleverness alone can scarcely endure. Only those who understand Great Harmony—the state in which all things are in accord and balance—and can follow natural transformations know how to govern a state.

The ancients said that when a mountain is about to collapse, the Baoluo River will dry up. Mount Yao lies in Yongzhou, while the Baoluo River is in the area around Linjin County in Fengyi Commandery; their vital energies are connected. Another account holds that the Baoluo River is the Jing River.

Ou Ye, a master swordsmith of the Yue state, was born, and the Chun Jun sword, a renowned ancient blade, was forged. When the tyrant King Zhou of Shang ruled without the Dao, he had a sycophantic minister at his side named Zuo Qiang. Zuo Qiang urged the king to act without the Dao, feeding his greed and lust. At that time, the Grand Duke (Jiang Taigong) was a contemporary of King Wu, who was thereby able to accomplish his great work.

From this we can see that the paths by which benefit and harm, disaster and good fortune arrive cannot be sought out and mastered in advance by human beings. They come suddenly, move without a trace, and are difficult to evade.

The Dao and De are like tanned and raw hides: deliberately pushing them away brings them close at hand, while pursuing them through specific actions leaves them far away. Raw hide is the basic form of the Dao; tanned hide is the basic form of De. Those who do nothing are closer to the Dao, while those who deliberately pursue it through action are farther away.

If a person does not attain the Dao, it is like seeing a minnow in the water: clearly visible, yet impossible to catch. The Dao is like this too. Thus the sage is like a mirror: it does not deliberately send anything away or welcome anything in. Things arrive, and it reflects them as they are, without storing them in the heart. In this way, even as all things change, they do not damage its nature.

Thinking one has attained the Dao may lead one to lose it; thinking one has lost the Dao does not necessarily mean one has failed to attain it. When a string is plucked at the pitch of gong, the string tuned to gong responds; when it is plucked at the pitch of jue, the string tuned to jue vibrates. Sounds of the same kind answer one another. Pluck a higher gong, and a lower gong will respond; pluck a higher jue, and a lower jue will vibrate. This is resonance between tones of the same name.

If one changes the tuning of a string so that it matches none of the Five Tones, yet, when plucked, all twenty-five strings respond, the reason is not that its sound differs from the others. Rather, the ruling principle of sound has become apparent. One explanation says that this string is tuned to gong. Since gong is the principal tone among all tones, all twenty-five strings can resonate with it.

Those who reach Great Harmony, the state in which all things are one and life and death, hardship and success, are reconciled in harmony, seem dazed, as if peacefully asleep after a little wine. They wander in the Dao without knowing how they arrived there. They are wholly calm and gentle, as though sunk within it; their thoughts are slow and still, and to the end of their lives they seem never to have left the root of the Dao. This state is called “Great Penetration.”

When the red chi and blue jiao, two kinds of dragons, roam across Jizhou, Heaven and Earth are clear and still. Fierce beasts do not emerge, and birds are not startled. When the dragons enter places thick with plants, they eat the fruits of jianmei, a plant whose fruit resembles mulberries, is red, and grows along the riverbanks. They slowly savor its sweetness within a small space. Snakes and eels look down on them, thinking they would not dare contend for supremacy in rivers and seas.

But when black and white clouds meet at dawn, Yin and Yang surge against one another, and violent winds and rain descend, the red chi and blue jiao ride the storm upward. Their power shakes Heaven and Earth, and their voices resound across the four seas. Then snakes and eels can only hide in the deep mud; bears and brown bears crouch among steep hills, tigers and leopards retreat into their caves and dare not roar, and monkeys fall from the branches. How much more so the likes of snakes and eels?

The phoenix’s flight is a sign of the highest De. Only when a ruler of the highest De is in power does the phoenix come and fly. At that time, thunder does not sound, winds and rain do not rise, rivers and valleys do not flood, and even the plants and trees do not stir. Sparrows and swallows look down on the phoenix, thinking it could not contend with them across Heaven and Earth.

Yet in an instant the phoenix flies to a height of ten thousand ren, soaring beyond the four seas. It passes the Shupu garden on Mount Kunlun, drinks the clear waters of the rushing current at Mount Dizhu, circles by the Mengsi waters, and travels back and forth across Jizhou. It crosses Mount Duguang and flies toward the distant place where the sun sets. It skims over the Ruoshui River and roosts at dusk in the Wind Cave. At that moment, wild geese, swans, and cranes are all frightened and crouch low, hiding in remote places. How much more so the sparrows and swallows?

These examples show that those who see only small movements close at hand, without understanding the larger pattern or the source of change, will misjudge true power, as snakes and eels and sparrows and swallows do.

In ancient times, when Wang Liang and Zao Fu drove, they climbed into the carriage and grasped the reins, and the horses moved in perfect coordination. Their steps were even, their exertion and rest balanced. The horses were calm in spirit and light in body; they walked steadily and were glad to gallop, moving so swiftly that they seemed to vanish in an instant. The carriage turned left and right as smoothly as a circle being drawn, while the horses ran with a vigor as if spurred on by a whip. People of the world all considered their driving skill superb, yet they did not know there was a still more subtle way to guide a team.

It is said that when Qian Qie and Da Bing drove, they guided Yin-Yang through spirit and vital energy. They used neither reins nor bridles, and did not raise or swing a whip, yet the carriage set off by itself and the horses ran of their own accord. The sun and moon moved on, and the stars revolved across the sky. The carriage and horses raced like lightning, as if spirits and gods were soaring; their advances and retreats, bends and extensions, left no visible trace or boundary. So they could drive at speed without signaling with a wave or shouting an order. As they passed Mount Jieshi, the returning geese had no time to notice them; when they reached Mount Guyu, they had already overtaken the kun bird, a mythical creature. The carriage and horses sped as if flying, faster than the wind itself. They set out at dawn from Tuansang, where the sun rises, and by dusk had reached Mount Luotang, where it sets.

This is what seems to involve no action, yet accomplishes the work of guiding. The key lies neither in keen thought nor in skillful hands, but in keeping desires from appearing in the heart and bringing the spirit and vital energy into harmony, surpassing the strength of six horses. This is to guide a carriage and horses by “guiding nothing”—that is, to guide them through the Dao.

In ancient times, when the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he was assisted by Li Mu and Taishan Ji. They understood the laws governing the movement of the sun and moon, regulated the Qi of Yin-Yang, arranged the seasons, and corrected the calendar. They distinguished men from women and males from females, and established the order of high and low, noble and humble. The strong did not oppress the weak, nor did the many bully the few. The people could preserve their lives and did not die prematurely. Years brought abundant harvests without calamity; officials acted fairly and without self-interest; those above and below lived in harmony and made few errors. Laws and orders were clear, and those who assisted in government were impartial.

Farmers did not encroach on field boundaries, and fishers did not fight over the deep pools where fish gathered. No one picked up lost goods on the road, and no one cheated in the marketplace. City gates did not need to be shut, and there were no thieves in the provinces. Travelers from distant lands yielded their possessions to one another. Dogs and pigs spat beans and grain onto the road, yet people had no desire to snatch them up. The sun and moon shone brightly, and the stars followed their proper courses. Wind and rain came at the right times, and the five grains ripened abundantly. Tigers and wolves did not attack people without cause, nor did birds of prey hunt at will. The phoenix settled in courtyards, and the qilin roamed the countryside. A blue dragon came to pull the carriage, while a feihuang lay in the horse’s manger. Even the northern kingdoms and those of the Danyin region came to present tribute. Yet even this kind of governance had still not attained the Dao of Chuxi.

In ancient times, the pillars at the four corners of the sky collapsed, and the lands of the Nine Provinces split apart. The heavens could no longer fully cover the earth, and the ground could no longer support all things. Great fires spread without end, while floods raged without cease. Ferocious beasts devoured the good people, and birds of prey carried off the old and the weak.

So Nüwa, a legendary deity of high antiquity, smelted five-colored stones to mend the heavens. She cut off the legs of a great turtle and set them up as pillars to support the four corners of the sky. She killed the Black Dragon, a water-dwelling spirit, and came to the aid of Ji Province, one of the ancient Nine Provinces. She also piled up the ashes of reeds to dam the raging floods. Thus the heavens were repaired, the pillars at the four corners stood upright again, the floods receded, Ji Province was at peace, ferocious beasts perished, and the good people survived.

With the square earth at her back and the round heavens in her arms, Nüwa followed spring’s stirring forth and summer’s growth, while regulating autumn’s decline and winter’s withdrawal. She lay upright and at ease, straight as the carpenter’s square and the ink line. Wherever the Qi of Yin-Yang was blocked and stagnant, unable to flow, she cleared and regulated it. She also put an end to whatever had gathered, thrown the vital energies into disorder, and harmed the people and all things.

In those days, people slept at ease, free of worry, and rose with calm expressions. Some thought themselves horses, others thought themselves oxen; they moved slowly and gazed blankly. Everyone was at ease, each in harmony with their own nature, yet no one knew where this state had come from. They wandered everywhere, unaware of what they sought or where they were going. Birds, beasts, and venomous snakes all drew in their claws, fangs, and stings, no longer seeking to seize, bite, or devour.

Consider Nüwa’s achievements: they reached up to the nine heavens and down to the Yellow Springs. Her fame passed down to later generations, and her radiance shone upon all things. She rode in a thunder chariot, drawn by the winged dragon Yinglong, with the hornless dragon Qingqiu riding alongside as an escort. She held precious auspicious objects, and charts and records were spread across the chariot. Yellow clouds encircled it; a white dragon led the way, and a flying serpent followed behind. All these were signs of good fortune. At ease, she roamed in the company of spirits and gods, ascended to the nine heavens, and paid audience to the Lord on High at the Spirit Gate. Then she rested in peace and harmony beneath the Great Ancestor, the root of the Dao.

Yet she did not display her achievements or proclaim her fame. Instead, she concealed the deeds of the True Person and followed the natural patterns of Heaven and Earth. Why was this so? Because when Dao and De are fully realized above, cleverness and calculation naturally fall away.

When Jie of Xia came to power, the ruler was benighted and ignorant, the principles of governance were lax and neglected, and the Way of benevolence and righteousness was no longer put into practice. This is why his rule was called “disordered and unrestrained.” Why was this so? The Way of Dao and De originally reaches through to Heaven, but human cunning and clever schemes can make it vanish. What is called cleverness easily slips into deceit.

Jie cast aside the standards by which the Five Emperors had dispensed favor and punishment, and overturned the laws and records of the Three Kings of Xia, Shang, and Zhou. Thus the highest De perished and was no longer made manifest; the way of the emperors was obscured and could not be revived. Jie’s deeds went against Heaven, and his decrees ran counter to the four seasons. The harmonizing Qi of spring and autumn therefore withdrew, and Heaven and Earth no longer bestowed their blessings. This means that harmonious Qi no longer flowed; Jie’s rule grew ever more cruel, though he himself was unaware of it.

Rulers of benevolence and righteousness held office but could not bring peace to the people. Their ministers kept the Way of benevolence and righteousness hidden in their hearts, afraid to offer frank remonstrance. As the Analects says, “When the state is without the Dao, keep your conduct upright and your words modest.” The ministers merely guessed at the ruler’s wishes and considered how to please him; they no longer remonstrated on the basis of reason. They distanced themselves from their kin, seeking only to protect themselves. The wicked and sycophantic joined together and plotted in secret. Though they stood among ruler and ministers, fathers and sons, they vied to indulge the ruler and comply with his wishes, disrupting government to advance their own schemes.

Thus ruler and ministers fell out and were no longer close; kin grew distant and no longer relied on one another. The altar to the soil deity decayed, and its enclosing walls cracked, showing that sacrifices could no longer be performed according to proper rites. The raised platform for ritual ceremonies shook and collapsed, showing that the rites could not be carried out; the heavens, too, displayed signs of ruin. Dogs howled and leapt into abysses, while pigs carried woven mats in their mouths and hid in marshy hollows: all these were portents of calamity. Beautiful women let their hair grow wild and blackened their faces, no longer tending to their appearance. Skilled singers swallowed charcoal, injuring their voices, and held their breath instead of singing. Seeing that the age was in turmoil and the state near collapse, they deliberately damaged their voices and fell silent.

At funerals, people could not give full expression to their grief; during the hunt, music was no longer played. This means that the rites of the time had fallen into ruin: mourning could not fully express sorrow, and the teaching of music had collapsed, so the hunt was no longer accompanied by music. The Queen Mother of the West broke the victory ornament worn in her hair, symbolizing the loss of worldly order and standards. The spirit of the Yellow Emperor sighed at the decline of De. Birds spread their wings and were injured; beasts limped. This showed that Jie of Xia lacked the Dao and hunted frequently, wounding both birds and animals. The mountains had no tall, fine trees, and the marshes no pools of gathered water: mountain forests and marshlands were not given the rest they needed.

Foxes had only their dens left for shelter, and horses and cattle had strayed. No grain stood upright in the fields, and by the roadside there were no grasses such as sha or fan. Metal that accumulated lost its sharp edge; the patterned lines on jade discs overlapped and became confused. These images symbolize implements worn dull and lusterless through constant use. The tortoise shell used for divination was drilled until its belly was hollow, symbolizing that Jie of Xia did not cultivate benevolence and De, but merely consulted the oracle again and again without obtaining an auspicious sign. The Book of Songs says, “Taking grain out to seek an oracle, how could one expect a good result?” It also says, “My tortoise shell is weary; it no longer tells me what is auspicious or inauspicious.” Divination with milfoil stalks, too, has its rules. The Book of Changes says that asking repeatedly is irreverent; when divination is treated irreverently, the spirits will no longer give their guidance.

In the late Warring States period, the seven states of Qi, Chu, Yan, Zhao, Han, Wei, and Qin each had their own clans, surnames, and customs, and each lord made his own laws. Su Qin advocated an alliance of the states, urging Qi, Chu, Yan, Zhao, Han, and Wei to unite against Qin. Zhang Yi advocated a vertical alliance, persuading each state to form a separate pact with Qin. Once the struggle between these two strategies took shape, Qin had the opportunity to claim the title of emperor.

In war, people stormed cities and killed their enemies. They piled up great mounds of earth and buried the enemy dead together, calling these mounds “jingguan.” To march and fight, armies opened roads, advanced against powerful enemies, and attacked states judged to be unjust. Yet often a hundred men set out and only one returned, or a hundred went to war and only one won. Strong and agile men were conscripted as armored warriors or infantry: those who fought from chariots were called shi, and those who fought on foot were called zu.

When armies fought a thousand miles from home, the elderly and frail could only wait in sorrow. Laborers and grooms pushed carts carrying provisions over long distances, while frost and snow fell often. The people wore worn-out, coarse-cloth garments and lived in hardship. They grew thin and weak, their carts fell apart, and mud and water reached their knees. Supporting one another as they trudged along, they were so exhausted that they could only shake their heads as they walked. Some were unable to meet the demands of forced labor and taxes, were beaten with staves, and were pinned beneath the instruments of punishment until they died.

The price of annexing other states and seizing their lands was tens of thousands of corpses and hundreds or thousands of wrecked chariots. Those wounded by arrows, spears, halberds, and stones lay along the roads. The world reached a point where people rested their heads on human skulls, ate human flesh, pickled human livers, and drank human blood, treating these as delicacies. From the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties onward, people throughout the world were never able to live in peace and comfort. They could not freely follow their original natures and customs or preserve the lifespans they were born with; they often died from calamities caused by human actions.

This was because the feudal lords fought one another. Later, the world came under a single house. At that time, the Son of Heaven held the highest position, taking the Dao and moral conduct as his standards and benevolence and righteousness as his supports. Those nearby offered their talents, while those far away were moved by his virtue. The Son of Heaven raised his hands in greeting and issued commands, and the four quarters came to submit. In spring, summer, autumn, and winter, every region presented tribute and fulfilled its duties at the proper time, and the world was unified. “Hun” means to unite as one. The generations of descendants succeeded one another in this way: it was how the Five Emperors followed the Dao of Heaven.

A sage cannot choose the age in which he lives, but when the right moment comes, he must not let it pass. One should appoint capable assistants, dismiss the slanderous and deceitful, silence clever disputation, abolish harsh laws and burdensome administration, suppress rumors, and close off avenues for factional self-interest. One should put an end to the fashion for showing off cleverness, restore the fundamental and constant Dao, discard trivial matters that are merely branches and the petty cleverness that pursues only small gains, and reduce excessive desires. Let all things return to their source and people’s minds become quiet and undisturbed. This is to follow the legacy of Fuxi and restore the way of the Five Emperors.

It is said that Jian Qie and Da Bing became famous throughout the world for their skill at driving without reins or bits. Fuxi and Nüwa made no elaborate laws, yet left the highest Virtue to later generations. The reason was that their minds were empty, quiet, and single, and they did not engage in intricate schemes or excessive demands. The Book of Zhou says, “If you fail to catch a pheasant by stalking it, try again with the wind at your back.” This means that even when an action fails, one should follow the way things are and act in accordance with the Dao. Whether an undertaking succeeds or fails, moral conduct must be its foundation. The methods of law advocated by Shen Buhai, Han Fei, and Shang Yang departed from this foundation.

Shen Buhai, Han Fei, and Shang Yang imposed severe and harsh laws, as if pulling up a tree by its roots and casting away its foundations, without investigating where problems began. They devised all manner of punishments and pursued petty gains, violating the moral foundation. They harmed the people, causing more than half of them to suffer, yet congratulated themselves on governing well. This was like trying to put out a fire with a bundle of kindling, or cutting an opening in a channel to let the water escape.

If one plants catalpa trees beside a well, as they grow they leave no room for water jars. If one plants trees with spreading branches beside a ditch, as they grow they leave no room for boats. Trees like these wither within a few months. This image applied to the laws of Shen Buhai, Han Fei, and Shang Yang means that government concerned only with the branches and lacking roots cannot endure.

The Yellow River winds through its nine bends before flowing into the sea, and its waters keep flowing because their source lies in the Kunlun Mountains. Pools of water may spread over a vast expanse, stretching beyond the eye’s reach, but if no rain falls for ten days or half a month, they dry up and become marshes. Water that receives rain but has no steady source soon runs dry.

This is like Hou Yi’s quest to obtain the elixir of immortality from the Queen Mother of the West. Before he could take it, his wife, Heng’e, stole and swallowed it. She became an immortal and flew into the moon. Hou Yi was left in despair, with no way to obtain another elixir and prolong his life. This was because he did not know where the elixir of immortality came from. Shen Buhai, Han Fei, Shang Yang, and others did not understand the foundations of good government, just as Hou Yi sought the elixir without understanding its source. Some also explain that Hou Yi believed his lifespan depended entirely on medicine, without understanding that a person’s lifespan is determined by Heaven’s mandate.

So rather than ask someone else for fire, it is better to take up a firebrand oneself; rather than borrow water from someone else, it is better to dig one’s own well.

End of Volume Eleven of the Huainan Honglie Jie.

Jing is a person’s primordial Qi; Shen is the ruler within a person. Tracing their origins and explaining their underlying principles gives this chapter its name, “Jing and Shen.”

In ancient times, Heaven and Earth had not yet taken shape…

Before heaven and earth took shape, there were only formless appearances and a chaotic, undivided Qi (vital energy). All was then dark and deep, indistinct and boundless. The Qi surged and mingled, and no one knew where it came from or could discern its limits. Later, the two spirits of Yin-Yang arose together, joining the celestial bodies and opening up the earth. They were deep beyond measure, with no known end; vast beyond bounds, with no known limit. Yin and Yang then separated and spread in all eight directions. Firmness and softness worked together, and only then did the myriad things gradually take shape.

The disordered Qi formed insects, while the pure Qi formed human beings. A person’s spirit comes from Heaven, and their bones from Earth. Spirit is formless and can return to Heaven; bones have form and ultimately return to the soil. When people die, each goes to their own place. How, then, could I remain forever?

Thus, sages model themselves on the Dao (the Way), follow their nature, and are neither constrained by worldly conventions nor confused by external things. They take Heaven as their father and Earth as their mother, with Yin-Yang as their guiding principles and the four seasons as their order. Heaven is clear and still; Earth is stable. All things that go against this pattern decline and perish, while those that follow it grow. Stillness and simplicity are where the spirit finds rest; emptiness is where the Dao resides. Those who seek outward often lose their inner foundation, while those who keep to what is within may lose what is outside. This is like a tree’s roots and branches: guide it from its roots, and its thousands of branches and leaves will all grow accordingly.

The spirit is received from Heaven, and the body from Earth. Hence the saying: “The One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, and Three gives birth to the myriad things.” Here, “One” means the Dao, “Two” means the spirits, and “Three” means harmonizing Qi. Another explanation holds that “One” is primordial Qi, “Two” are Qian and Kun, and “Three” is the harmonizing Qi formed through the union of Yin and Yang. Heaven and Earth each remain in their proper place, Yin and Yang flow through one another, and the myriad things arise from this. All things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang, with Yin and Yang Qi harmonized within them. A person’s back belongs to Yin and the abdomen to Yang; the body’s inner emptiness is where harmonizing Qi moves. Yin, Yang, and harmonizing Qi together bring forth the myriad things, just as harmony between ruler and minister can bring peace.

A human embryo develops month by month: in the first month it resembles fat; in the second it begins to take shape; in the third it becomes a fetus; in the fourth its muscles grow; in the fifth its sinews form; in the sixth its bones form; in the seventh its body is complete; in the eighth it begins to move; in the ninth its movements become pronounced; and in the tenth it is born. Once the body has taken shape, the five viscera form as well. The five viscera connect to different parts of the body: the lungs are linked to the eyes, the kidneys to the nose, the gallbladder to the mouth, and the liver to the ears. The body has an exterior and an interior, and the opening and closing, expanding and contracting of each part follow their own patterns.

The human head is round, symbolizing Heaven; the feet are square, symbolizing Earth. Heaven has four seasons, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), the eight directions and the center, and 366 days. A person has four limbs, five viscera, nine orifices, and 366 joints. Heaven has wind, rain, cold, and heat; people, too, have choices and rejections, joy and anger. The Jing (classic) also pairs the five viscera with natural phenomena: the gallbladder symbolizes clouds, the lungs Qi, the liver wind, the kidneys rain or lightning, and the spleen thunder, while the heart holds the central position. The ears and eyes are like the sun and moon; blood and Qi are like wind and rain. The ancients also said that a three-legged crow lives in the sun and a toad in the moon. When the sun and moon stray from their courses, solar and lunar eclipses occur; when wind and rain come out of season, disasters follow; and when the five planets move out of order, they are believed to bring calamity to the regions and states.

The workings of Heaven and Earth are vast and boundless, yet they still gather in their radiance and cherish their spirit. How, then, can people allow their ears and eyes to be stimulated without rest for a long time? How can the spirit keep rushing outward without being depleted? Blood and Qi are a person’s outward luster; the five viscera are where their vital essence resides. If blood and Qi remain focused in the five viscera instead of being spent outwardly, the chest and abdomen will be full, and desires will diminish. As desires diminish, the ears and eyes become clear, and hearing and sight grow sharper. This is called clarity. When the five viscera are in harmony with the heart and do not oppose one another, a person’s intentions and actions will not go astray. When conduct is upright, the spirit becomes abundant and Qi does not disperse. With abundant spirit and undispersed Qi, the body’s inner order can be harmonized. Harmony brings free passage; free passage allows the spirit’s powers to function, so that nothing goes unseen or unheard and nothing one undertakes fails. Troubles cannot easily intrude, and pernicious Qi cannot take advantage of an opening.

Some things cannot be obtained even by searching beyond the four seas; some truths cannot be seen even when kept within oneself. The more one seeks to acquire, the less one gains; the broader one’s knowledge, the less one truly understands. The ears, eyes, mouth, and other openings are gates through which the spirit enters and leaves; Qi and intention are like messengers of the five viscera. When the ears and eyes become absorbed in sounds, sights, and pleasures, the five viscera are thrown into turmoil. When the five viscera are unsettled, blood and Qi surge without ceasing. When blood and Qi scatter, the spirit rushes outward and cannot remain within the body. Then, even if a calamity or blessing as great as a mountain appears before one, it may go unnoticed.

If the ears and eyes are clear and open, untouched by the allure of external things, and the mind is empty, calm, and content, with desires reduced, then the five viscera will be settled and full without being depleted. If the spirit stays within the body instead of rushing beyond it, looking back to the past and observing the future will not be difficult. How much easier, then, to discern the blessings and calamities before one? Thus it is said: “The farther one departs from the Dao, the less one knows.” This means that even those who claim to understand the Dao know less the farther they stray from it. From this we can see that the spirit must not be left free to become absorbed in external things.

The jumble of the five colors disturbs the eyes and makes it hard to see clearly; the din of the five tones disturbs the ears and makes it hard to hear distinctly; excess in the five flavors harms the sense of taste; desires to choose and reject disturb the heart and make conduct reckless and excessive. These senses and desires are originally meant to nourish life, yet they can also become a burden. Desires cause Qi to disperse, while likes and dislikes exhaust the heart. If these disturbances are not removed in time, intention and vitality will be depleted day by day.

Why do people fail to live out their full lifespan, and sometimes even die midway through life under punishment? Because they pursue the pleasures of living to excess. To pursue them excessively is to indulge desires and crave without satisfaction, thereby harming the ears, eyes, and one’s nature, and ultimately failing to live out one’s allotted years. Only by refusing to be led by the demands of livelihood and pleasure, taking gain and loss lightly, and removing excessive passions can one better preserve life.

Heaven and Earth move in mutual connection; the myriad things unite as one and belong to a single Dao. Understand this foundation, and you can understand the myriad things. Fail to understand it, and you have truly understood nothing.

Suppose I exist within the world: I am no more than one thing among the myriad things. I do not know whether the world regards me as a complete thing, or how it regards me at all. The word “and” is merely a particle. Could it be that only when there is no “I” are the myriad things complete? If so, I too am one of the myriad things, and each of the myriad things is itself a thing. On what basis can things measure and judge one another? Since the myriad things are already things, why give them separate names and call them “things” at all?

Even so, what benefit does the transforming power of nature—the force that brings the myriad things into being and changes them—gain from giving me life? If it is said to have given birth to me, what benefit can the Way of nature derive from that? And what loss does it suffer by bringing about my death? Since the transforming power of nature has already shaped me into a human being, I need not go against it. Suppose someone accepts acupuncture and cauterization in order to stay alive. How do I know this is not a delusion? And how do I know that someone who hangs himself to die is necessarily missing out on good fortune? Perhaps when nature brings people into being, it has its own arrangements; people need not defy it, nor insist on pursuing or avoiding anything. Perhaps life is toil, while death is rest. The world is vast and boundless: who can know what truly lies within it?

The transforming power of nature gives me life, and I do not demand anything of it. It brings about my death, and I do not try to stop it. I want to live, but I do not deliberately contrive ways to preserve my life. I abhor death, but I do not flee from it. If I act in accord with what is right, I do not despise myself for being lowly, nor rejoice and become complacent when I am honored. I live peacefully in accordance with my inborn nature, without hastily seeking anything.

In life, I have a seven-foot body; in death, I become no more than earth in a coffin. Compared with the other formed things, while alive I am simply one thing among them; once dead, I merge into what has no form. Since my life has not added to the number of things, and my death will not make the earth any thicker, how can I know what there is between life and death that deserves joy, aversion, or calculation of gain and loss? To cling neither to the benefits of life nor to the harms of death is to preserve one’s nature.

The transforming power of nature gathers and draws in the myriad things, as a potter kneads clay and makes pots and jars. The potter takes clay from the earth and forms vessels from it; before becoming vessels, they were nothing but clay. Once made, if the vessels break apart, they return to their original state as clay. We need not abhor death: it is simply a return to the state before birth. Just as broken pottery returns to earth, it is no different from when it was still clay.

People who live by the river draw water from it to irrigate their gardens, but the river does not resent this. People who live beside stagnant pools dig channels to drain the foul water into the river, but the river does not rejoice. Water in the river is no different in essence from water taken to irrigate a garden; flowing into a stagnant pool is no different in essence from remaining in the river. There is nothing to resent or rejoice in when water moves elsewhere. Thus the sage adapts to the times and settles into whatever place is theirs; living in the present age, they calmly attend to the matters at hand.

Sorrow and joy damage De (Virtue/Power), while affection and anger cause one to stray from the Dao (the Way). Love and hatred are violent disturbances of the heart. Thus, while a person lives, it is like Qi (vital energy) moving in accord with the Way of Heaven; death is as natural as the transformations of all things. In stillness, one closes away and rests together with Yin; in motion, one unfolds together with Yang. When the spirit is calm, detached, and inexhaustible, and is not scattered by external things, all under Heaven will naturally submit to De.

The heart governs the body, and the spirit is the heart’s most precious treasure. If the body is ceaselessly overworked, it becomes exhausted and declines; if the spirit is endlessly expended, it withers away. Therefore, the sage cherishes the spirit and dares not squander it. The Xia ruler had a jade huang, a precious half-disc of jade, which people kept in a case and treasured as a supreme possession. The spirit is worth cherishing far more than that jade huang.

The sages meet what is substantial with emptiness, and so they investigate the principles of things; they receive what is real in stillness, and so they discern its proper measure. Tranquil and content, empty and at peace, they pass their lives in this way. They are neither especially distant from people nor especially close to them. Instead, they embrace De, nurture a balanced Qi, and follow the Way of Heaven. “Nourishing harmony” means tending one’s harmonious Qi as one warms oneself by a fire. In accord with the Dao and close to De, they do not rush to seek good fortune or invite calamity in advance. They let the hun and po souls dwell in the body and keep the spirit rooted. Unshaken by life or death, this is called “ultimate spirit.”

A True Person is one whose nature accords with the Dao. Fuxi, the Yellow Emperor, and Lao Dan are called True Persons. They possess things as though they possessed nothing, and are full as though they were empty. They hold fast to the One and do not cling to duality. They cultivate what is within and do not pursue what is outside. “Cultivating what is within” means guarding the spirit; “not pursuing what is outside” means not being led by love and hatred. They understand the principle of the Dao in its pure, unadorned state. Without contrivance, they return to simplicity; they keep to the root and embrace the spirit, roaming at the edges of Heaven and Earth and wandering freely beyond the dust of the world. Mechanisms and cunning schemes cannot take hold of their hearts.

Thus, although life and death are great matters for human beings, they cannot change the True Person. To remain unmoved by life and death is to regard them as one transformation. Although Heaven and Earth bring forth and nurture the myriad things, the True Person does not cling to what they nurture. They clearly discern things without flaw or fissure and do not become entangled with external things. Even amid disorder, they can hold to the root. Here, “ancestral source” means the root.

Such a person holds fast to the inner spirit and does not let the ears and eyes lead the heart and will. Their intention is joined to the One, that is, the Dao. At rest, they are not attached to any particular undertaking; in motion, they do not decide in advance where they are going. With no bonds on their will, they move freely and as one with things. Their body is like withered wood and their heart like cold ashes: this means they act without contrivance. They seem to have forgotten their organs and body. They understand without deliberate study, see clearly without looking, accomplish things without contrivance, and discern what is right without deliberately governing. They respond when moved, and act when circumstances press them. When action is unavoidable, it is as natural as light shining and shadows appearing. They take the Dao as their measure and act in response to things, silently following what is natural.

They hold to their clear and still nature and let no desires intrude; external things cannot confuse or disturb them. Open and quiet, they have no thoughts and do not exhaust their spirit. Even if a great marsh were to dry up in flames, they would not grow restless; if the Milky Way ran dry, they would not be afraid; if thunder shattered mountains, they would not panic; if fierce winds obscured the sun, they would not be harmed. Those who embody the Dao close away their desires and keep to emptiness and stillness, so even amid such immense upheavals they are not confused. They see treasures and jade as they see stones and rubble, the honors and favor of an emperor as they see passersby, and ancient beauties such as Maoqiang and Xishi as they see the ugly.

They regard life and death as one transformation and all things as one kind. Their spirit joins with the source of pure emptiness and roams in a dim, indistinct realm beyond form. They possess vital essence but do not squander it, and have spirit without wearing it down. They accord with their undivided nature and find their place in utmost clarity. Thus their sleep is dreamless, their minds give rise to no delusions, and their hun and po souls each rest in their proper place: the Yin po does not sink into stagnation, and the Yang hun does not soar away. They move back and forth between beginning and end without knowing where they began. They sleep peacefully in the depths of the Great Dao, yet awaken to clear awareness in the bright and visible world. They rest where there are no bends or corners and travel across a wilderness without shape or boundary.

They dwell without a fixed form and remain without a fixed place. Their movement has no shape and their stillness no body: this is what the Dao is like. They exist as though they did not exist and live as though they were dead. They enter and leave without obstruction and can even command ghosts and spirits. This means that those who embody the Dao can transform; it does not mean that humans and ghosts or spirits share the same physical form. The Dao reaches through unfathomable depths, allowing beings of different forms to carry on through mutual transformation. The transformations of all things turn in cycles like a ring, whose beginning and pattern are hard to discern. This is why the spirit can ascend to the Dao, and this is the realm in which the True Person roams.

Breathing, exhaling the old and drawing in the new, as well as exercises such as a bear climbing, a bird stretching, a duck swimming, an ape leaping, an owl gazing, and a tiger looking back, are all practices for nurturing the body. They can exercise the body and stretch the sinews and bones, but they are not the root of the True Person’s practice of the Dao, nor do they disturb the True Person’s heart. The True Person lets the spirit unfold without losing its fullness, suffers no harm from external things by day or night, and nurtures all things with the vitality of spring. This shows how body and mind accord with the Dao and follow the changes of the four seasons.

Even when a person’s body changes in some way, the spirit held within is not thereby damaged. The body is where the spirit resides; while the spirit dwells in the body, a person lives, and when it leaves, the person dies. The text uses the examples of a leper whose gait remains unchanged and a madman whose body is not impaired to show that bodily condition and spiritual state are not entirely the same: the leper’s body remains intact, and the madman’s body is not maimed, yet the spirit has become dispersed.

The body wears away, but the spirit does not change along with it. The body undergoes countless transformations and ultimately has no end; what remains unchanged here is the spirit, while what changes is the physical form. After death, the body turns to dust and returns to formlessness; the spirit, it is said, abides together with Heaven and Earth. It is not the tree itself that makes trees grow, but the Way of Heaven; likewise, it is not the body itself that gives the body fullness, but Qi. The Dao that enables all things to grow does not die, though the things themselves die; the Dao that transforms all things does not change, though the things themselves change.

When one thinks little of worldly power, favor, and honor, the spirit is not burdened by external things. When one regards the myriad things as ordinary, the heart is not confused by them. When one sees life and death as equal, the will is not afraid. When one accords with change, the mind is not disordered. The text then says that people consider these claims empty words, and that the author will offer examples to explain them.

People are eager to be rulers because a ruler can enjoy what pleases the eyes and ears and live in bodily comfort. High terraces and raised pavilions are buildings people admire: a structure raised on all four sides is called a “terrace,” and a wooden house built atop it is called a “pavilion.” Yao, however, lived in a plain dwelling. Its rafters were left uncarved, and the edges of the roof were not painted or decorated. A “tie” is a crosspiece set across a roof beam; here, the point is that Yao did not even install such decorative fittings.

People prize rare and unusual foods, but Yao ate coarse rice and soup made from pigweed and bean leaves. “Li” means coarse rice, while “zi” refers to grains such as millet. People also prize embroidered finery and white fox fur, but Yao covered himself with plain cloth and kept warm in a deerskin coat. He did not furnish himself with abundant comforts; instead, he shouldered heavy responsibilities. So when he ceded the realm to Shun, he did so as if setting down a heavy load. This was more than a verbal gesture of modesty: he truly did not regard ruling the realm as something worth coveting.

When Yu traveled south on an inspection tour, he encountered a yellow dragon carrying his boat as he crossed the Yangtze River. The people aboard panicked, but Yu smiled and said, “I received my charge from Heaven and have devoted myself to working for the people. A human life lasts no more than a hundred years. While alive, we are only temporary guests; after death, we return to our origin. Why let this disturb the mind and unsettle its peace?” He regarded the dragon as if it were no more than a gecko, without changing his expression. The dragon then flicked its ears and tail and went away. This shows how calmly and attentively Yu regarded things outside himself.

In the state of Zheng, there was a spiritual diviner named Jixian who could read signs in a person’s complexion and predict good or ill fortune. After examining Huz, he told his assessment to Huz’s disciple Liezi. Liezi returned in tears and reported it to Huz. Huz explained the matter through the relation between “Heaven and Earth”: spirit belongs to Heaven, and the body to Earth; after death, people naturally return to their origin. For this reason, he did not regard life and death as matters to fear or grieve over.