《三十代天师虚靖真君语录》

Collected Sayings of the Venerable Master Xujing, Thirtieth Celestial Master is a work that brings together the sayings, poems, and prose of Venerable Master Xujing, the thirtieth Celestial Master. It is included in the section on Daoist works in the Chinese Daoist Canon.

The work is divided into seven volumes. Volume One contains prose; Volume Two, ancient-style poems in five-character lines; Volume Three, song-style poems; Volume Four, regulated verse in five-character lines and poems composed in linked couplets; Volume Five, regulated verse in seven-character lines; Volume Six, ci lyrics and hymns; and Volume Seven, quatrains in five-, six-, and seven-character lines. At the end of the table of contents is the preface to Collected Sayings of the Venerable Master Xujing, Thirtieth Celestial Master.

Between Heaven and Earth, only human beings can gather within themselves the luminous and numinous vitality of mountains and rivers. When a person’s cultivation arises from within, what has accumulated in the heart will inevitably show on the outside. How, then, could what is stored up in ordinary times fail to emerge in one’s words?

The teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi advocate forgetting the body, setting aside cleverness, and excluding all things pursued outwardly, so as to return wholeheartedly to the inner self. Yet to pass their principles on to later generations and establish teachings, they too must rely on words to convey and make them known. Does this not show that those who transcend the common world do not all consider words useless? They use words as clouds move through the sky or as faint ripples spread across a clear, deep pool: writing takes shape naturally with the movement and stillness of things, leaving no trace of contrivance. The words of Confucian scholars are different. When their careers prosper, their language is vigorous and bold, and their unrestrained feelings pour forth. When their circumstances are difficult, they write of the sorrow of exile and travel, and of grief and lamentation. But those who have attained the Dao in its profundity and long undergone spiritual transformation have long been companions of Heaven. Why should the highest state of attainment depend on whether or not they use words?

The thirty-first-generation patriarch, the Perfected Lord Xujing—a Daoist Celestial Master honored by the title Perfected Lord Xujing—was naturally perceptive and spiritually awakened, with a foundation in cultivation from an early age. He lived in an age of peace. During the Chongning and Jingkang eras, Emperor Huizong of Song was especially devoted to Daoism, and perfected immortals appeared in great numbers. Among those active at the same time as the Perfected Lord were Xu Shenxi, Wang Wenqing, and Lin Lingsu. He often used ritual methods to drive away evil spirits and quell tidal disasters, and many other spiritual efficacies were repeatedly witnessed. Later, when the state faced hardship, he could foresee signs of calamity. He could also summon wind and thunder and bring clear or rainy weather, and was often specially summoned for consultation. His Daoist arts became renowned throughout the world and were truly capable of assisting the court and benefiting the people. Even after several hundred years, people still speak of him and admire him. How could he be compared with those who win renown for a time, only to vanish from memory afterward?

The old account, Records of Response and Transformation, already describes his achievements and deeds in detail. The words through which the Perfected Lord spread his teachings among the people, and the writings that refined the spirit and nature, are enough to awaken the deluded and enlighten the ignorant. If he had not wandered in spirit through the remote reaches of the beginning of Heaven and Earth, transcended the turmoil of the world, and freed his heart of every worldly entanglement, how could he have reached such a state?

These writings are recited in many places, yet those who hope to see them for themselves have difficulty obtaining a complete copy. The book was printed in the past but gradually fell into dispersal and loss. Some people therefore gathered materials from famous mountains and printed it anew, so that it might circulate widely. May those who cultivate the Dao and those who admire the Perfected Lord seek the deeper meaning beyond his words, understand the mysteries of the Fire Talisman—a term in Neidan (internal alchemy) concerning the timing and methods of the firing process—and explore the subtle principles of lead and mercury, symbolic terms in Neidan. May they find in it ample guidance and instruction.

If one can thereby enter the realm of moral cultivation and arrive at a vast, boundless place of emptiness and mystery, then, among layered peaks and lofty forests on a clear, moonlit night, one may recite those ethereal songs and listen as the woods answer in harmony with the sound of springs. Who could say that a rainbow-colored retinue, robes of rosy clouds, and the ornaments of immortals would not descend? Does such a work not deserve to be handed down alongside the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi?

Yuchu, who writes here of himself, has inherited the Daoist lineage but lacks the talent and learning to praise and uphold the Perfected Lord fully. I have often feared that these writings might be lost, so I have provisionally placed this preface at the beginning of the volume, leaving it to a gifted master of letters to add what is missing.

In the cyclical year Yihai, the twenty-eighth year of the Hongwu reign (1395), on an auspicious day after the Zhongyuan Festival, Yu Chu, heir-designate to the teachings of the Zhengyi school, whose Daoist name was “Hewuwei” and honorific title “Perfected One Who Proclaims the Ancestors’ Radiant Model,” and the forty-third-generation hereditary Celestial Master of the Zhengyi lineage, in charge of Daoist affairs, bathed and observed purification before respectfully bowing and carefully composing this preface.

Recorded Sayings of the Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, Volume One

Compiled and arranged by Yu Chu, heir-designate of the Forty-Third Celestial Master.

On the Mind

The mind is the foundation of the myriad things and the ruler of the body’s nine apertures. It is the root of life and death and the source of good and evil. The mind exists together with Heaven and Earth and governs the spirits. Some call it the “Perfected Lord.”

The mind is the root of all methods of practice, the master of the body’s nine apertures, and the source of life and death, the starting point of good and evil. It exists alongside Heaven and Earth and governs the spirits. Sometimes it is called the “True Sovereign,” because it rules the whole body; sometimes the “True Constant,” because it transcends past and present and cannot be destroyed; and sometimes “True Suchness,” because it is still and unmoving. When active, it fills Heaven and Earth in all directions; when inactive, no one knows where it is. It is so vast that it has no boundaries: the cosmos is within it, and it is one with the Great Void. It is so minute that it has no interior: it can enter the tip of a fine autumn hair, yet it cannot be sought through any concrete form. This is our original mind, the self that has existed from before Heaven and Earth took shape.

What, then, is the original mind? It is deep and unfathomable, elusive and hard to discern. It cannot be known through intellect or distinguished through conscious thought; we can only give it the provisional names “Dao,” “spirit,” or “mind.” In this light, is the original mind not vast and precious? Why, then, do people still transmigrate through the Three Realms—the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm—passing repeatedly between life and death without control? The reason is that as soon as a thought arises within, the six consciousnesses—the activities of knowing associated with the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—begin to wander among external objects. Unable to go beyond distinctions between good and evil, people incur the karmic consequences of heaven and hell and transmigrate without end through the Six Paths: gods, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell beings. There seems no day when they can escape. How can this fail to grieve us?

Those who understand the Great Dao are different. Through fasting and purification, they cleanse body and mind and clarify their De (Virtue/Power); when the mind is clear and pure, all manner of misfortune dissipates. Laozi said, “Bring the mind to utmost emptiness and firmly abide in stillness. As the myriad things grow and change together, I observe how they return to their root.” Though the myriad things flourish in countless ways, in the end they all return to their root. Returning to the root is called “stillness”; stillness is called “returning to one’s destiny”; returning to one’s destiny is called “the constant”; and knowing the constant is called “illumination.” Failing to know the constant and acting recklessly brings danger. The “constant” is the nature that transcends past and present and cannot be destroyed; “recklessness” is the deviation that begins as soon as a thought arises. Zhuangzi said, “Once you have become an external thing, is it not difficult to return to the root?” The “Great Person” spoken of in the Book of Changes is perhaps someone like this.

From this point onward, be careful in speech and moderate in eating. Remove worldly grime and distracting thoughts; quiet the mind and hold to unity. Remain empty, still, serene, and calm, in silent Wuwei (non-action). Restrain the eyes and turn hearing inward. Live among the world without being changed by external things. A thought that suddenly arises is already a deviation; preventing it from developing further is the way to counter it. There is no need to fear that thoughts arise; be concerned only that you notice them too late. Just as the hair must be combed each day, a person should continually tend to body and thoughts. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, do not let even a moment pass without this practice. In this way, you can wander in the “land of nowhere” (a realm of stillness free from attachment) and the “country of Huaxu” (the legendary ideal realm of peaceful ease).

Have you not seen how a ladder a thousand feet high, when set against a mountain, lets you climb to the summit, but when placed on level ground cannot even help you cross a wall a few feet tall? The ladder itself is not too short; it has simply been set in the wrong place. Likewise, a great ship capable of carrying ten thousand measures of cargo can cross rivers and seas when afloat in a broad river. Set it down in a shallow ditch, however, and it cannot cross even a narrow stream. The ship is not incapable of carrying people; it has simply been moored in the wrong place.

The Fulu (talismans and registers) of our Daoist tradition can move Heaven and Earth above and shake mountains and rivers below. They can command dragons and tigers, summon and control ghosts and spirits, revive what has withered and decayed, and enable practitioners to cultivate their way beyond life and death. On a grand scale, they can bring stability to the state; on a small scale, they can dispel calamities. Whether their efficacy can be attained depends on whether one practices them; when that efficacy is lost, it is because one has become lax and negligent. Even if a craftsperson receives a compass and straightedge, that alone does not make them a master artisan. A teacher may provide a model, but cannot ensure that a student follows it.

Yet people are bound by affection and gratitude, obstructed by demonic hindrances, and blinded by fame and profit. Their offenses and faults grow day by day, never easing even briefly. Since our lives come from our parents, who besides them can truly be close to us? To get by, we need only food and clothing; what use is there in amassing so much wealth? Glory and riches are like holding a candle in the wind: they cannot last for long. The love between spouses and children is like birds nesting on the same branch; in the end, separation is unavoidable. Fine carriages and fine horses cannot carry anyone on a carefree journey through the long night, and beautiful concubines and wives cannot save anyone from the torments of the Nine Depths, the underworld. Grand houses, white jade, and gold may fall into your hands by chance, but you cannot keep them for long.

Across the boundless Three Realms—the Desire Realm, the Form Realm, and the Formless Realm—living beings toil through the Four Births: birth from the womb, from eggs, from moisture, and by transformation. Once they sink into the flow of passing time, they remain trapped for ages in the sea of suffering. Do not wait until the messenger of Dendu, said to seize the souls of the dead, arrives and crosses your name off the underworld register before regretting it too late.

You have left your parents and homeland to come to your master’s school and draw near your teachers. You have carried burdens over long roads, braved frost and rain, spoken your aspirations and cleansed your mind of distractions, and come to behold the Daoist bearing of the Most High. You made your vows, registered your name, and received the Celestial Master’s secret Fulu. From this day onward, you must cast off old habits and renew yourself each day. Though your name has been reported to the heavenly court, your body remains bound by worldly life. Gradually loosen the attachments of past affection. From now on, even when you encounter those who have wronged you or become your enemies, do not create new enmities. You should resolve disputes, curb your sharpness, help the people, and aid others; nurture your nature, bring peace to body and mind, and still your spirit in quiet contemplation.

When attachments have been severed, the heart-monkey—the restless, unsettled mind—will naturally grow still. When delusions no longer arise, the intention-horse—the mind’s racing thoughts—will also become quiet. Know that the body is the root of suffering, while the nature of life is what is truly precious. Yang Qi will no longer make you cling to life, and Yin Qi will no longer make you fear death. Then you will not be moved by great winds or fear being consumed by the fires of a kalpa. Once your thoughts have cut off the Three Corpses, the spirits said to dwell within the body and hinder cultivation, how could your nature still be led astray by the Five Desires of wealth, sex, fame, food, and sleep?

The jade terraces and immortal gardens are your true home; to lose yourself in love, attachment, and resentment is the business of others. Human life has no fixed span, and no one can be sure of living to old age. The sun and moon race onward; beginning to cultivate now is already late. If you delay again and let the days slip away, you will waste your life in vain. You are fortunate to have reached this precious mountain in this lifetime. To return empty-handed would be a great pity.

May the dynasty’s foundations endure, may the sovereign’s life be long, may warfare cease in the four directions, and may the nations come to offer their allegiance. May all under Heaven embrace selflessness and Wuwei (non-action), and so be transformed naturally. Then may all sentient beings in the Ten Directions and Three Realms, across the Six Paths and Four Births, ascend together to the shore of the Dao. The altar of the Dark Mystery has now been established, and the rite of initiation and salvation is about to begin. I dare not keep those who seek to learn waiting any longer. Please take care.

Letter in Reply to the Prefect of Chizhou

Ma Xiugen has arrived. If a person can be free of selfishness, they can naturally transform and guide the people. Then all sentient beings—the ten directions and three realms, and the six paths and four kinds of birth—will be able to reach the farther shore of the Dao. The sacred altar has now been completed, and the day for opening it to guide people toward salvation is near. I dare not keep those seeking to study waiting for long. Please take good care.

Letter in Reply to the Prefect of Chizhou

When Ma Xiugen came, he brought your letter. I have also learned that you have moved to Chengdu. Though the journey was long and somewhat tiring, all went safely and smoothly. The register of religious office must first be formally confirmed through an oath-taking rite. When the time comes, please come in person to take the oath and receive the register, so that the ceremony may be properly completed. I take advantage of the favorable wind to convey my sincerity. When Xiugen departs, I will send another letter with him. On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, so-and-so respectfully writes to the Prefect Wangzhi.

Letter in Reply to the Prefect of Zhending

It has been a long time since we parted, and now I have suddenly received your precious letter. I am delighted to learn that you have been well of late, and trust that all is peaceful and comfortable. I have long admired you, Attendant An, for embracing the Dao since your youth while also striving to uphold the Confucian Way. Your learning surges like a great wave in a vast sea of scholarship, and your literary talent is outstanding. I look forward to the day when you take on great responsibility and answer the hopes of all. If you can come to see me soon, I will gladly wait for you. So-and-so respectfully writes to the Prefect of Zhending.

Reply to Tang Mingquan

So-and-so respectfully writes: I have admired your distinguished name for a long time, yet have never had the chance to draw near and hear you speak of the profound Dao. I often look up to you in my dreams, as one looks up to the Northern Dipper. If I may receive the benefit of your example and instruction, answering everyone’s hopes, then we can meet soon. I look forward to that day. So-and-so respectfully writes to the Prefect of Zhending.

Reply to Tang Mingquan

So-and-so respectfully writes: I have admired your distinguished name for a long time, yet have never had the chance to draw near and hear you speak of the profound Dao. I often look up to you in my dreams, but we are far apart, as though clouds and rosy mists lay between us, and we have not yet met. I have just received your precious letter. You have treated me with such sincerity that I hardly know how to accept your great kindness.

I imagine that you, Mingquan, are a lofty immortal in the Jade Palace and an honored guest on the Jade Terrace, freed from the entanglements of fame and profit and devoted to seeking the roots of Dao and De. It is as though, with no intention and no fixed form, you preserve and nourish your spirit, retrieving the dark pearl from the Red River—a metaphor for profound truth. With a calm and tranquil nature, you cultivate yourself in harmony with the realm of Huaxu, that legendary ideal land. You should also rescue those in danger and guide the foolish and lowly, fully embodying the conduct of a perfected person and bringing the teaching of the Most High to light. I hope that one day I may travel with you to seek the immortal realm of Huayang, beneath splendid canopies and in a carriage drawn by dragon-shaped shafts. I also hope to wander with the immortals who carry banners and ride the clouds and rainbow mists through the celestial realm of Taiji, the highest heaven in Daoist belief.

Letter in Reply to Prefect Lin

The cultivation methods once taught to you were oral instructions personally handed down by the Sage Master, and they must be practiced diligently. Even if you cannot ascend to Heaven in broad daylight, you can preserve your body, extend your years in this world, and live without end. Congratulations, congratulations. Respectfully offered by someone to Daoist friend Lord Lin of Shanglin.

Letter in Reply to Lin Lingsu

A bamboo hat and a gourd staff, the implements of a recluse cultivating the Dao, have neither feelings nor intentions. Why chase after a cloudlike, insubstantial reputation? Amid the red mists of the Golden Gate, one merely dreams in vain of roaming the heavens; among white stones and clear springs, one can enjoy the ease of mountain life. Duckweed and broken stems meet by chance, then drift apart freely, like clouds and mud. Mountains and rivers separate us; cold and heat have alternated many times. An empty reputation gradually spreads, while our wandering paths often fail to cross.

I believe the foundation of the Dao lies in the natural course of things, and Shen (spirit) is not some separate substance. The bright moon moves across the blue sky, its light inherently formless; white clouds pass over green mountains, their color leaving no fixed trace. A silkworm enters its cocoon, then later emerges as a moth; a sparrow plunges into water and transforms into a clam. Change takes place in an instant, and all things cycle back and forth, following one another like shadows. The direction things take does not come from deliberate imitation. Their rising and falling, advancing and retreating, naturally accord with the principles of the circle and the square. All things live and die, like spring flowers that bloom and fade; the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth waxes and wanes, like night dew that forms, then dries beneath the morning sun.

In a small boat, roam across the Five Lakes; riding a dark-feathered crane, soar over the Three Isles, the legendary mountains in the sea. To climb high, one must travel a long way; moving downward is easy. Only those who discern what is about to happen can be called perceptive.

I have received your letter from afar and have written back at once. I am grateful for your concern. I hope you will care for body and mind and remain calm; this accords with the concern I have held for you all along.

A Ceremonial Petition from the Celestial Master to His Younger Brother

In the lineage of the early Celestial Masters, three generations ago, the father departed and the son succeeded him. Now, among the various lineages of ritual registers, the elder brother yields, and the younger brother receives them. Your servant respectfully dons his robes and cap, praying that the Supreme Ultimate will observe and take note. The blessings bestowed upon me will return to my person; such generous favor is truly unforgettable. Your servant is humbled and grateful, and feels unequal to the responsibility.

Memorial of Thanks for Appointment to Office

Time waits for no one. I am grateful for the Son of Heaven’s favor, which has also benefited my brothers, allowing our whole family to share in the celebration. I feel overwhelmed by this honor: my heart is joyful, yet filled with awe and apprehension. I recall that when I was young, I was fortunate enough to behold the imperial countenance; over seven years, I received imperial commands three times. The court built a palace temple for me, where I could burn incense and cultivate the Dao. It also bestowed a ritual scripture granted by the emperor during the Xuanhe era, helping me fulfill my Daoist cultivation. Before long, favor was bestowed on my elder brother as well. We brothers are fortunate to have received such exceptional treatment, and truly do not know how to repay it.

This is all because Your Majesty holds the teachings of Daoism in such high regard. You have not looked down on me for my ignorance; instead, you have valued the bond between siblings and extended your favor to my brothers. Although this followed established precedent, it still astonished people at the time. With the loyal devotion of a dog or horse, I ought to do everything in my power to serve you. And the splendor of this palace temple, as magnificent as phoenixes and luan birds, has no end to its glory. I will express my reverence through devout offerings of incense and pray that Your Majesty enjoy long life and enduring blessings. Gazing up toward the Son of Heaven, I am stirred with emotion and overcome with awe and apprehension. I respectfully submit these words.

Collected Sayings of the True Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, Scroll One, concludes.

Collected Sayings of the True Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, Scroll Two

Compiled and arranged by his descendant, the Forty-Third Celestial Master, Yuchu

Five-Character Ancient-Style Poems

A conversation with Shi Yuangui about the gull and the roc, followed by this poem, written spontaneously

What difference is there between flying only a few yards high and soaring with the great roc to ninety thousand miles? The Dao is vast and boundless, beyond the limits of names; there is neither “this” nor “that.” Alas, Master Yuangui, your words have almost exhausted the matter.

All things arise from Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental source of the universe, and people of aspiration seek lofty realms. The great roc and the small cicada-dove, the bird Zhuangzi uses to represent narrow vision, may argue with one another, but their dispute is not the highest truth. Though the forms of things change, none lie beyond the four quarters of Heaven and Earth. Whether one flies or leaps, each has its own range. Why mock one for going farther or less far?

Only then do we understand the profound and mysterious meaning contained in “Free and Easy Wandering,” a chapter of the Zhuangzi about all things following their nature and attaining freedom. After our conversation ended, all was quiet by the windows on every side. We fell silent, leaning against the table as we pondered.

[The Inner Secretary’s Visit]

Commissioner Xu, styled Zhongfeng, came to this office in search of the recluse Li. He later stopped by Shangqing Temple, where we had the chance to brew tea and talk at length.

The Circuit Intendant, Vice Commissioner Xu, had come to our district to seek out the recluse Li. Passing this way, he also called on Shangqing. The host prepared tea for him, and the two talked freely until they parted at midnight. Their conversation filled me with delight, and I truly witnessed their lofty, unusual insight and their understanding of transformation. Even the beauty of the mountains and rivers seemed to shine more brightly because of it. The next day, the two took their leave. These events are recorded here in brief. The year was the fifth of Xuanhe.

The west wind had just begun to blow, and the white dew still glistened. Someone crossed the great river by boat and traveled east, arriving at Raoyang. Bearing an imperial edict, he had come to visit the Elixir Chamber, where alchemy and Daoist cultivation were practiced. Mountain clouds reflected shapes like dragons and tigers; green woods rose high, reaching into the clouds. By chance we met, and began to talk, our words clear and cool as frost. As dusk fell, we lit candles and sat facing one another; just then, the new moon rose, cold and clear. The Jade Toad—the moon—was veiled in a haze like mist, while the golden autumn wind carried celestial fragrance. Moonlight fell like clouds reflected over the scenery of one’s homeland, vivid and wondrous, as if presenting an auspicious sign. Heaven and earth blended into a single scene, and the five peaks bathed together in autumn light. Clad in brocade, you seemed an immortal banished to the mortal world. You rode off on a whale, leaving mountains and bridges between us. May you fulfill the mysterious pact you made long ago and soar freely through the sky.

In Praise of Tang Mingquan’s Family Entering the Dao

For a long time, you have been praised for your detachment from worldly affairs. Though talented, you had no wish to serve as an official. You brought your family here, to cultivate the Dao together among the white clouds. The learning and insight you have amassed are exceptional, and you grasp the Dao’s subtle principles with ease. Alas, even the enlightened ruler’s summons could not change your resolve. You once had the talent to range across rivers and seas; now you are wholly free of worldly dust. I have heard that when Xu Xun, courtesy name Jingyang, the legendary immortal, served as a county magistrate, he led his entire family in ascending with their house, leaving the mortal world behind. In such cultivation, the key lies in diligent practice. Sons of the Tang family, may you press forward with dedication.

Writing of the Affairs of the Pavilion of Dragon Transformation, I Made This Eulogy and Presented It to Daoist Bai of Qingcheng

A room without a speck of dust; a gentle breeze stirs bamboo like polished jade. On the table are only a zither and books, an elegant, unhurried scene, unlike the world of ordinary folk. Often you take up a small brush to write Fulu talismanic script and several notes. At times, you play two or three rounds of chess with fellow cultivators. At night, facing the moon among the woods, you pluck wondrous melodies with the instrument resting on your knees. When the night grows late and your inspiration has not yet faded, you slowly open a letter. Lord Qingcheng, welcome to come and meet me; when the clouds and mist part, the distant mountains are a deep green.

In Reply to “Parting from Yuangui”

I have just arrived beside towering mountains and climbed ridge after ridge of emerald green. I chant the blue verses, sing along to the “White Snow” melody, and quietly play the Yellow Bell mode. I follow the paths of the ancients, seeking the traces of immortals. I have always felt richly blessed, and believe that people differ in their diligence and indolence. Wherever I may be, I can find joy; my heart knows where it is bound. Like a bright moon hanging above pines that have stood for ten thousand years.

Longing for the Old Man of Qingcheng

Since parting from the Old Man of Qingcheng, I have quietly played the Yellow Bell mode. I follow the paths of the ancients, seeking the traces of immortals. I have always felt richly blessed, and believe that people differ in their diligence and indolence. Wherever I may be, I can find joy; my heart knows where it is bound. Like a bright moon hanging above pines that have stood for ten thousand years.

Longing for the Old Man of Qingcheng

Since we parted, many days have passed in the blink of an eye. The weather grows warm, spring is nearly over, and soon the mountain flowers will fade. I think of you with longing and admiration at every turn. Gazing west, I wander toward pavilions like those in an immortal realm. Could it be that you are reluctant to leave the human world? There, music and song flourish, and pleasure runs deep. I hope you will return to your companions beyond the world and keep the promise we made among the verdant cliffs. The setting sun shines back, its last light glittering, as if Lotus Peak were rising from a wall of gold.

Replying to Yuan Gui’s Encouragement

Your poem cites the deeds of many worthy people of the past, making clear that the Great Dao is right before us. Even without deliberately seeking it, one naturally arrives at goodness. You have indeed reached such a state. You make music in order to attain insight into the true Dao. A single sentence reveals your aspirations; they are truly beyond what words can express. I know you have mastered the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi, and by day seem to roam through the Great Wilderness. You speak freely of the mystery within mystery, your thoughts ranging without limit.

Learning gives one something to rely on; there is no need to struggle against every kind of demonic obstruction. Having experienced the world’s many appearances, if one gains insight, why be astonished by what is strange and bizarre? Doubts and disputes have now been dispelled, and we may trust that you are a person of sound character. Let goodness be your guiding principle and your teacher, and you may calmly attain a state of natural innocence.

The human world still concerns itself with names and distinctions; the affairs of the immortal Way should follow their natural course. Those endowed with Heaven’s mandate will, in the end, rise beyond ordinary people. Why wait until life is nearly over to stop? The Great Dao is no empty, elusive thing: it is plainly manifest in all things. If you could help me understand it as soon as I hear it, my spirit would surely become clear and refreshed.

Let us speak no more of what is profound or superficial; these words all come from sincerity. When the moment comes, let us simply be free and at ease. These are words I hold in high regard. Others may hear them and laugh, but that is no reason to blame those who are kind and compassionate. Fortunately, you are unlike the people of the world: you bring a thoughtful mind to the affairs of everyday life.

In the Rhyme of Magistrate Zhang’s Poem “Reducing Food Expenses”

There is no need to make meals lavish; the ancients valued eating according to one’s appetite. Once you are full, what more could you want? Precious, sumptuous dishes are not what I seek. Before the rhinoceros-horn chopsticks have been set down, a lifetime’s salary has already been spent. Heaven and Earth allot each person a fixed measure of wealth and enjoyment. Think, too, of the captives on the road: they came to this pass because they lacked food. Zhuangzi valued the lesson of birds eating sparingly. This piece is worth reading often.

On Saving on Clothing

Clothes are best when they fit and serve their purpose: fur in winter, ramie cloth in summer. Look at those who cultivate the Way: they have never cared for fine, immaculate clothes. Light, sheer gauze and splendid silk come in novel styles and at widely varying prices. Each bolt of silk costs thousands of coins, only to be carelessly cut by an inept tailor. If a garment fits poorly in even one small way, the wearer is already displeased. Have you ever thought of the poor, whose clothes are ragged in both winter and summer, leaving their skin exposed?

End of Volume Two of Recorded Sayings of the Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master

Recorded Sayings of the Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, Volume Three

Compiled by Yu Chu, a descendant of the lineage and the Forty-Third Celestial Master

Songs and Ballads (an ancient poetic form)

“The Song of the Great Dao”

The Dao is not far away; it is within oneself. In their essence, all things are empty and still; only one’s nature is not empty. If one can preserve this nature without losing it, harmonious Qi will remain. When Qi returns to the Primordial Sea, the body’s fundamental place of Qi gathering, longevity can be endless.

If you wish the Shen within you not to scatter outward, let no distracting thought linger on the Numinous Terrace, the seat of the mind and spirit. When thoughts linger within, the mind and spirit cannot remain clear; the vital essence is dissipated, and the sinews and bones are harmed.

Shen governs Qi, and Qi sustains the body. There is no need to rely on elaborate techniques: longevity comes of itself. Techniques are easy to learn, but the Great Dao is hard to comprehend. Even if you comprehend it, without devoted practice it is of no use.

Thus, thousands upon thousands study the cultivation of the Dao, yet in the end only a handful truly attain success. If the mind and spirit scatter outward, gather them back. When Shen returns within the body, Qi will naturally return as well.

Practice in this way from morning to night, day after day without interruption. Then the Red Child, a state of life as pure as an infant’s, will naturally form, and the True Embryo, the inner fruit of Neidan cultivation, will be conceived.

Note: The text at the end, beginning “Having awakened to the song of emptiness, even if one has awakened, without devoted practice…,” repeats the preceding passage; it is translated as it appears in the transmitted text.

By practicing day after day, from morning until night, the True Embryo—the inner Qi and foundation of life generated through cultivation—will naturally come into being and gradually grow, like an infant.

Song of Emptiness

The vast emptiness has no bounds. The sun and moon rise in the east and set in the west, coming and going in turn like guests. When will this welcoming and parting ever cease? The changes of life and death in the human world are swift as lightning.

Human nature is originally like emptiness: bright and clear, free of darkness and obscuration. Yet a single thought can lead us into bodily form, where we are swept along by birth and death and lose our way.

Alas, people remain entirely unaware of this. They grieve when someone dies and rejoice when someone lives. They do not know that birth is the very cause that leads to death. They delight in the sun rising in the east but fear its setting in the west.

The sun’s rising in the east and setting in the west is simply the natural order. Do not let a mind caught up in distinctions and attachments entangle you. If you doubt this, look at the sun and moon: they rise, set, and move across the sky each day, endlessly circling back.

Life does not come from anywhere, and death does not go anywhere. Birth and death appear temporarily with changing causes and conditions, dwelling in different places. Living beings hurry about in the Six Paths—heaven, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell beings—while the Realized One, who has awakened to the Great Dao and transcended delusion and attachment, abides in emptiness.

The Realized One has no fixed dwelling, keeping company with the breeze and making a home beside the bright moon. Body and mind are as pure as emptiness. Do not imagine that this luminous nature is only a small part: it pervades the entire Dharma Realm, the whole in which all things exist, and there is no place it does not encompass.

The Dharma Realm is boundless; nothing lies beyond it. Yet it enters every speck of dust with such subtlety that nothing lies within it. Hunger, cold, and calamity cannot injure it. In the end, it is what governs all things.

A person’s hundred-year body is no more than a heap of dust. It is like a boat drifting on the water, seemingly steered by someone. Then, one day, the boat breaks apart and the one who steered it steps ashore. Left behind like dead wood, the boat loses its master’s guidance and sinks beneath the waves.

The Dharma Realm is boundless; nothing lies beyond it. Yet it enters every speck of dust with such subtlety that nothing lies within it. Hunger, cold, and calamity cannot injure it. In the end, it is what governs all things.

A person’s hundred-year body is no more than a heap of dust. It is like a boat drifting on the water, seemingly steered by someone. Then, one day, the boat breaks apart and the one who steered it steps ashore. Left behind like dead wood, the boat loses its master’s guidance and sinks beneath the waves.

Do not become mired in decay, and do not look back with longing. Even after crossing countless rivers and making many crossings, once you reach the other shore, burn the ferry boat. There is no need to dwell on how treacherous the waves were along the way.

The Realized One lives amid the changes of birth and death, yet is not bound by them. Last night, wind and thunder shook the mountains, but emptiness itself remained unmoving, constant as ever. Only by recognizing true emptiness can one avoid falling into darkness and delusion.

From ancient times to the present, it has endured without end. Lift the veil from the myriad forms of the world, and its complete true face is revealed. It saves all beings, carrying them beyond the sea of suffering. This state of true emptiness is not a dead and lifeless void.

True emptiness can transform freely in every direction, without end. Listen as I sing this song of emptiness: even an iron snake can fly to the peaks of Kunlun.

Song of Rest

Let it go; stop here. “Stopping” and “resting,” as they are called, are no different. All the subtle and mysterious teachings, in the end, simply teach people to let go and rest.

Once you can let go and rest, every worry and attachment falls away. When hungry, eat; when thirsty, drink; when sleepy, sleep. However many transformations of life and death you pass through, do not let them weigh on your heart.

The sages and clear-minded people of old kept their inner nature continuous and unbroken, just as it remained through the long ages. Their radiance reflected one another and joined with true emptiness. Beyond letting go and resting, there is no other teaching.

To create resentful karma is to plant the cause of falling into hell. The six faculties and consciousnesses—the six consciousnesses—blaze like fire. Clinging to the self and contending with others, one loses the way of letting go and resting, willingly suffering the torments of hell: being crushed to pieces, having one’s tongue pulled out, and the like.

“Let go” and “rest” are the true oral instructions. The inner nature continues through the long ages, untouched by distinctions such as dullness and intelligence. Its radiance reflects itself and joins with true emptiness. Beyond this, there is no other teaching.

To create resentful karma is to plant the cause of falling into hell. The six consciousnesses blaze like fire. Clinging to self and contending with others, one loses the way of letting go and resting, willingly suffering such torments as being crushed to pieces and having one’s tongue pulled out.

“Let go” and “rest” are the true oral instructions. They make no distinction between dullness and intelligence, or between skill and clumsiness. The realized masters who passed this teaching down through the generations cherished it through their practice alone. Without someone who understands their heart, who would be willing to pass it on?

True letting go is not deliberate letting go, and true rest is not deliberate resting. When the Dao’s activity appears, it moves of itself, without contrivance or force. It governs the generation and transformation of all things under Heaven, leaving no trace. It encompasses empty space and transcends birth and death.

There is no such thing as letting go, nor such a thing as resting. Repeating “rest” and “cease” is, in the end, only a phrase imposed by force. If you wish to know what true rest and letting go are, look to the bright, clear Mid-Autumn moon.

Written at Qiantang

Red clouds shine upon the vermilion railings; white clouds vanish among the green mountains. People of the dusty world cannot reach this place. Two cranes dance lightly beside the brushwood gate.

I play a tune on the jade zither and recite several poems. A mountain lad brews tea, with no smoke rising from the stove. Thinking of the pleasures of the dusty world, I left the grotto-heaven, that quiet immortal realm, several years ago.

Over the Xiang River, the moon has just begun to shine; around Xiangpu, the landscape is clear and bright. The jade flute sounds mournful and plaintive, as if its music could break the heart. Along the frost-white riverbank, who knows how much sorrow it stirs?

Human life is brief in the end, like a drifting cloud. The realm of the immortals remains forever springlike. Let us return and enjoy the life that is truly our own.

In Reply to Yuangui’s “Let Them Be”

Let them be; let them do as they please; pay them no heed. What can their judgments of right and wrong do to me? All day I spend my time at ease with friends beyond the world, those who have left worldly concerns behind to cultivate the Dao. I chant aloud and sweep my brush across the page, pouring forth words without end like a river in flood.

In this world, I do not bind my heart to mundane entanglements. Let us return and enjoy the life that is truly our own.

Let others say what they will; let them be, and pay them no mind. What can their judgments do to me? All day I spend at ease with friends beyond the world, reciting poetry aloud and writing with a sweeping brush, my thoughts flowing like a river.

I have no wish to form worldly ties that would burden me. Though the sword lies hidden in its case, it can still subdue Yin demons—evil spirits and hindrances spoken of in Daoism. I have grasped the mysterious key to the Way of longevity, while the sun and moon spin swiftly like shuttles.

The toil of the dusty world ensnares people, and it is truly loathsome. Who would choose to drift through life and waste time? In quietude, I often think of all the affairs amid the clamor; in the end, people only contend and sigh in vain.

Let others say what they will; let them be, and pay them no mind. I need only follow the original Qi—the fundamental life energy linking the human body with Heaven and Earth—and nurture calmness and balance within.

At times I immerse myself in books on the Elixir, which teach Neidan cultivation; in my leisure, I savor songs for the qin. My heart is no stone: of course it can be moved. Even if worldly opinions stir disputes and cause misunderstandings, let them be.

With a pine twig for a hairpin and coarse cloth for a robe, I have my own joy. How could I covet the splendor and finery of worldly display? In the sacred furnace, I unite Yin and Yang and refine the liquid gold—a symbolic name in Neidan for the essence formed by refining Jing, Qi, and Shen—so that it grows ever fuller in stillness.

When cultivation and merit are complete, we shall return together, borne aloft in a light carriage and rising through the clouds. Let others say what they will; let them be, and pay them no mind… [The following lines are repeated in the original.] In the sacred furnace, I unite Yin and Yang and refine the liquid gold, so that it grows ever fuller in stillness. When cultivation and merit are complete, we shall return together, borne aloft in a light carriage and rising through the clouds. Let others say what they will; let them be, and pay them no mind.

“The Song of the Bellows”

Do not say the Great Dao is simply Wuwei (non-action), requiring no cultivation. One must also understand the “bellows” in the inner chamber: a metaphor for the bellows that stir the breath, here referring to the key to regulating the breath and circulating Qi in cultivation. Miss the moment, even by an instant, and purple mist and crimson light will flash in confusion.

The Azure Dragon rejoices; the White Tiger is perilous. A red serpent coils around a tortoise shell. Even after crossing the Tail Gate, an important pass at the lower end of the Governor Vessel, one is blocked again by the path of Caoxi.

Two streams of Qi rise straight to the Dantian (energy center); then one can know that above lies the Pavilion of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), a symbol of the realm reached through advanced cultivation. Beneath the pavilion, the Jade Pool is clearly visible, holding the medicine of immortality.

One must act in accordance with the proper moment, gathering and refining it to bring it back. After taking it, one can enjoy the bliss of the Penglai Immortal Isles.

“The Song of the Jing Tong Hermitage”

I built a thatched hermitage in the mountains, and others laugh at the name I gave it: “Jing Tong.” In truth, it all lies within the mind, the field within a square inch. When the heart is spacious, the whole world seems contained within the void.

My hermitage is neither merely “Tong” nor merely “Jing.” It is finely wrought and transparent, open in all eight directions, yet has no fixed form or shape. Fullness and depletion, growth and decline, and all transformations are left to the natural workings of Heaven’s mechanism. Within the hermitage, the master…

My hermitage is called neither “Penetration” nor “Tranquility.” It is open in every direction, yet has no fixed form or shadow. Its fullness and emptiness, its waxing and waning, are left to the changes of Heaven’s workings—the natural order of things—while the one who lives in it remains wholly unaware.

Sometimes, in the depth of winter, wind and snow rage together, and no sign of human life can be seen before the mountain all day. Heaven and earth grow so dark they seem like night, yet the hermitage remains bright and complete.

Sometimes, winds and thunder suddenly rise over the open plain; mountains tremble, rivers surge, and clouds churn. Dragons roar and tigers howl, while every kind of sound clamors at once. The hermitage’s moods and thoughts, too, rise and fall without cease.

Pines and bamboo stretch around the hermitage, their green reaching to the sky. They do not wither in winter, nor grow especially lush in spring. Visitors often laugh at the hardship of living here, yet this poverty can cleanse a person to the very bone.

A poor life is, in truth, a good one. Think back: even among those who live behind vermilion gates in grand mansions, many go hungry. If you can recognize the precious pearl you already possess—a metaphor for your inner true nature and its priceless worth—why spend a lifetime envying another’s treasure?

The hermitage is like the body, and its master is like the mind. To understand who the master is, one must investigate with care. Having passed through countless lifetimes and dreamlike existences in the wombs of donkeys and horses, how could one know that fine gold lies hidden in iron ore?

Look far ahead and begin your cultivation without delay; seek what is to be found in “nothingness” here and now. When words have run their course, reason has reached its limit, and deluded thoughts and their conditions have all dissolved, the hairless lion will raise its head and roar at the sky. The “hairless lion” is a Chan-Dao image in the poem, symbolizing a spiritual power that transcends ordinary forms and appearances.

The tall houses before the hermitage are no more than inns where one lodges for a while. How many kindred spirits can truly grasp this Way and choose to dwell here? Without the resolve and skill to turn back at the edge of a precipice, who could recognize their true self here?

There is joy in stillness and leisure, though few understand it. The work of cultivation in quiet places is often gained in moments of ease. Subtle efficacy appears of itself, one’s nature is true of itself, and the highest way of the immortals springs from this.

Life is brief, and time rushes by. Everything will eventually be destroyed; the hermitage, too, will fall apart, and then it must be let go. I sincerely urge my fellow students of the Dao: do not lose the hermitage within your heart. Begin your cultivation while there is still time.

Song of the Wild Studio

The whales of the four seas are not worth fishing for; even if one takes the bait, I would not want it. The immortals of the Three Islands are not worth boasting about, for those who live forever are as numerous as the uncountable.

Astonishing fame is not worth relying on; the deeds of heroes across the ages come to nothing but a play. A little wealth and rank are not worth celebrating. Better to watch, beyond the Wild Studio, the idle clouds drift freely.

When the fire of the kalpa—the great blaze that destroys the world at the end of an age—arises, even the tiniest things will vanish. When that time comes, one could be asleep and never know it.

Wild Studio, Wild Studio, where are you, after all? Heaven and earth stretch boundlessly, and there is no path by which to enter.

Thousands upon thousands of immortals swim beneath the waves, while a million great Peng birds battle their way through the earth below. This wild retreat is truly wondrous: the immortals do not know of it, and the ghosts and spirits cannot guess where it lies. Heaven and earth are vast, yet no path can be found to enter it.

Thousands upon thousands of immortals swim beneath the waves, while a million great Peng birds battle their way through the earth below. This wild retreat is truly wondrous: the immortals do not know of it, and the ghosts and spirits cannot guess.

It leads east to west and south to north. At its center is a tiny opening, yet within lies a land vast as dust and sand. Across that boundless land are countless motes of dust, and in every mote dwells a Perfected One, a person who has attained the Dao.

Every Perfected One comes from the same true source, the fundamental reality, and each bears the same ceremonial retinue and dignity, beyond all counting. If people of the world were to see the Old Man of the Wild Retreat, a single direct glance at him would send them fleeing in terror.

Ha, ha, ha! This is the Song of the Wild Retreat, passed down through the ages.

Sent to Prefect Lin

Who does not yearn for the Way of long life? The key is to apply oneself. On the Nine-Palace Terrace, yellow sprouts—the first stirring of vital energy in internal alchemy—begin to grow; beside the White Jade Pool, the peaches of immortality are within reach.

Break open the Gate of Heaven, and ghosts and spirits will submit; turn the axis of Earth, and Yin demons will retreat in defeat. Set the River Chariot in motion, carrying essence and vital energy up to the ninth heaven; then use the sun and moon as furnace and flame to refine them, and bring forth a world of golden light.

Remembering the Cave-Heaven of Contemplating the Real at Mount Guigu; a Poem for Yuangui

The Cave-Heaven of Contemplating the Real lies deep among clouds and waters. Daoists dwell there, and even ghosts and spirits hold them in reverence. The mountain flowers seem to smile, while pine and bamboo cast deep shade; springs murmur among the rocks, their sound unbroken through the ages.

I wonder when I may visit that place, and let my mind and heart grow clear and at ease. We will climb among the vines clinging to the rocks, laughing and reciting poetry together.

This completes Volume Three of the Recorded Sayings of the Illustrious Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master.

Volume Four of the Recorded Sayings of the Illustrious Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, compiled by his descendant, the Forty-Third Celestial Master Yuchu.

Five-character regulated verse.

After receiving permission to return to the mountains, Yuangui gathered praise-songs of the mountains from far and near.

I delight in gazing at the stones of Hunlun Hermitage, where they seem joined as one, plain and unadorned. Our hearts understand one another; no words are needed for our feelings to ring true. We must keep our appointment at the stone bridge and wash away the weariness gathered while lodging in the capital. Incense coils above the burner, and all is still beside the alchemical furnace. The poems are fresh, their colors brightened by the brush. The clouds and rosy mists on high are no solitary jade: may we walk hand in hand through the grotto gate and share the spring light.

This was an impromptu poem written in response to Chaoran of Hunlun Hermitage, following the rhyme of his verse.

I find my own joy in freedom and ease, and have always loved quiet dwellings. A faint blush lies beside the water; beyond the mist, green bamboo grows in a sparse and graceful stand. Among all things there is a truth that endures. Forget the body, and the heart returns to emptiness and stillness. People of the world are driven by worldly distractions, but here their cares all fall away.

This poem was written for the two Daoist friends Yuangui and Taiding.

One person plays the qin and sings by the water; another holds a book beneath the eaves and reads. Each has what they cherish in their heart—how genuine the joy of Nature’s music! Summer has just arrived and the weather is growing warm, yet the idle flowers still hold the spirit of spring. The body and mind do not change with cold or heat, as though they still preserved their original nature from the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

[An Autumn Evening]

On the evening of the Beginning of Autumn, the poet composed verses over wine, briefly voicing the beauty before him to invite a fine poem in response.

Autumn light glimmers bright, and all things gradually ripen. A lone crane calls from a tall pine; a cicada sings in the dense bamboo. Drunk, I wet my lapels and sing aloud as a gentle breeze passes. With a qin at my waist, I would do better to play one more tune; before a scene like the marshes of Chu, tender feelings linger in my heart.

This poem was written at a farewell. The poet composed verses over wine, briefly voicing the beauty before him to invite a fine poem in response.

Autumn light glimmers bright, and all things gradually ripen. A lone crane calls from a tall pine; a cicada sings in the dense bamboo. Drunk, I wet my lapels and sing aloud as a gentle breeze passes. With a qin at my waist, I would do better to play one more tune; before a scene like the marshes of Chu, tender feelings linger in my heart.

Sending Yuangui to Mount Magu, a famed Daoist mountain.

With sleeves brushed aside, you set off for Manyuan to admire its scenery, your spirits light and clear. You do not shrink from the long road, traveling alone, your figure as light as if borne aloft on clouds of five colors. There you will have the pleasures of qin and books for company, free from the entanglements of worldly affairs. I am ashamed that I cannot go with you; I can only turn and gaze after you, longing in vain to follow.

This poem responds to Yuangui’s “Pavilion That Brushes the Clouds,” following its rhyme.

Sparse green bamboo surrounds the lofty pavilion, serene and secluded, as if reaching into the clouds. The two pillars share a single patch of shade; another pavilion, Dragon Transformation, stands to the west, which is why the poem speaks of a welcome breeze. The phrase “lamenting the qin-and-book gathering in a remote prefecture” evokes an elegant gathering in a distant province, with qin and books for company. Yet it also laments that there are few kindred spirits at the gathering, while vulgar folk like sparrows flock together. The host cherishes integrity and steadfastness—who would dare take an axe to it at will?

Daoist Yuangui read my “Discourse on the Mind” and sent me a poem. I replied with a poem using the same rhymes.

This new work ranges widely without becoming tangled; after reading it, one’s mind and spirit feel clear. Its meaning transcends all categories and boundaries, showing that the mind is the source of the myriad things. Who can truly fathom a principle as unfathomable as the “dragon-like” Dao? The ease and freedom of one who tends horses can only be sensed through words that are spare and subtle. I read it three times over and still felt that parts of it could not be fully explored. When you come again, we can discuss it in detail.

Listening to Yuangui Play the Qin

All things appear in profusion, yet the sound that unites them all remains unheard. The ancients sought this realm through the strings of the qin; now I experience it through the mind. The music is like water striking rocks at a cliff’s edge, like autumn wind passing over an island. Facing one another, we grasp the true delight, as if freely roaming together with Heaven and Earth.

Listening to Yuangui Play the Qin

All things appear in profusion, yet the sound that unites them all remains unheard. The ancients sought this realm through the strings of the qin; now I experience it through the mind. The music is like water striking rocks at a cliff’s edge, like autumn wind passing over an island. Facing one another, we grasp the true delight, as if freely roaming together with Heaven and Earth.

Rejoicing in the Clear Skies

The peonies have all faded, and the sound of mountain springs has grown clear. Knowing that spring is nearly over, I am especially glad the skies cleared last night. The tall willows now brush the eaves, and even the wildflowers in the mountain hollow shine brightly. A breeze among the pines calls for a good wine; today my mind is especially clear.

Presented to the Two Disciples, Deng and Cheng

The two disciples Deng and Cheng received the teachings from me. After the rites at the purified altar were complete, I wrote this poem for them.

The transmission of the Way of Heaven will never cease, and the sincerity of Deng and Cheng is unwavering. They submitted petitions in prayer, moved the spirits to respond, and sealed their pledge by tearing silk, joyfully making their vows. Once tested, the divine sword reveals its edge; passed from generation to generation, the ritual lamp shines bright through the ages. Practitioners should turn their gaze inward and realize the truth for themselves. The highest principle is inherently impartial, unmoved by human likes and dislikes.

Seeing Off Master Zhengzhi

Master Zhengzhi has an ancient and dignified bearing, and his renown has spread far. He wears a robe of ethereal purple clouds and ornaments himself with a cinnabar pendant that rings like fine jade. Quietly dwelling in his mountain crag, he devoutly recites the Cavern Chapters, Daoist scriptures. May his merit and practice reach completion, and may he ascend in his canopied carriage to Liaoyang, the lofty celestial realm of Daoist teaching.

Drying the Scriptures

Sunlight fills the high terrace, and the brocade cases that hold the books have been opened. The plum rains steam away, the Yang energy emerges, and the forest scenery brightens anew. Probing deeply into the mysteries of the Cavern Heavens, one seems to glimpse the gods appearing; reciting the scriptures aloud can subdue every evil. To diligently unlock the hidden meanings of the scriptures, one must also rely on people of exceptional talent.

A Walk in the Mountains at Dusk

The roosting crows cry again and again, seeming to search for their nests, yet finding no one they can ask. Little stars prick the darkening sky; as night deepens, their light grows ever more dense.

Crows come flying repeatedly, calling out as if searching for their nests. Finding none, they can only ask around. The little stars shine especially brightly, as though closer to us; for the first time, I climb the lofty cassia tree, its branches and leaves swaying gently before my eyes. I brush the dew from the pine boughs, but the pine tree is still there; the message carried on the wind has yet to return. Is there nowhere to rest for a while? Beyond the green hills lies Xie Family Mountain.

Composed in the Rhyme of Yuan Gui’s Poem Sent to Yang Zi at the Abode in True Rock

One should climb to the highest place and remember the worthy sages of antiquity. When the wind blows, cypress seeds often fall; once those who came to buy flowers have left, so too have those who chase the clamor of the dusty world. Even where the summer heat is fiercest, no heat can be felt; celestial flowers bloom freely, and everywhere is like spring. The Immortals’ traces seem nowhere to be found, while worldly people search in vain for the road to the Immortal realm.

Matching the Rhyme of “Presented to Yuan Gui”

Spend your days at ease, finding quiet enjoyment, and recognize your original true nature. Deluded thoughts are the root of suffering; truth lies in what is deep and mysterious. A troubled heart only wears you out to no purpose; calm and quiet, you can preserve your vitality for a long time. How could you know what I have at heart? You and I, after all, are not the same person.

Four Poems Inscribed at Duyi Hall

I have admired the Mid-Autumn moon many times, yet in this mountain hall I cannot help feeling melancholy. I have stayed here for more than a hundred days, but often feel this place is close to the Three Platforms, a star constellation whose name is often used to suggest high rank or the realm of the Immortals. At dead of night, the great trees resound; slender bamboo casts deep shade over the quiet steps. If one cannot transform and cultivate oneself, how could one find the road back?

Tall trees beside the house soar into the clouds; they are not just a scattered few. One cannot explore every part of the mountain, yet after rain it looks especially clear. Peach trees seem planted at the edge of the sky, and clouds rise from the mountain ridges. Even chickens and dogs cannot reach this place; only now and then does one hear music like the sound of a phoenix’s sheng.

Suddenly, one who climbs into the hall seems to become an Immortal ascending to heaven in broad daylight. The hall is lofty and deep, as though close to a sacred realm; the scenery is especially serene. Peach trees seem planted at the edge of the sky, and clouds rise from the mountain ridges. Even chickens and dogs cannot reach this place; only now and then does one hear music like the sound of a phoenix’s sheng.

Suddenly, one who climbs into the hall seems to become an Immortal ascending to heaven in broad daylight. The hall is lofty and deep, close to sacred images; I am ashamed that my years and cultivation cannot reach such a state. The faint moon shines on cold dew, and I ask the tall pines about the fields beyond. The monastery was built only a few years ago, yet people still come to ring the bell and ask for money.

Facing the west window, two green peaks stand side by side. Pale white clouds drift slowly into the scene like a painting; when will the dark cranes return? When the bamboo grows as fine and dense as hair, trim it; when moss fills the ground around the steps, hoe it away. Sometimes I leave the door unopened, and mist and rain veil the terrace.

Linked Verses

Xiuran and Yuan Gui sat quietly together at night, drinking the wine presented by Deru, and composed this poem.

We drank together, sharing wine brewed by a celebrated master. After three cups, I made no excuses. With a sense of the Dao’s (the Way’s) profound mystery in my heart, I took up my brush and wrote new verses. Though I was ill, I forced myself to attend the feast; the affection behind our invitations, and our wish to gather in joy, ran deep. Sparse stars linked the distant Milky Way, while the pond’s green water lay clear and still.

My verses could not match those of Lord Pei, and I was truly ashamed; I could only ask Yue Suozhi to judge them. My mind and spirit were clear and keen, calm and settled; in silence, I seemed almost foolish. Nearby, fresh lotus leaves invited admiration, and the bright, immaculate moon seemed to accompany us along the way. A mountain breeze drifted softly through, and the silver candles flickered. Enjoy the view to your heart’s content; do not lower the red curtains. Sleep has vanished, and the pleasure of composing verse grows ever fresher and more wondrous. The world’s countless changes can all be met with a smile; a thousand years are no more than a moment before our eyes.

This kind of delight can be shared between us; when we are pleased, let others laugh if they wish. We prize what is right, and so our hearts are in accord; I have nothing but contempt for those who scheme against one another. Gautama—the Buddha Shakyamuni—is a good friend, while the ancient sage Laozi is the true teacher. We have no other concerns in the world; the company of friends is enough to make us content. We can take a fishing boat to the banks of immortal cliffs and cast our lines, or plant cinnabar fungi—the legendary herbs consumed by practitioners—in cloud-brocade landscapes. To worldly people, these things seem pointless; we have joys of our own. For now, we have come into the mortal world to answer its needs and take part in its affairs; it will not be too late to return to the Purple Court, the Daoist realm of immortals. I have always thought of Guanzi, and feel unworthy of having Boyu as my friend. Once our work is done, we shall ride together in a carriage and roam freely in all directions beneath the heavens.

Again

We drink without fretting over the price of the wine, our hearts holding the sentiments of the ancients. We raise our cups together and take our pleasure for a while; before the scene at hand, we compose new verses. My breast is filled with twelve parts of clear and gentle energy, while worldly wealth and honor lie three thousand miles away. I ask only to follow my natural disposition and live at ease, without letting worldly conventions bind me. The cicadas sound faintly, and the roar of the pines seems to answer them. A breeze from the woods reaches our seats, and the mountain moon shines upon us, brightening our faces. All around us, sounds fall quiet, and the spirit feels especially refreshed; though the night is deep, our vigor and enthusiasm remain abundant. The stars gleam like patterned designs beneath the candlelight; the purple-haired brush in my hand moves freely. Fulfillment does not lie in high office: true freedom is to let the spirit roam between Heaven and Earth. During the Zhongyuan Festival, on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar month, let us drink freely here and entrust our feelings to the occasion, laughing at empty fame.

Seven-character verse, continued

After getting drunk, I still praised the immortal wine, its flavor sweet and mellow. As I recited poems and admired the view, I felt as light as if dressed in a feather robe. Leaning against the pine pavilion, I gazed into the distance, my thoughts without end; with a purple-bristled brush, I gently wrote upon the stone. Fulfillment lies not in office or high rank. In spirit, I seemed to wander to a realm of immortals across the sea. On the Ghost Festival, I shall drink freely here for a while, entrusting my feelings to the moment and laughing at empty fame.

A Further Seven-Character Ode

Even after drinking, I still praise the immortal wine for its fine flavor; as I recite poems and take in the scenery, even my feathers seem to grow light. Leaning against the pine pavilion, I gaze into the distance, my thoughts unending; lingering beside the bamboo rail, my mood grows ever more refined. Far off, water plants reflect their emerald green, while wildflowers still put forth tiny blossoms. The wind sweeps across the painted couch, dispelling the last of the summer heat; after the rain, autumn cicadas sing as evening falls.

I often feel the immortal realm lies close to the road to Heaven, and poetic inspiration is untouched by worldly distractions. Let others ride the clouds and mount cranes to go ahead; I shall ride a giant whale across the sea. The White Emperor, ruler of the West and autumn, bears a force both stern and solemn, bringing all things to stillness; the Daoist cultivator keeps his thoughts upright, and even the hundred demons are struck with fear. We are all glad to dwell in quiet simplicity among the mountains and forests, and laugh instead at those who bustle about, hurrying toward the city.

Why not enjoy the pleasure of the “Three Laughs” together by the stream for a while, and match the Eight Immortals in drinking? Do not say my capacity for wine is no match for yours; as for poetic fame, you are no more than an ordinary figure.

Visiting Qizhen Together

I came seeking Qizhen, a place where people dwell in cultivation and pursue the true Dao, moved by the deeds of those who came before. The ancients did not seek the Dao alone; the aspirations of people today are joined with theirs. In quiet places, there is a joy that transcends the dusty world; in purity and stillness, no dream of worldly disturbance intrudes. We discuss the highest truths, reaching beyond the limits of body and spirit; in laughter, conversation, and song, our voices carry through the mountain caves. The wild landscape is reflected in our tea bowls, and the sound of wind in the pines mingles with the music of the qin.

I came seeking Qizhen, a place where people dwell in cultivation and pursue the true Dao, moved by the deeds of those who came before. The ancients did not seek the Dao alone; the aspirations of people today are joined with theirs. In quiet places, there is a joy that transcends the dusty world; in purity and stillness, no dream of worldly disturbance intrudes. We discuss the highest truths, reaching beyond the limits of body and spirit; in laughter, conversation, and song, our voices carry through the mountain caves. The wild landscape is reflected in our tea bowls, and the sound of wind in the pines flows alongside the qin. It is not yet time to compose a poem and take our leave; better to uncover the wine jar filled with rosy clouds, the drink of immortals.

The Long-Awaited Rain Arrives; Joyfully Composing and Linking Verses

How can the people be consoled? Look: clouds rise at dawn above the mountains and rivers. A devout heart moves Heaven and Earth, and earnest prayers are set down in words. The seedlings in the fields had only just begun to wither when steady rain fell in the western suburbs. The mountain forests filled with lush vitality, and plants and trees flourished together.

There is no need to be surprised that the fields of medicinal fungi grow thickly; this is the result of Dao practitioners’ diligent cultivation. Would Heaven show favoritism? Yet among the common people, baleful and demonic influences still abound. Dust settled on the roads, and the heat by the windows dispersed. The good harvest brought comfort to the old farmers, and this beneficence should be credited to the ruler. Moisture nourished the branches and leaves, stirring the crows in the forest; the kitchens grew cool and clean, and the mosquitoes of Chu no longer plagued them.

How, then, should the High Perfected Ones repay this kindness? Only by burning precious incense in reverence.

When the Hermitage of Primordial Chaos was completed, Ziranzi came in person to offer his congratulations. The gathering then chose “he” as its rhyme and drank together, composing linked verses.

Once the temple had been built, what became of the work? He played the zither and read books as the days and months passed. He fished and gathered herbs, and in old age still kept company with the rocks, plants, and trees of the mountains. Longing for immortals who roamed the clouds without leaving a trace, he often brought wine when he came to visit. He split open the rock to reveal a jade grotto; a western mountain stream poured down like the Milky Way. He straightened his robes and cap and gazed up at Tianzhu Mountain. Watching the mountain at dusk, he realized how swiftly time passes, like the legendary man of rotten wood who watched a game of go and returned to find the world transformed. Sincere and honest, he lived simply and contentedly. The affairs of a worldly household, indeed, are easily neglected amid delay and distraction. He left behind the traces of worldly life, seeking freedom from every burden, and cleared his mind until it was still as a pool without a ripple. Gladly he returned to unspoiled simplicity and rested in peace, treating others with an open, sincere heart, far from the age’s shallow and deceitful ways. The filth of the world seemed cut off by a thousand mountain peaks; an elegant, refined spirit brought harmony to the vital energy of all things. Heaven and Earth could share my lifespan, while the sun and moon—the “Crow and Hare,” as they are figuratively called—were left to race on at their own pace. The immortals’ arrival was not without an omen: white cranes flew here, surely in response to some unseen affinity. In the first ten days of the first lunar month, several dozen white cranes flew here in a flock, circled for a while, and then departed.

He brewed tea for his guests and spoke with them of the Dao. He planted medicinal herbs and treated the people’s illnesses. Dew among the bamboo brought cool shade, while a breeze fragrant as orchids stirred lovely songs. In his leisure, he sought out biographies of immortals to read and quietly studied the Jade Scripture, a Daoist classic. The Great Dao was close at hand, as near as a sleeve one could touch; the clamor of the world, by contrast, was like a net that would ensnare people of its own accord. Life is brief, like a spark struck from stone, and change is constant, like a moth darting toward a flame. If one wishes to enter the realm of the high immortals, one must not let base, ghostlike thoughts stand in the way. Beneath the thatched eaves there were no worldly concerns; he often chanted and composed poetry.

After drinking, he composed a series of poems in the tune “Moon over the West River.”

Tonight the moon shines as brightly as day, and the scene beside the pond is no less lovely than the West River. The moon is clear, voices in the courtyard have quieted, and fragrance fills the garden. Wine and poetry stir the heart, making it hard to leave. Still reluctant to return to the thatched hut, he wets his brush and writes freely, giving himself over to the inspiration of the moment. Before the lamp, facing a quiet window, he recites poetry aloud, then turns with a smile to see that the years of youth have already flowed away like water among the mountain rocks.

End of juan four of the Recorded Sayings of Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master.

Juan Five

Compiled by the heir, the Forty-Third Celestial Master Yuchu.

Seven-character regulated verse

A poem written to match the rhyme of a poem bestowed by the emperor on Perfected Yu:

Praising the Dongzhen scripture in verses of jade seals and golden registers. The sublime heights within the Real—who could equal Perfected Lord Xujing…

Jade talismans and golden seals are used to chant the Scripture of the Cavern of Truth (Dongzhen Jing), one of the Daoist classics. Its profound and wondrous truths—who could compare with them? All worldly burdens have been cast aside, and the mind naturally grows clear and still. After carefully observing a vegetarian fast, even ordinary meals seem like dust.

For now, I assist a wise and sagely ruler, often helping to advance his teachings. The time has not yet come for me to wield authority, though this is how I shall live for the rest of my life. I feel fortunate to have received the ruler’s command and to be able to visit a lofty adept at a palace of the immortals.

Sitting alone in an empty, silent room, I alone know the flavor of its quiet. How could the scenery and state of mind in the river city compare with this place? Look: the phoenix fruit has only just begun to form; and I say that the moon’s radiance is on the verge of revealing its wonders.

May we drink together and enjoy ourselves, carefree as the old man among the clouds. Amid the dusty bustle of the world, there is nothing worthy of a poem celebrating the Zong clan. The mountain woods and ravines are serene and bright, yet I cannot return there to write poetry and entrust my feelings to it. For this, my heart longs.

I left home in the heat of summer; now frost and snow are near, and the weather is growing cold. I regret that I have only an empty reputation, earned by rushing about in the world. I long for the days when we discussed lofty principles and gazed into the distance together, leaning on the railing.

Lately, I have wearied of social obligations and often shut myself indoors all day; I also play the zither through the night. I have received word that I may return next spring. Thinking ahead to the day of departure, I feel as if the spirit crane has already preened its feathers.

I have long admired the Pure and Elegant reputation of the Perfected One. I was fortunate to pay my respects to him once at the palace gates. Later, I saw his bearing many times, but regret that he suddenly took leave and departed in the frosty season.

The highest virtue, I fear, may invite the scorn of worldly people, yet men of exceptional talent have indeed been rare since ancient times. I am ashamed that my cultivation and attainments fall short of those of Yang Xi and Xu Mi, Daoist figures of the Eastern Jin. How could I ask the Southern Perfected One to test the practice of the Great Subtlety?

The old lotus leaves have withered away, while the new leaves are round and lovely, bright on their surfaces and carrying a faint fragrance; they still inspire affection. The Moon Emperor comes seeking a blue jade casket, while a golden lad stands nearby and recognizes the green lotus leaf, round as a copper coin.

The lotus leaves have gathered pure dew and nourish a clear, pristine energy. They are also fortunate to receive the breeze, which brushes away a faint haze. In the distance, the peaks of Hua Mountain appear whole and graceful; when the flowers bloom, they will seem to offer up blossoms of brilliant scarlet.

In Qiantang city, tens of thousands of households lie within walls encircled by flowing water. Where the white clouds part, the mountains appear like a clear painting. This place borders the golden three thousand worlds, a term in Buddhist and Daoist writings for the vast expanse of the cosmos; its peaks rise like screens of precious jade, seeming only six feet high.

At dawn I lean on the railing and let the night’s dew settle on me; at night I draw back the curtain, and cold stars shine through the window. The scenery around the Zhijiang River has no equal: half resembles the immortal realm of Penglai, half the landscape of Dongting Lake.

Hengfu won with new tea, so I composed this song in praise

People say that Green Jade Peak is like a screen six feet high.

At dawn I lean on the railing and let the night’s dew settle on me; at night I draw back the curtain, and cold stars shine through the window. The scenery around the Zhijiang River has no equal: half resembles the immortal realm of Penglai, half the landscape of Dongting Lake.

Hengfu won with new tea, so I composed this song in praise

Some say that blue-white surpasses yellow-white; your new tea buds are better than the old. Gather the dragon-tongue-shaped leaves at once, lest the fire in the golden cauldron go too far. Immortals in feathered robes compete to judge the froth rising in snow-white tea bowls.

If one is to visit an immortal realm like Penglai or Yingzhou, it seems one must first have tea prepared; this faint fragrance is hardly worth boasting about. More worthy of praise is the host’s skill in welcoming guests. Cai Jun, too, should go to Lu Sheng’s home to taste the tea.

Inscribed at the Huangxian Baoji Monastery

After the immortal departed, the immortal once built a thatched hut and lived here. When I arrived, I was glad to let my cloud chariot pause as well. Today is the ninth day of the seventh month, and the autumn sky is clear. The flowers bloom without fading, as though a thousand years had passed.

A spring flows before a solitary pine, and several lines of poetry inscribed by Shen Yue, the writer of the Southern Dynasties, remain on the wall. At dusk we sit in a circle, drinking wine and eating lotus seeds. In our idle conversation, we also speak of the beginning of Heaven and Earth and the source of all things.

In the capital for the Qixi Festival, everyone composed poems for the occasion

How could the Qixi Festival’s beauty fade so quickly? It comes once a year, and we are fortunate to meet it again. Shooting stars streak across the high sky, but no one has time to marvel; tonight, everyone looks up.

The flowers and moon seem full of feeling, and the heavenly palace appears delicate and bright. We raise our cups at ease around Yanshan, the wine still carrying a trace of coolness. From now on, autumn’s chill will deepen. I fear the weather will turn cold before we have had a chance to put on warmer clothes.

Returning from the capital, I first visited Longbian Studio to seek out the quiet scenery of years past. In my spare time I wrote this long poem to express something of my feelings

At last I found that fragrant green place from years ago, and together with a friend leaned on the railing to admire the view. More than once, it seemed I had risen with the daylight and transformed into an immortal. The scene before me today, too, was like a precious hue enveloping Heaven and Earth.

The light was bright, and the spring plants seemed still to be smiling. The moon shone through sparse tree shadows, making it the perfect time to come and look. Jiangnan’s autumn scenery remains lush and lively; it is fortunate that my heart holds this cool expanse of wind and moonlight.

Returning to the mountains

After serving as an official in the capital for many years, I felt almost like a prisoner. Only after returning to the mountains, forests, and valleys did I regain my freedom. The running water murmurs as though speaking with me; the untroubled clouds can wander alongside me.

A gibbon leans in the shadow of a pine, gazing toward Dan’ao; a white crane flies with the reed blossoms into a fishing boat. Such a life of quiet retirement is truly good. Why let the dust and bustle of worldly affairs stain and disturb it?

In Reply to Commissioner Yu of the Censorate, on His Poem about Visiting Immortal Rock

I have lived among the mountains and forests for many years, and my longing to withdraw has always run deep. I have personally endured the wind and frost of secluded cliffs and valleys. People of the world may not understand my way of life, while those of understanding would surely not consider me wild.

In the past, I built a home by the river pavilion, with Ninghai in my thoughts. Now I live in a stone dwelling, as though I were in Laixiang, the legendary retreat of Laozi. Who would have thought that the newly appointed prefect of Shangrao, on his way to court for an audience, would come to Shanyang?

A Meal at the Yuetou Ranran Hall

I often linger among dense forests and high mountains. I have served as an official for ten years, yet I am not among the lofty adepts. The Red Emperor, deity of the south, rides his dragon; the final days of midsummer have arrived. Chang’e shares her moonlight with the deep mountains.

After the turmoil of war, the roads through the passes have gradually reopened. Once daily life is settled, I inquire of the prefecture about the people’s concerns. Now I serve as an official beside the willow embankment, as though living in seclusion within government offices. Clear streams and flourishing flowers fill this spacious, peaceful place.

Inscribed on the Hall of Vacuity

I nurture the Qi of harmony to preserve life. I rest in a hall of emptiness, though the hall contains only a few rooms. The South Bank temple has an elegant setting and a lovely name for its quarter; on Mount Taiwei, the air is warm and the sun bright, and magnolia is fragrant.

I love the lush green woods, and so I have written a hundred poems. I should also copy the Laozi in three different scripts. The day has not yet come for me to attend an audience at the Purple Palace; a few wisps of cloud still drift lightly beside me.

Presented to Mr. Xiang

The Qin Studio is a place where I once lived. I named the study “Qin” because I used to play the zither there. Now Mr. Xiang and his students live in it, discussing the Zhuangzi and explaining the Laozi, giving the place a certain refined charm. I visited before, and when I recall those past events, I find much in the scenery worth savoring. So I have written this poem for Mr. Xiang, simply to record these things as they were.

The Qin Studio is refined and free of vulgarity, with much of the bearing of a true Daoist. A feast was set out in the mountains to welcome guests, but the arrangements were not properly made. When someone came to ask about life and death, I did not consider it a trivial matter; when talk turned to the Zhuangzi and Laozi, I would not answer carelessly.

I am fortunate to be able to keep company with you now. It is only a pity that in the past I invited a guest to travel with me, but things did not go as hoped. A recluse might take the mind’s innermost space as a metaphor; such a person would never play the Jiaowei qin, the legendary famous zither, carelessly.

The Completion of Hunlun Hermitage

A refined dwelling has suddenly been built; before my eyes appear red cliffs and green-blue mountain slopes. Resolute integrity has always been easily constrained by worldly affairs, yet the household tradition of Ge Zhichuan—Ge Hong, the Daoist of the Eastern Jin—was to make himself at home wherever he went.

Within a red-gold cabinet are books of exceptional rarity, while the jade-green wine jar is always full of clear wine. The date for returning to Kunwei can surely be postponed; when I arrive, I hope to laugh and sing with you.

Xianyan Temple

The traces of immortals remain, and the temple opens against the cliff face. Who could have known that this Daoist sanctuary would one day lie so neglected, overgrown with weeds? Only now has a Buddhist temple finally been built, and the dark cranes of old have flown back.

A stream runs clear as glass, while layer upon layer of cloud-veiled mountains rise in shades of purple and green. Deep into the night, the Chan monk can still sit with a visitor; the bright moon shines across the full span of the windows, seeming to linger outside.

Written While Wang Jingxuan Came Down in a Dream

All sounds have fallen silent; the bright moon fills the sky. The game of chess has just been won, and turning my gaze I suddenly see Wang Jingxuan. We drain the wine from the golden jar, brewed in the village upstream, then sing old-fashioned songs at ease, praising the ways of high antiquity.

I envy him: though I have not gone to sleep, my spirits are already refreshed. I laugh at his fondness for sleep—how can his drowsiness be so deep? Turning back, I tell the lone cloud that clarity and turbidity have always been distinct.

Replying to Zhou, the Judicial Intendant

I try, in a moment of leisure, to seek a realm of quiet repose; the pines and bamboo are silent, and autumn’s green grows deep. Those beyond the mountains often trouble you for your earnest guidance. I am fortunate to meet you here, at the mountain’s edge.

Fragrant grasses fill the space beyond the curtain before the courtyard. I seek out the old story of Zhang Liang receiving the Taigong’s Art of War at the Yi Bridge, an anecdote handed down through a thousand years. Granted leave to return south, I am glad to live here; your learned conversation makes me deeply feel the court’s generous favor.

Benzhu Zhi

When the mood takes me, I climb to the highest peak. The Daoist breeze endures through the ages, worthy of being sought by climbing. Even worldly people, mired in vulgarity, can trust one another; how could a tranquil wandering beyond the clouds grow lax?

Strange rocks seem ready to take flight, bright and sharply defined; torrents plunge straight down with a rippling sound. Ordinary eyes can hardly see them, but realized beings come and go there in silence.

Mengqin Zhi

The honored guest in the Purple Enclosure, the celestial palace, left traces of the numinous. Though the single-plank bridge is made of only one piece of wood, it can be seen everywhere. Since the whole family realized the Taiji, the Supreme Ultimate—the Daoist source before Heaven and Earth divided and Yin and Yang took shape—who else could take one step after another and ascend to the blue heavens?

The strange tree before the railing stays green even in winter; beneath the mountain crags, numinous light glows red through the long night. True grace does not end as the world changes. Those who transcend the world of dust can enter a wondrous realm.

Pinggai Precinct, a name for a Celestial Master Daoist administrative center

The people of old have departed, following the dragon as it rose to Heaven. Their numinous signs remain, preserved in the true registers of names. I remember bowing to the sun three times at the cave entrance. What was asked amid the clouds seemed like the springtime of another world.

The fisherman keeps his distance from turtles and fish, and the water lies still; the woodcutter forgets his clever schemes, and even tigers and leopards grow tame. The golden well has yet to be drawn from again, but the heart is already free of every trace of dust.

I remember bowing to the sun three times at the cave entrance. What was asked amid the clouds seemed like the springtime of another world.

The fisherman keeps his distance from turtles and fish, and the water lies still; the woodcutter forgets his clever schemes, and even tigers and leopards grow tame. The golden well has yet to be drawn from again, but the heart is already free of every trace of dust.

Yuntai Precinct, a name for a Celestial Master Daoist administrative center

People of the Han dynasty once kept company with the Dao, roaming freely through the skies. The traces they left behind belong to places of stillness and purity. The peach blossoms beyond the bonds of marriage are no ordinary blooms; the cypress seeds in the wind still give off their fragrance.

A staff passes through emerald clouds and mist, leading into the depths; a boat rides over great waves and sails into the boundless distance. Across eighteen hundred years, thirty generations have carried on the tradition. Above Yuntai, the sky is clear and blue, as though the sound of jade pendants were ringing there.

Jinkou Precinct, a name for a Celestial Master Daoist administrative center

True Ones, generation after generation, nurture those who cultivate the Dao. A thousand trees grow thick and shadowed, while the stream winds around them. Pearl-like light shines through the night as the autumn waters lie still; the chime of the stone resonates with a cool, clear melody as dawn clouds slowly spread.

The two immortals have long since departed. Whom can one meet now? The three pills may yet await me. If the Azure Youth, an attendant in the immortal realm, were to examine the traces, he would find that every mark of the dusty world has vanished, leaving no shadow even on the moss.

Houcheng Precinct, a name for a Celestial Master Daoist administrative center

The great river lies close by, almost beside the altar where one refines the self and cultivates the Dao. I wish to cross the altar and reach the riverbank. Cinnabar buried underground remains warm even through winter; a grove of jade bamboo glimmers with chill in the night.

The water cranes must long for the remote and mysterious realm beyond; the old man in the mountains relaxes his brow, free of sorrow. My staff already points toward the immortal realm of cinnabar clouds, yet I remain tightly bound by the nets of the dusty world, unable to escape.

Gongmu Precinct, a name for a Celestial Master Daoist administrative center

The ancient, secluded altar lies beneath the deep shade of ten thousand pines. I came here especially to seek out a True One. Wild clouds drift dimly over the emerald bank; fine rain often falls upon the lush green woods.

The true talismanic registers have yet to fall into the hands of those of the former dynasty. Even in coarse cloth, one may seek the heart of the sages of old. The crane carriage once passed nearby, pausing to visit the True One. Wild clouds drift dimly over the emerald bank; fine rain often falls upon the lush green woods.

That precious illustrated record had not yet reached the hands of people in the former dynasty, and even someone in coarse cloth could seek out the intentions of the ancient sages. The carriage borne by a celestial crane once passed through here. The place where they wandered and rested still bears traces of peach blossoms drifting on flowing water.

Pinggang Monastery

A thousand pines and ten thousand stalks of green bamboo screen the Daoist temple. Many who come seeking the path of immortality linger here, often forgetting to leave. The pond and terraces built against the rocks remain intact, as if from ancient times; streams thread through the clouds and mist, their waters plunging down.

Deep in the night, the cries of dark gibbons echo through the stillness. With the wind high and the clouds distant, a yellow crane flies into Taiwei, the celestial region of stars, also a name for the heavenly realm. Since the Six Heavens—the heavenly realm in Daoist belief—were purged and brought to peace, this place has returned to quiet. In every age, have people not turned to the sage and followed his meritorious virtue?

Registrar’s Monastery

Here the morning sun and evening glow are reflected, yet no official robes or carriages arrive to bring the cares of the world. For a long time, people have said that herbs a thousand years old grow here; lately, one or two households have also withdrawn from the world to live here.

Colorful phoenixes often come seeking bamboo seeds, and numinous birds sometimes peck at immortal flowers. Those immortals of old, light of form and soaring into the sky, were truly remarkable. How could they have coveted the five-horse carriage—the conveyance of an ancient prefect, and by extension, high office and generous rewards?

Jade Bureau Monastery

A faint fragrance seems to linger beside the seat. Though its solemn presence has faded, it feels as if it were still before us, stirring reverence. Bamboo-shoot-shaped stone peaks stand side by side, as if propping up Heaven’s gate; a stretch of golden spring water flows freely and wide.

Speaking of the subtle “being” can open a path for those who have lost their way; pointing directly to “No-Where,” the realm free of attachment and beyond the world, can bring one home to one’s original state. In this latter age, who can truly understand even one part in ten thousand of this? People spend their days chasing one circumstance after another, only to grow ever more distracted.

Northern Yu Monastery

The moon shines over the altar grounds like springtime in a palace garden. After a thousand years, the willow-lined ferry crossing still inspires wistful attachment. Nothing vulgar can grow in the emerald pond; how could the jade-white brow light, a sacred radiance familiar from Buddhist and Daoist scriptures, readily appear to ordinary people?

This secluded search was long ago pledged to the Three Mysteries, the profound principles spoken of in Daoist thought. Who can feel even a little of the intimate joy of its stillness? A carefree excursion beyond the world can serve as an ideal model. No trace of carriage or horse hooves is left, and no wheel has rolled across the fragrant dust.

Forty-Eight Poems on the Golden Elixir

The mysterious pearl in the golden cauldron is the result of cultivation at midnight; five-colored radiance fills the room in a profusion of light. As the energies of the sun and moon unite, the forms of tortoise and snake begin to interweave and revolve.

At first sight, its shape seems clear, yet remains indistinct. Look for a long time, and its features grow hazy instead. Yin Cong uses this to tell those who practice the Yang method that this true emptiness is not nothing at all.

There are countless ways to borrow the means of magical arts; you should seek the Purple Golden Elixir. On Mount Kunlun, towers and terraces rise high; in the furnace of the Northern Sea, dragon and tiger circle and mingle.

This medicine is the most precious treasure in the alchemical arts. Once perfected, it can make one a celestial official. The Jade Emperor has repeatedly sent down golden, wondrous edicts; only now do I believe that ascending to the cloud heavens is no difficult matter.

People of the world bustle about in confusion, unaware of what is truly right. They do not seek it within themselves, but devote themselves instead to seeking outside. They crave the world’s endless charms and forget that the human body is ultimately finite.

When the medicine in the cauldron is perfected, it can lengthen life. When the gold in the water is exhausted, it turns to light dust. The earth of Jingnang beneath Beiyu Mountain is made up of people whose worldly ties remain unresolved.

Unnoticed, the years pass one by one; time rushes like waves surging through a great river. Few understand the mysteries of sun and moon within the cauldron, while many in the world believe they understand the principles of Yin-Yang.

People damage their nature for wealth, then drift with the current in pursuit of sexual pleasure. Half of □□ are about to set out on the road to the Yellow Springs. How can one bear to disturb one’s original essence—the vital essence of life—and thereby invite ghosts, spirits, and demons?

It is laughable that fools, entangled by beauty, still hope to preserve their essence through breathing techniques. The way of the immortals takes purity and stillness as its foundation, while sexual desire between men and women belongs to worldly sentiment. How could impure, turbid things count as superior? Only the Reverted Elixir, the result of cultivation in Daoist internal alchemy, may enable a person to attain long life. The arts of the bedchamber, which use sexual union as a method of cultivation, have circulated in the world, yet they have misled and harmed many.

When did the method of gathering Yin elixir, which gathers Yin energy to refine the elixir, first arise? Liu Zhan of the Later Han was once taken in by it. In the end, he could not escape the cycle of rebirth and returned to the proper path of cultivation. How could one believe that indulgence increases wisdom? The so-called “dog guessing the report” is praised as a wondrous method, but it cannot deceive the unseen calculations of ghosts and spirits. How does it compare with the way of Wuwei, purity, and stillness: refining a crucible of Golden Elixir and nurturing the infant within—the image of a newly born original spirit in internal alchemy?

Some plant lotus flowers on an infant’s head, using false claims to mislead the world; the resulting confusion is as tangled as hemp. They say nothing of beginning cultivation with a single cauldron, but claim that the process must turn through three carts. The Mud Pill Palace, a site of cultivation within the head, has a pathway that becomes clear only through steaming and refining. The Purple Mansion, the inner divine abode described in Daoist teachings, is vast and beyond measure in value. I urge those lost in the dusty world to seek the root carefully and not sigh in vain.

Hurry to seek out a teacher and understand Water and Metal, the Yin-Yang medicines used in internal alchemy. Apply the firing times according to the proper moment, gathering and refining the rising and sinking Qi. After nine revolutions, one beholds the appearance of the Tathagata, yet still says that cultivation must proceed through three carts.

The Mud Pill (Niwan), the Upper Dantian inside the crown of the head, has a passage that can be opened; only through warming and nourishing it can the passage become clear. The Purple Palace (Zifu), the Daoist realm of immortals or divine abode, is boundless and beyond compare in value. I urge those in the dusty world who have lost their way to seek the source, rather than sigh in vain.

Hurry to seek out a wise teacher who can point out Water and Metal, terms in Neidan that often allude to Yin-Yang and the ingredients of cultivation. Apply the firing times according to the right moment, gathering and absorbing the Qi that rises and sinks. After nine revolutions of cultivation, one may behold the Tathagata’s form, the Buddhist image of awakening; only after a full cycle of twelve years may one open the mind of a recluse.

The empty carriage suddenly turns over, and Lead is readily refined; the Dragon Chariot drives the turning, yet Mercury is hard to control. Since drinking this fermented wine, a metaphor for the product of Neidan cultivation, I have felt myself deep within the Purple Palace.

The turmoil of life is like a dream. How many people can turn back, examine themselves, and secure the Three Passes, the crucial points that must be held in cultivation? Once the Yellow Matriarch, a Neidan term often referring to the medium that harmonizes Yin and Yang, is settled, Yin and Yang can readily separate and unite. The White Tiger, often a symbol of Metal Qi or Yang within Yin, flies in and descends, yet is difficult to grasp.

When the Vermilion Bird, often a symbol of Fire Qi or Yin within Yang, enters the furnace, the three mu of land grow still. When the Black Tortoise lies in the cauldron, one can enjoy ease throughout life. I have understood these lucid and subtle principles; I only wish to conceal the secret and live in seclusion in my old mountains.

Do not speak of immortal bones, and do not pursue elixirs single-mindedly. This wondrous principle has its proper path. Few who have lost their way understand how to return to the source and the root, so take this principle as the foundation of cultivation.

Whether large or small, the Tortoise and Snake, often symbols of the two Yin-Yang forces, must always be tended and regulated. The essences of the sun and moon must also be gathered. Only after a wise teacher has explained and pointed the way can one hope to understand; otherwise, even in the wilderness, one may end by returning to dust in vain.

The wondrous workings of immortals are most difficult to fathom. Those who study the Dao, often in their single-minded pursuit of it, are instead bewildered by desire. If one can thereby understand Water and Fire—the Neidan terms for Yin-Yang and their process of refinement—then one has truly understood East and West, perhaps referring here to the directions and movements of cultivation.

Do not mix True Lead, the true ingredient in Neidan, with ordinary lead; nor confuse the True Consort, a Neidan symbol for a partner or ingredient, with women of the world. Li and Kan, the Bagua trigrams that often symbolize Yin and Yang in Neidan, naturally unite, bringing peace to body and mind. Only when one grows lax does one see them as husband and wife.

Yellow Sprout, a precious ingredient in the Way of the Elixir, is a treasure not to be discussed lightly. White Snow, the essence gained through cultivation, penetrates the mysterious principle, yet I would not boast of it. This is not because a mountain recluse deliberately hides the secret; rather, immortal medicines are mostly beyond what ordinary people can readily bear.

Floating and sinking, Mao and You—the Neidan terms for the rising and descending of Qi and for the timing of practice—each have their own mysterious paths. The transformations of the Tortoise and Snake, too, have another way. Among the countless people who study the Dao, very few truly understand, yet everywhere under heaven people casually call one another “fellow Daoists.”

Nourish and preserve the spirit, and recognize your original self: this profound and mysterious principle can be learned. Only when one truly achieves freedom from leakage can one be said to have overcome what is subject to leakage; only by leaving the ferry where one was lost can one be said to have reached the place of understanding.

Human life is brief; few can live a thousand years. Yet the years in the immortals’ realm seem to make even ten thousand calamities pass in an instant. It is lamentable that so many people in the world wander blindly onto the wrong path, willingly letting their spirit and Qi sink into the dust of worldly life.

Some study Buddhism and then turn to the way of the immortals, feeling their way along both paths but never giving either their full attention. This confusion usually arises from having taken the wrong path. Once people lose their bearings, they are quick to change what they pursue.

In cultivation, refine only the elixir within yourself; do not vainly imagine that you can pluck a lotus from fire. Devote yourself to cultivating your own practice and the Way of nature and life, and there is no need for empty talk about the three thousand great thousand worlds, a Buddhist expression for the vastness of the cosmos.

The Black Dragon and the Yin Tiger, images in alchemy that symbolize the transformations of Yin and Yang, are not hard to distinguish. Cultivation begins by settling the spirit. Refine White Snow, the refined essence and Qi of Neidan, in abundance, and you may shine with the sun and moon. Refine and ingest Yellow Sprout, the newly arising Qi of Neidan, for long enough, and it will seem as though you can open up Heaven and Earth.

Cultivating within the Four Spirits’ Cauldron, an image in Neidan for the body and the alchemical vessel, can bring the hope of prolonging life. Ingest the Five-Colored Elixir, a name in alchemical practice for the liquid formed through refinement, and it may seem to restore the soul. How many pearls can the world’s oysters really yield? Do not let wealth and sexual desire damage the root of life.

Quickly learn to recognize the Metal that sinks and rises in water, a Neidan term for true lead. Refined and cooked in the proper way, it can command the respect even of ghosts and spirits. Refine and ingest the Sprout of the Four Spirits for long enough, and it may seem to lift you beyond the world of dust.

Cultivating within the Four Spirits’ Cauldron can bring the hope of prolonging life. Ingest the Five-Colored Elixir, and it may seem to restore the soul. How many pearls can the world’s oysters really yield? Do not let wealth and sexual desire damage the root of life.

Quickly learn to recognize the Metal that sinks and rises in water; refined and cooked in the proper way, it can command the respect of ghosts and spirits. The Four Spirits guard the divine furnace and keep its fire steady. After nine transformations, the repeated stages of refinement and change in Neidan, the elixir’s color gradually deepens.

The Dragon and Tiger, symbols of Yin and Yang Qi, turn and act upon one another, forming a path where the two energies unite. The Tortoise and Serpent, numinous creatures that symbolize the union of Yin and Yang, rise in flames and act upon each other from either side. Once the many-colored radiance appears, its light will fill the room and illuminate the heart.

The so-called fire phases of the circuit of Heaven, which regulate the timing of refinement according to the body’s patterns, are often used to mislead ordinary people. Even deliberate use of embryonic breathing, breathing as subtle as that of a fetus, does not necessarily constitute true cultivation. In the Purple Palace, where immortals dwell and where the body’s spirit and Qi gather, the seeds of the Golden Dragon’s fire are amassed; from Kunlun, the mountain of immortals, wells up a fresh spring like a Jade Tiger.

Where the three lotuses unfold, the power of divine transformation appears. When the One Child is born, one can transcend the world of dust. A warning to those busy pursuing the secrets of cultivation: true lead and true mercury, Neidan terms that symbolize Yin and Yang essences and Qi, both depend on the word “true.”

The Purple Gold Elixir in the Palace of Kunlun is beyond the sight of anyone without an affinity for the immortals. Those who have the affinity can prolong their lives, naturally cease to covet worldly things, and escape the hardship of hunger and cold.

Tiger and Dragon, lead and mercury, and Geng and Xin, calendrical designations used in alchemy for changes in Yin-Yang and the Five Phases, flow together into the cauldron. Great and small tortoises and serpents gather at the Altar of Taiyi, an image of a Daoist altar or a place of cultivation. When the elixir is formed, it shines with five-colored radiance, and the messages of Heaven become easy to understand.

A lifetime of toil brings turmoil upon turmoil, while time flies past like a shuttle. Cultivate the true Way without delay and drive away ghosts and demons. Set the forces of sinking and rising in motion, turn over the Northern Sea, an image from alchemical practice, and do not linger in the dream of Nanke, a metaphor for the illusory brevity of human life.

The Jia-Geng Cauldron lacks no true gold, and the Mao-You Altar holds abundant Earth Qi. Jia-Geng and Mao-You are calendrical designations used in the poem to express the timing of alchemical work and the changes of Yin and Yang. Let the light fill the room, then observe purification, still the mind, and ingest the refined elixir; in this way, you can rise beyond a low and diminished state.

People covet empty fame and profit, yet give no thought to how swiftly time passes. They focus only on the beauty of their faces today, unaware that more white hairs have appeared.

Only when the alchemical furnace is stable can it help prolong life. Giving free rein to desire damages one’s nature. I urge you to seek the method for cultivating the Golden Elixir and to nurture the “infant” within—the image in Neidan practice of a newborn original spirit—so that you may escape the labors of the mundane world.

In the blink of an eye, when will time ever come to a halt? People come and go through the cycle of life and death because they are greedy and fixated on such things, unwilling to quiet their minds and cultivate the righteous Dao.

The Dragon and Tiger, terms in Neidan that often represent the forces of Yin and Yang, are a chariot for ascending to heaven. Lead and Mercury, terms for the Yin and Yang vital essences used in alchemy, are vessels for transcending the world. Many immortals took pity on ordinary people, so they left behind alchemical instructions to aid them.

Ride the dragon and drive the crane without fear: this speaks of the numinous wonder of a single Golden Elixir. A dragon of five-colored clouds rises from the bottom of the sea, while the ninefold wind tiger ascends to the heavenly court.

Where the jade blossoms unite, observe Ren and Gui; when the Purple Palace joins, draw upon Bing and Ding. Ren, Gui, Bing, and Ding are the Heavenly Stems, used in Neidan to represent Yin and Yang, directions, or the timing of cultivation. The immortals left these alchemical instructions to aid ordinary people out of compassion for them.

Ride the dragon and drive the crane without fear: this speaks of the numinous wonder of a single Golden Elixir. A dragon of five-colored clouds rises from the bottom of the sea, while the ninefold wind tiger ascends to the heavenly court.

Where the jade blossoms unite, observe Ren and Gui; when the Purple Palace joins, draw upon Bing and Ding. These truths are beyond the understanding of the shallow-minded; only those whose names are recorded among the “Shaowei stars,” a constellation associated with immortals and sages, can comprehend them.

The world is full of hardship and restless commotion. Quickly drive away the Three Peng, spirits said to dwell in the human body, lead people to wrongdoing, and shorten their lives, along with the Five Worms, a general name for unwholesome forces that disrupt cultivation. Do not let foxlike malign beings disturb the medicine furnace; let the Dragon and Tiger guard the inner true emptiness.

Add fire to the treasure in the cauldron at the proper time, and the infant within the belly will gradually grow. Good men and faithful women who seek the meaning of these words should not covet wine and sensual pleasures, lest they stray onto the wrong path.

The world is full of strange and bizarre happenings that stir people’s curiosity. At the sight of licentious acts, the mind is moved. If one merely loses oneself in song and dance, depleting the body’s Jing and Qi, how can the “gold in water”—the treasure formed through the condensation of vital essence in Neidan—be made firm?

The road to heaven lies open, yet no one takes it; hell has no gate, yet people stream inside. I urge men and women who cultivate the Dao in this world to restrain their conduct, withdraw from a world consumed by desire, and settle in the mountains and forests to cultivate.

Alduin violated Heaven through sexual excess and was punished by being transformed into a foxlike beast, with a tail attached to his body. People say it would take five hundred years for him to regain his original form, but who would have thought that in just three thousand days he would take on the appearance of an immortal?

It is unclear where the thunderfire used in Daoist exorcistic arts should be applied. Its fangs, too, are used to disguise it as something intimate and instructive to people. The followers of resentful demons take on the form of foxes and assume uncanny appearances. Who knows how many people they have bewitched?

The story of Liu Chen and Ruan Zhao’s encounter with immortals contains many doubtful points; today, I ask you to examine it carefully. Do not let the immortal palace become a place for indulging in sensual pleasures, or let the Purple Court—the abode of immortals—be occupied by deceit and wickedness.

A grotto dwelling should be pure and quiet, with no foreign things allowed to enter. Yet in dark caves, all manner of strange transformations can readily appear. Most people are confused and fail to awaken; how many have lost their lives in the clutches of foxes?

Beneath the Zizhen altar, near the Purple Tenuity Enclosure—the celestial region of the Heavenly Emperor—the night scenery is often made beautiful in worldly tales. People do not know that seeking lead, a term in alchemy for the ingredients or symbolic substances used in refining, can prolong life; instead, they merely claim that some particular substance can extend one’s years.

The Golden Elixir need not be sought somewhere apart from oneself, and the human heart need not establish a separate school outside the gate. Perhaps mountain spirits have bewitched you, making you treat a jumble of sensual appearances as ordinary things.

True lead and true mercury, alchemical terms often used as metaphors for the two inner medicines of Yin and Yang, are most worthy of reliance. The principle is perfectly clear, yet few truly put it into practice. Refining the White Tiger in the cauldron into jade fluid surpasses cultivating the Golden Essence in the Serpent Palace.

The Kan male and Li female, symbols of water and fire, Yin and Yang, are distributed among three positions. The sun and moon move east and west, then ultimately unite in a single course. If one can find the path of cultivation through this, an infantlike form—the sign of perfected internal alchemy—will naturally appear.

The Golden Elixir can transform the body and renew its substance; this is no empty claim. It is simply that ordinary people are easily confused by their own nature. If the crimson serpent can be made to rise toward the northern sea, the jade rabbit will naturally race toward the western heavens.

The Lotus Envoy sets true water in motion, while the Seed-Fire Dragon King opens the Great Way. The method of refinement should be sought here. The key to ascending and transforming lies in a single guī—a tiny measure of elixir, and also a subtle, minute substance required for alchemical work.

If you are fortunate enough to grasp the profound principles of cultivating the truth, you must diligently refine the gold within water—the true Yang energy hidden in water, in the language of internal alchemy. Only when you understand how to plant a lotus in the Purple Court will you believe that the road to the immortal realm of Kunlun can indeed be found.

When the essences of the sun and moon unite, their radiance flows above and below; once the blue and white Qi merge, colored light rises and sinks with them. Since I grasped this true message, the honors and disgrace of the world have no longer disturbed me.

Why, in youth, read only poetry and books? Better to seek the true Dao and guard the inner “Jade Flask,” a metaphor in Daoist Neidan for the body and mind, or for Jing and Qi. There is no need to spend your strength roaming the Red Waters, a legendary region. Simply learn to preserve and nourish your innate nature and cultivate the “Dark Pearl,” a metaphor in Neidan.

Who can possess the sun and moon within the cauldron? The cinnabar in the furnace is rarer still. Others laugh at the loneliness here, unaware that this loneliness is unlike the loneliness of ordinary people.

Now that I have understood the principles of this life and the next, why labor to expound the teachings of Chan? The water of the “Flower Pool,” a Neidan term for saliva or a particular place within the body, is called the medicine of ascent to heaven; the lotus in the “Golden Cauldron” is a means of transcending the world.

Only by beginning the practice can one start to discern its subtle mysteries; only when the work is complete can one see its profound principles. Since receiving guidance from a discerning teacher, I have come to believe that riding a cloud chariot can free one from the mundane world.

Within the gates of the three emotions lies a Chan insight untouched by doubt; only ordinary people refuse to come. The Moon’s Po and the Sun’s Hun—the Yin-Yang essences—are the path of cultivation. The “Tiger Spring” and “Serpent Fire,” Neidan terms for the body’s Yin-Yang essences and their movement, are the steps by which one advances.

Diligently guard the upper, middle, and lower Dantian (energy centers) and nurture Original Jing. Only when the cauldron and furnace are stable can transformation begin. Form arises spontaneously from the formless, and the True Embryo, formed through Neidan practice, can condense into a spiritual embryo.

Guiding Qi solely through the “Crimson Bridge,” a Neidan term for a channel through which Qi moves in the body, is never the true path. Ordinary people cling to outward appearances and are therefore deluded. The cauldron and furnace beneath the Northern Sea distinguish the workings of creation; the palace of the Southern Darkness accords with the natural Dao of Heaven. Through the power of the Returning Elixir within the void, in a state of indistinct reverie, body and mind unite with the wondrous Dao. Whoever can grasp this amid transient life can transform that life, as though fermenting wine.

There are thousands upon thousands of fellow Daoists in the dusty world, but how many truly practice? If one fails to understand that Mercury and Lead—Neidan terms often used for Yin-Yang essences in cultivation—are the supreme treasures, and instead tries to learn silver-making with a stove and furnace, one has taken the wrong path. The method of gathering the medicine within is truly reliable; seeking the Elixir outside brings only fruitless toil. What is more, those who have lost their way may lead others astray as well, misleading both themselves and others.

Below Mount Jiuzhen lies the Flower Pool, whose water can prolong life, though the world does not know it. When the golden oranges ripen, they gleam with a clear, lustrous light. Each is round as a pellet and shines with the brilliance of rosy clouds.

Beneath Mount Jiuzhen, the legendary mountain of immortals, lies a pool of radiant water whose waters can prolong life—though the world knows nothing of it. Once the elixir, golden as a kumquat, has formed, it shines with clear brilliance. Though no larger than a pellet, it glows like rosy clouds.

Send it deep beneath the North Sea and conceal it there in secret; then carry it to Nanju. What happens along the way is wondrous and hard to fathom. When this work is complete, clusters of yellow clouds will gather around the Yuanshen, the spirit in its infant form.

On Mount Jiuzhen, terraces and towers reach upward. As the sun and moon make their rounds, purple Qi gathers layer upon layer. Beneath the North Sea, golden peonies come forth; in the palace of Nanju, jade roses bloom.

The gateway of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest deities revered in Daoism, holds the mystery of the Three Dantian, the upper, middle, and lower energy centers where the body stores spirit and refines Qi. The work of the nine transformations passes through nine cycles of circulation. When this priceless treasure has been refined, let others laugh at my devotion as they please.

People of the world bustle about, laboring to find a teacher, hoping only to discover the divine water and believing that it is the home of immortals. A radiant cauldron blazes as if melting golden fluid; within the Three Dantian, liquid like jade pulp gleams with brilliant light.

At midnight, one feels the true fire winding its way through the body. Though within a room, one suddenly sees a glow like rosy clouds appear. A single pellet of elixir is enough to transcend the ordinary. Only then does one believe how long the road to the immortal realm of Penglai truly is.

The mystery of the great medicine within the cauldron is beyond the world’s understanding. The Qi of the sun and moon is cast into it together, so the process of gestation will not go astray. Such wondrous radiance need not be merely the fiery jujube; only now do I understand that the “pear of union” spoken of in profound teachings also holds its own meaning.

Essence as red as vermilion powder flows slowly, like flying clouds receding into the distance; its wondrous light shines clear and fills the whole room. After twelve years of refinement, the work is at last complete, and one may ride a phoenix carriage up the heavenly ladder.

For decades, the recluse who cultivates the Dao leaves no trace, letting no one notice that he is planting and refining an elixir in the Dantian. When the Qi of the Five Phases comes together, change arises in an instant, and a perfectly round and luminous Neidan appears of itself.

When the clear, spiritual furnace opens, one may ride a phoenix carriage up the heavenly ladder.

For decades, the recluse who cultivates the Dao leaves no trace, letting no one notice that he is planting and refining an elixir in the Dantian. When the Qi of the Five Phases comes together, change arises in an instant, and a perfectly round and luminous Neidan appears of itself.

From the clear, spiritual furnace comes forth an essence as white as snow; from the lead cauldron, a glow like red lotus petals slowly flows. Lately, without realizing it, my reputation has begun to spread, and people often come to ask about the profound principles.

After swallowing the Golden Elixir, one feels as though bones and hair have grown light, and that a path to Penglai now lies open. The medicine furnace is clear, and its jade-powder essence stands plainly revealed; the Qi Sea, where primordial Qi is stored and nurtured in cultivation, is still, deep, and cool, reaching all the way to the realm of the Three Pure Ones.

The palaces of Kunlun rise higher year after year, while the towers of the Purple Palace are completed day after day. At this stage one may ride the clouds and mount a crane, laughing at the people of the world—and laughing, too, at one’s own journey in pursuit of learning and long life.

Many people study the Dao; how many truly awaken to it? Those who truly attain it will see their original nature. Within the Three Dantian, a path is already there, allowing free passage in every direction. The conditions and connections of all things differ, and each transformation has its own cause.

Metal must be nourished in the earth to become dense and substantial; the alchemical work can advance only when the fire is continually added to the Elixir Furnace. A person who is unmoved by wealth or sexual desire seems like someone dwelling in the immortal realm of Penglai.

Even after enduring humiliation and laboring in cultivation for a long time, one may still be disturbed and depleted by malign spirits while practicing in seclusion. If you do not know how to firmly guard the Dantian (the part of the body where Jing and Qi are cultivated), your Hun and Shen will grow restless, throwing the Purple Mansion (the Daoist name for the spirit palace in the brain) into disorder.

As Yang Qi gradually weakens, it becomes difficult to preserve one’s life; as Yin and malign Qi steadily grows, it can easily deplete one’s original Qi. I urge you to seek out a clear-sighted master at once. Do not let old grievances and demons destroy your resolve to cultivate the Dao.

You know only to tend the spirit furnace at midnight, yet do not know that the power of the firing process can dispel Yin and malign influences. Suddenly, an essence like cold jade congeals in the Golden Cauldron, making your true body shine with the radiance of rosy clouds. I urge you to seek out a clear-sighted master at once. Do not let old grievances and demons destroy your resolve to cultivate the Dao.

You know only to tend the spirit furnace at midnight, yet do not know that the power of the firing process can dispel Yin and malign influences. Suddenly, an essence like cold jade congeals in the Golden Cauldron, making your true body shine with the radiance of rosy clouds.

Separate white snow from the dew of blue vapor, and nurture the yellow sprout in the waters of the Flower Pool. Here the true signs of cultivation become evident. Do not wander about in vain, searching everywhere for the deer chariot—a metaphor for cultivation that points toward seeking the Dao within.

If a person possesses the Golden Elixir, the Hun and Po can return to their source. Yet people of the world often lose their way in cultivating the Dao, not knowing how to refine, ingest, and employ it. When the vermilion bird, symbolizing Yang Qi, opens the gate before the cliff, the white deer, a numinous beast symbolizing Yin essence, must enter the gate at the bottom of the sea. These are images from Neidan cultivation, describing the union and circulation of Yin and Yang Qi within the body.

To achieve success in cultivation, you must first guide the Qi horse, a metaphor for the breath, and promptly rein in the mind-monkey, a metaphor for scattered thoughts. Good men and women seeking the secrets of cultivating the True should not understand cultivation merely as the body turning to dust and being buried after death.

Sit quietly and burn incense, focusing the mind from one thought to the next. In contemplation, you should see the form you will have upon completing your cultivation. The basis of generation lies in mercury within lead—Neidan terminology in which lead and mercury stand for Yin and Yang essences within the body. The key to transformation, meanwhile, comes from the dragon within the fire, a Neidan image for the firing process and Yang Qi.

Do not begrudge the frequent gathering and refining indicated by the number two-eight. The conjunction and harmonizing indicated by the numbers one-three also require diligent practice. These numbers are coded expressions in Neidan for the firing process and the coordination of Yin and Yang. Here lies a road to the heavenly realm, along which worldly cultivators may follow the immortal Red Pine.

Do not resent the mountain hermit for revealing these essential secrets. Pass these principles on to people of benevolence and virtue who can embark on a lofty path of cultivation. Those who understand will grasp their meaning as soon as they hear these words; those who are lost will remain trapped in their own thoughts and preconceptions.

After the Heavenly Stems Jia and Geng are distinguished, the dragon returns to the left; when the directions Mao and You come together, the tiger occupies the west. These are Neidan images using the Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches and the cardinal directions to describe the coordination of Yin and Yang. If you can behold the mysterious realm within the mysterious, you will understand that the “husband and wife” here are not ordinary men and women, but the Yin and Yang Qi that unite in cultivation.

Both my body and my nature and life can unite with Heaven. Once the Golden Elixir is refined, I can escape delusion and transcend the worldly realm. My numinous nature will dwell forever in the Jade Palace. When the sacred embryo, the inner immortal fetus formed through cultivation, has come to maturity, I will climb the ladder of clouds and enter the realm of immortals.

Why cling to the worldly realm, symbolized by mussels and clams? There is no need to carry along the garments worn by immortals, woven from dragonfly wings. Though refining the elixir takes work as long-lasting as the sun and moon, leaving the worldly realm still requires the aid of a single subtle elixir.

End of Volume Five of the Recorded Sayings of Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master

Volume Six of the Recorded Sayings of Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master

Compiled by his descendant, the Forty-Third Celestial Master, styled Chubian

Dotting Crimson Lips

Youling asked, “Why does the gourd I carry with me have no opening?” I answered the emperor face to face in verse.

A tiny gourd, born small and short of stature. It holds gourd seeds inside, so what is strange about its having no opening? It can contain Heaven and Earth—who understands the principle behind this? I tie it at my waist precisely because I favor it; it surpasses the goldfish pouch worn as a badge of rank by officials.

Two Songs, “Remembering the Peach Source”

Cai Shiyuan wondered whether I had a connection with the Divine Elder and the Attendant of the Palace. Shiyuan asked me, “What is the method of cultivation?” I immediately wrote this short lyric in reply.

The way to long life is transmitted from mouth to ear; to obtain the elixir, one must use liquid gold in its entirety. Blend all the subtle ingredients into one, and immortality can be achieved. I solemnly impart these words to the worthy. Do not swallow breaths or spread reckless tales. How could you know the mysteries of Creation? Put lead into mercury, then unite mercury with lead: the process is plainly one of reversal and transformation.

Gather lotus flowers where white clouds gather; every branch is fragrant and splendid. Beside the bank, the numinous turtle sends forth auspicious winds; the lofty tower has twelve stories. Golden halls are shrouded in emerald clouds; cinnabar, the mineral used in elixir refining, shines red and reaches the crown of the head. As the wondrous mechanism turns, even ghosts and spirits respond. In stillness and purity, one ultimately reaches the Celestial Palace.

“Immortals by the River”

Deng Danfu painted six cranes at the Hunlun Hermitage and asked me to inscribe a lyric. So I composed this song.

The general meaning of this lyric is: Do not wonder at my calm, detached expression, for I have long known the thousand years endured by the pine. The feathered immortal—a Daoist term for an immortal—has far-reaching thoughts and is in perfect accord with me. We eagerly inscribe and adorn one another’s verses, reciting and answering each other’s songs back and forth. What is more, there is the story of the brothers of Xianyang; hearing it can make one forget one’s sorrows. I was blessed with an affinity for the immortals from birth. Since I first took up my brush to write these lines, one poem has followed another, and I have been unable to stop.

Three Lyrics to “Spring in the Qin Garden”

Subduing Demons and Establishing Order

The world’s course is about to turn anew. A heavenly decree descends, and the Sage Master is commanded to subdue the demons. Yin and Yang are thrown into disorder; ghosts and spirits run amok. Evil forces occupy towns and spread across mountains and rivers. Killing intent veils the sky, dark clouds blot out the day, and the people have suffered calamity for a long time.

At this moment, a towering crystal throne appears on Mount Qingcheng. The demons raise their weapons in fury and rush to attack the mountain, swarming with the speed of a shuttle. A flash of divine light brings dragons crashing down and tigers to ruin; a thunderous voice rings out like lightning and thunder. The Sage Master establishes a center of governance and teaches the people, gathering in the evil forces and guiding them back to the right path. The people can live in peace and contentment, sharing in an age of great peace. The winds and clouds settle, and the sky meets the blue-green Milky Way, while moonlight shines upon clear, rippling waters.

Another

The True One endures forever, one with the Great Void, and the mysterious gate of the Dao opens of itself. As the primal unity first divides, the two forces of Yin and Yang unfold into the myriad forms of Heaven and Earth. Then they return to the root, bringing the numinous platform—the seat of the mind and spirit—back to clarity, while their merits are recorded in the Golden Register, the register of immortals.

The vast, vital Qi breaks through every obstruction. The Valley Spirit, the wondrous Dao that is empty and still yet gives life and nourishment to all things, ceaselessly nurtures and transforms. Gradually, one senses divine light emerging from the void. In a hidden, wondrous realm, dragons roar and tigers howl; suddenly, wind and thunder surge.

This wondrous Dao is truly marvelous and difficult to master, yet it can transform the dull-witted into people of great talent and virtue. I will try to make its principles clear: its form is hard to discern, like the moon’s reflection held in deep waters within an oyster, or a fetus conceived in the belly of an autumn hare. Men and women with lofty aspirations should be like the worthy people of old, keeping body and mind free of worldly stain. Once their cultivation is complete, they may dwell wherever they wish in the Purple Palace, the abode of immortals, and take their place among the ranks of the immortals.

Another

Hurry and cultivate the Dao. Think carefully: how much time does a life really hold? However much pleasure and worldly delight you enjoy, on the day you die, you must leave it all behind. When it suddenly strikes you that life and death are life’s great matter, your heart feels as though cut by blades. Time cannot be held back: the sun flies like an arrow, and the moon races like a shuttle. You should awaken early and not let time slip away in vain. Even if you could draw near to Chang’e in the Moon Palace, even if Xishi of Yue possessed beauty enough to topple a city, there is no need to remain attached to such worldly pleasures. Instead, let your heart grow spacious and leave behind disputes and vexations. When your cultivation is complete and your merit fulfilled, you will be able to journey to Penglai and return alone, riding the wind.

Linjiang Xian: In Harmony with Yuan Gui

All living beings in the world receive their lives from Heaven; their innate natures are originally equal and free. Do not give rise to distorted views and disturb your true nature. Once the heart has found its guiding center, the whole person can merge with the transformations of creation. What is more, words of lucid subtlety reach straight to the source, untouched by even a speck of dust. Gather the mind from this point, and every kind of demonic obstruction will subside; the six paths of reincarnation will cease forever.

Man Ting Fang

Work at it in stillness and leisure, and experience the subtle function of “nonbeing.” Do not make reckless conjectures or turn things over repeatedly in your mind. Subdue the Dragon and calm the Tiger, letting true Earth—the harmonizing Qi in internal alchemical practice—settle naturally in the Central Yellow, a key site of inner cultivation in the middle of the body. In daily movement and rest, sleep and eating, follow what the moment calls for; do not recklessly stir true Yang, the primordial Yang Qi of cultivation. Return to the root, where Shen and Qi gather and settle, and the inner realm will reveal its light.

The wind rises high, and the great Peng spreads its wings to fly; the waters are deep, and boats travel upon them. All things have their own principles, plainly visible. Once you understand that the original mind is itself the Dao, devote yourself to putting your innate spirit to work. Calling on spirits and summoning ghosts, praying for rain or fair skies, does not mean that one’s cultivation is profound. Even if the deluded seem able to command wind and thunder, putting that power into practice will lead them against the right course.

Linjiang Xian: In Harmony with Yuan Gui, Reading Yang Xi’s Biography

Since ancient times, pure and wondrous spiritual Qi has descended into the human world, and Lady An Fei, a female immortal in Daoist lore, came to Yang Jun—Yang Xi. They met through a hidden affinity beyond the ordinary. Immortals may temporarily meet in visible form, but the great Dao itself does not favor anyone. The true Dao shows no partiality between those near and those far.

Linjiang Xian: In Harmony with Yuan Gui, Reading Yang Xi’s Biography

This is the name of the ci tune and its title. The tune is “Linjiang Xian”; the title indicates a poem written in response to Yuan Gui’s work while reading Yang Xi’s biography.

Since ancient times, pure, tranquil, wondrous immortals have descended among humankind. Lady An, an immortal from the celestial realm, came to meet Lord Yang. Their destinies secretly converged in an extraordinary way. Immortals take on visible forms for a time so that people may see them; the true Great Dao, by contrast, makes no distinction between those near and those far. Only Yuan Gui was able to come seeking instruction, so I explained this matter to him in depth. Everyone should appreciate and copy these new works, lest people of shallow understanding in the world mock the immortals of Heaven.

A Fragrant Courtyard

To the rhyme of the Perfected One, in reply to Yuan Gui

When the mind is clear and pure, people throughout the ages can find joy in it. This state surpasses a green retreat; do not say there is no one who understands. The Gate of Heaven is high and mysterious, and should be opened by one who has the Dao. How could it be compared with the thoughts of ordinary people? Not a speck of dust remains in the heart. One must also trust that faith is firm as metal and stone: once the resolve is set, there is no turning back.

The original True Qi is truly precious. To have genuine teachers and friends, with no suspicion between them, is a joy. More precious still is the freedom to rise beyond the world, no longer cherishing the body’s form. If one steadies the spirit and comprehends the true delight of the Great Dao, one can transform the conditions of ordinary life. Even after meeting the divine, people in the world remain entangled in its net; do not speak to them of the reasons behind it.

Song of the Grotto Immortal

A solitary peak towers into the clouds, its summit beyond the reach of any person. The vast sky stretches without limit for ten thousand miles. Autumn is at its finest, the scenery serene; mist disperses, clouds draw back, the wind and dew turn cool, and only the bright moon hangs high.

In this fleeting life, people come and go, all of them passersby. On this beautiful night, some drink, dance, and sing with abandon, losing themselves until they forget day and night. But who knows that human nature is complete, like the sands of the Ganges, eternal and unchanging? Once it is revealed, its light shines through the ages and never grows old. People simply talk beneath the moon of profit and fame, never considering how time, swift as a white colt glimpsed through a crack, quietly hurries the young toward old age.

Proud Fisherman

Composed over wine and presented to Jie Fu

We set out wine in haste, just to win a smile; in this brief life, illness and worries, too, pass with the turning of fate. Friendship runs deep as the earth, our hearts attuned to one another. Let people today not invite the ridicule of those who came before.

The lamplight flickers faintly, and the mountain lies still. The fragrance of orchids and angelica is fresh and pleasing; pines and bamboo grow thick and lush. If the chance comes, we can linger at ease beyond the world of dust. The fragrance has only just begun to spread; for now, let the neighbor’s rooster hold back its call for dawn.

More Leaks in the Water Clock

In reply to Yuan Gui’s “Hall of Heavenly Harmony”

Relying on innate primordial Jing (the body’s original essence and vital energy), draw in the tongue and lips and gather the gaze, so that body and mind transcend external things; then one can find a state free from the constraints of life and death. If one takes up the teachings of Zi (an ancient figure revered in Daoism) but misunderstands their meaning, or misreads the words of Jizhen (a Daoist figure), one may turn the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) into deliberate striving. So long as the heart-mind is empty and still, the body can become full and settled, silently joining with the vast, tranquil Way of Heaven. Immortal realms such as Huayang Cave and the Moon Palace are, in truth, all within the small space of the human heart.

A lyric inscribed on the wall of Guo Nanzhong’s hermitage:

Deep in a secluded mountain hollow, ask the shepherd boys and woodcutters: even they cannot tell the way. Mugwort and tangled weeds crisscross the ground; snakes and dragons appear and vanish. Jade cliffs soar into the sky, and the road ahead seems blocked. The cultivator does not covet the honors symbolized by having one’s name inscribed on the Wild Goose Pagoda, but willingly keeps to a plain, austere life like a fish in a deep pool. If one’s resolve remains firm through this arduous cultivation, the spirits will surely offer their protection.

Once sudden awakening comes, there is no turning back to look with worry. A single point of clarity within the heart-mind transcends myriad kalpas, untouched by the passage of past and present. The foundation of fetal breathing (a Daoist method of nourishing Qi through meditation) is deep, and the Spirit Spring point (a place where the breath is said to circulate in cultivation) is hidden and mysterious; in stillness and concentration, the Yang Fire (the Yang Qi cultivated in inner refinement) is circulated and nourished. There is no need to ask whether one can live forever: simply persevere in cultivation, and good results will follow. Do not lightly betray this true foundation of the Celestial Valley (the foundation of body and mind on which cultivation depends); I will tell you its essential principles.

Another lyric:

Desire entangles us, and understanding is constrained. How sad that people do not know there is a kind of true joy in wine. Indulging the tongue invites missteps; confusing the spirit leads to a loss of discipline. Yet people say these things are all caused by drunkenness. One should understand that even uninhibited drunken dancing and wild singing may contain innate moral awareness and genuine awakening. Let the heart-mind have no attachments, and allow warm Qi to flow naturally through the Three Passes and Three Channels (the pathways along which Qi moves in internal cultivation). Be a carefree, unburdened person; in the depths of the land of drunkenness, freely savor the breeze and moonlight, and drink on without end. Illusory scenes fade, and light appears; the distinction between self and others, along with worldly affairs, is forgotten. Whether the wine is brewed in the city or in the countryside, one may sip it slowly. People look down on this state, hastening to speak of the principles of sobriety, yet every word they say is mistaken.

“Embroidered Needle: A Fishing Boat on a Snowy Night”:

The evening wind dies down. The flowerlike scene, clear and empty, fades away, and inner light emerges; the distinction between self and others, along with worldly affairs, is forgotten. Whether the wine is brewed in the city or in the countryside, one may sip it slowly. People look down on this state, hastening to speak of the principles of sobriety, yet every word they say is mistaken.

The evening wind has died down. I row alone in a small boat, following the current and admiring the snowy scene. The peaks rise high, like mountains piled from jade; the dense woods seem to be forests of jade trees. Snow covers the heights and hollows alike, making them hard to tell apart. My mind is clear and still, and there are no old affairs left worth recounting. In a daze, I seem to have left the mortal world and entered heaven, dwelling in a crystal palace.

All the sounds and sights of the world have vanished. Before me stretches boundless space, with water and sky merging into one. Vast, noble energy fills my breast, and my practice has grown deep; through the long night, I no longer feel the cold. I am ashamed of my shallow understanding, knowing only how to curry favor with the powerful and chase after excitement. I lay down my oars and cannot help laughing: all my heart’s understanding is entrusted to wild plum blossoms and the bright moon over the river.

〔Spring Comes from Heaven〕

He Ming Receives the Imperial Edict

Heaven and earth are settled in peace and harmony. At this moment, the waves upon the sea have stilled, and the mists among the mountains have drawn back. The three lights—the sun, moon, and stars—shine clear and bright; the lands in all directions are limpid and radiant, while a full moon illuminates the heavens.

The Liuxia Grotto shines with renewed brilliance, inspiring wonder: the Millet Pearl—a metaphor for a tiny, precious numinous jewel—slowly descends from the deep and empty realm. Form and speech have both been transcended. One beholds a thousand Perfected Ones gathered around the North Pole, with the multitudes paying homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning. Then, in the middle of the night, He Ming sensed the true talisman and precious registers, and personally transmitted them. The talisman is jade green, its script shaped like dragons; red pigment congeals into tortoise-shaped seal script. On crimson robes are painted bats without crests and crocodile-like designs. When the work is complete, the true teaching is left behind and an immortal realm opened, enabling people to ascend and become immortals. For a thousand years, the Dao’s methods have passed from one generation to the next like a succession of lamps, their light boundless.

〔Song of the Leaky Clepsydra〕

Lyrics in the Rhyme of the Perfected One

Right and wrong are both let go, so that contention between self and others does not kindle inner fire. Clinging to tangible things weakens one’s understanding of emptiness; living alongside others, one must also observe the mind within. The bearing of sages is revealed in their everyday conduct. How could cleverness and cunning compare with refusing to show off or compete for victory? For now, let poetry and wine be enjoyed in moments of leisure, and let smiles keep company with lasting youth.

〔Moon over the Jade Terrace〕

Celebrating Longevity at the Lantern Festival

Heaven opens a fortunate age. We recall the revival and prosperity of the Jianwu era, a golden age whose scenes still stir longing.

The bearing of sages is revealed in their everyday conduct. How could cleverness and cunning compare with refusing to show off or compete for victory? For now, let poetry and wine be enjoyed in moments of leisure, and let smiles keep company with lasting youth.

〔Moon over the Jade Terrace〕

Celebrating Longevity at the Lantern Festival

Heaven ushered in an age of good fortune and prosperity. We recall the Han dynasty’s revival during the Jianwu era, when the House of Liu rose to prominence once more. A wise ruler met worthy ministers; across the land, wind and rain came in due measure, and the people lived in peace. At this auspicious moment, like the birth of Shen Bo through the spirit of Mount Yue and the birth of a sage when the Yellow River ran clear, clouds of good omen gathered and rosy sunset clouds shone. Flying immortals stood guard, the star Kui blazed brightly, and many signs of good fortune appeared together. At the birth of this Celestial Master, the Perfected Lord, Heaven and Earth sent auspicious signs, and both the human and celestial realms rejoiced.

At the time of the Lantern Festival, the fragrance of roses filled the air. His celestial eye, the spiritual eye spoken of in Daoist cultivation, shone with the radiance of a clear mirror. His bearing was like that of a dragon and phoenix; he subdued the gathered demons and led them back to the right path. Receiving the teachings of Xuanyuan, an honorific for the Dao or Laozi, he founded a religious lineage. He awakened to the Highest Dao, with a clear and empty heart and an unhindered spirit. He ensured that the Mysterious Teaching flourished through its successors and made the true realm plain. In accord with Wuwei (non-action) and nonbeing, he rested serenely in stillness and endured through time. He delivered beings from the Three Paths and Six Realms of Buddhist rebirth, enabling all beings to realize the Dao alongside the immortals.

Wind Through the Pines

A rhapsody composed to the rhyme of Jie Fu.

Tend the fields of the heart with care, clearing them of weeds within the space of a square inch. Then you may awaken to the Highest Dao, your mind clear and empty, your spirit unhindered. Let the Mysterious Teaching flourish through its successors, and understand the true realm. Accord with Wuwei, abide in stillness, and endure through time. Deliver beings from the Three Paths and Six Realms, so that they may realize the Dao alongside the immortals.

Wind Through the Pines

To till the fields of the heart deeply and well is the work of a true hero. Even at night, he climbs the Star Terrace to gaze into the distance, never tiring of the green waters and rosy clouds before him. Such a gathering brings together refined friends who understand one another; they gaze at each other again and again, smiling beneath the clear sky.

Between the jade steps, layers of a celestial realm unfold, while luxuriant daylilies grow thick. If we can drink freely of rosy-cloud wine, why refuse to get drunk? Let us stop counting the thousand cups of wine in the mortal world. Morning and night we must go to pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning, the highest deity revered in Daoism. How could we bear to leave the Great Master Pine, that venerable old tree where one might linger?

Fragrant Blossom in Time’s Sweetness

A rhapsody addressed to bamboo.

Bamboo is hollow-hearted and steadfast, its bearing graceful, growing beside the balustrade in both winter and summer. As dusk deepens and frost wind and snow envelop the surroundings, they cannot break its dense branches or slender stalks. Feelings surge within, and worldly troubles are hard to escape; why not listen to the music of the strings and sense its shifts between urgency and ease? Do not begrudge its green leaves. Open your heart and admire them; as you gaze at one another, it seems you have long been accustomed to each other’s company.

Pure Peace and Joy

When precelestial and postcelestial Qi (vital energy) unite, the true Earth, the foundation of balance and harmony in internal alchemy, conceals its numinous essence. Its subtle workings follow nature, proceeding step by step according to the firing times, the timing and degree of the refining process, as dark smoke rises in successive wisps. Whether dragon’s-brain incense, musk, sandalwood, or aloeswood, each enters the nose and reaches the spirit. When the smoke has finally dispersed, the true form appears throughout the body.

True Soil, which existed before Heaven and Earth, holds within it an energy of numinous grace. Its wondrous workings follow the natural course of the firing process, gently warming and refining it layer by layer until the inner Qi gradually flows freely. Whether one uses borneol, musk, sandalwood, or aloeswood, each can enter the body and mind with the breath through the nose. When the fragrant smoke slowly fades and falls still, the whole body seems to have transformed into true gold. Here, the burning of incense is compared with cultivation and refinement to portray the changes that come as practice matures.

Su Muzhe

Set to Mr. Wu’s rhyme scheme, in response to Yuan Gui’s poem.

The inborn nature of the pre-Heaven has already taken shape, while the post-Heaven body and mind have endured for a long time. The Great Dao has its own true secret teachings; listen closely to the instruction I once received. I seem to have lost the Way of Heaven and lost my direction as well. I fear only for this tiny body of mine: blessed with little fortune and a short life, it will at last wither and decay.

Xijiang Yue

Another poem in response.

The humble cottage door stands open, quiet and still all around. Clear light slips in beside the cold window; wind softly enters through the bamboo grove and stirs the five-scented curtains, bringing lovely sounds with it. Trust that even the subtlest things can enter body and mind. Like a bright pearl hidden within its shell, one forgets all calculating thoughts. Night brings revels and drinking, with endless disputes and turmoil; yet the immortals in the Moon Palace bear none of the burdens of mortal souls.

Nanxiangzi, Two Poems

In response to Yuan Gui.

What can be done for this deluded crowd, bound by flavors, colors, and sounds? Let them change their outward appearance as they will—what is there to grieve? So long as these things leave no stain, there is no need to heed them. Night brings revels and drinking, with endless disputes and turmoil; yet the immortals in the Moon Palace bear none of the burdens of mortal souls.

Nanxiangzi, Two Poems

In response to Yuan Gui.

What can be done for this deluded crowd, bound by flavors, colors, and sounds? Let them change their outward appearance as they will—what is there to grieve? So long as these things leave no stain, there is no need to heed them.

Spring passes and autumn returns; do not let the twelve double-hours slip away in vain. Grasp well the natural, wondrous principle and devote your heart to practice. The affairs of the dusty world are tiring, yet the Great Dao, when spoken of, is plain and easy.

Another poem.

For a long time I have not climbed the Spring Terrace; only now am I ready to let my form cross the Nine Heavens, that farthest reach. I am too idle to ask others—the meaning within is profound. The world’s turmoil is like dust, and no ill wind can reach the sacred embryo nurtured through cultivation. The waterside balustrade reflects the mountain retreat. I leisurely take in the view, then turn to leave. Deep thanks to an old friend for a letter, tactful and full of feeling. Its sentiment is so subtle and far-reaching. Where might I find a qin, so I could come with sleeves swept back?

Wang Jiangnan

Written while watching a game of Go.

On an autumn day, the Go board is quiet, black and white stones set on opposite sides, evenly matched in number. Mountains and waters are best enjoyed with a companion; the qin and books draw one closer to the Great Dao. When a game ends, a fresh meaning emerges. Beneath the pine shadows, who knows how many springs have passed? I, too, have played Go on a whim, but when competing to move first, I fear spending too much spirit; I often quietly give my opponent a few moves.

Twelve Poems on the Beauty of Xiyuan

Then I follow Yuangui’s rhyme scheme. Each game of chess and each scene has something new to offer. Beneath the sheltering pine shadows, who knows how many springs have passed? I have followed my own inclinations and tried a few stratagems; yet if I am always trying to get ahead, I fear I will exhaust my spirit. Often, in secret, I let others gain some advantage.

Twelve Songs on the Delights of Xiyuan

Poems Following Yuangui’s Rhyme Scheme, with Preface

I have always loved Xiyuan. Its sheer cliffs rise in layers, facing one another, untouched by anything vulgar. The pines stand open and spacious, the bamboo groves grow thick, and paths lead in every direction. Green rocks, bamboo, and trees shine together. This seems a place of lofty mountains shaped by Heaven, where the numinous power of the land has gathered. I often say to people, “We are in the abode of perfected beings, and yet we do not know it.” From the summit of Playing with Pearls Peak, one can see the mountains crouching like tigers and leaping like dragons; in the distance, cliffs and peaks all stand beneath the summit. I built living quarters and a quiet chamber for spiritual cultivation, and gave the place a name. Flowers grow in the water, vegetables in the garden; the mountains are clear and bright, the bamboo fresh, and everyday life especially tranquil. At last, I have found a home to my liking. I once thought of returning, and after reading twelve lyrics whose tones seemed to harmonize with one another, I wrote in response, following their rhymes.

Xiyuan is truly delightful: halls like those of immortals stand upon immortal peaks. A crane, graceful and keen of spirit, lends my dwelling an air of seclusion; mountain ranges like coiling dragons rise and fall in wind and rain, stirring the cold, clear sky. The place is lofty and secluded, yet open and carefree. Heaven and Earth have their own delights; mountains and waters flow quietly into one another. Whether walking, sitting, or lying down, I love this landscape beyond the dust of the world. Empty and still, it has the character of the Daoist way. This kind of delight cannot be matched by delicate music.

Xiyuan is truly delightful: peaks like dragon heads and tiger brows soar high. Whenever wind and rain come, I rejoice to see them wash the world clean; forests and mountains often surge like waves. Those who chant poems and compose verses, too, are full of bold spirit. From this comes immense delight and a fine reputation, accompanied by delicate music.

Xiyuan is truly delightful: peaks like dragon heads and tiger brows soar high. Whenever wind and rain come, I rejoice to see them wash the world clean; forests and mountains often surge like waves. Those who chant poems and compose verses, too, are full of bold spirit. From this comes immense delight, and a fine reputation finds its way here as well. We perform a jiaodou purification rite, passing feathered petitions across an elegant banquet. We establish a joyful assembly for the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning and hold a golden blade in hand. Now I dwell here, far from all turmoil.

Xiyuan is truly delightful: the lodge beside the crags is carved into the mountainside, with pines seeming to press down upon its roof. Before Five-Bushel Cave, I pour a drink like liquid jade; a little tipsy, I raise a golden cup by the window. With no burdens on my mind, I am naturally at ease. Amid the verdant landscape, newly planted jade bamboo looks especially fresh. When the wind comes, let the old trees stand undisturbed; after the rain, it washes the dark moss clean. Such scenery truly stirs the poetic impulse.

Xiyuan is truly delightful as spring days grow longer. I pay no heed here to the earthly scenes of the third month, and often think of the celestial realm where a hundred flowers bloom. The pleasure of quietly admiring the scenery briefly lifts the spirits. We sing and laugh, reciting grand compositions on the empty realm spoken of in Daoist teaching. Many endeavors flourish in a lively contest, and the valley’s scenery is lovely. After the Three Clouds depart, moonlight fills the woods. Aloeswood and musk are fragrant like orchids.

Xiyuan is truly a fine place, where a refreshing breeze greets the summer. Beside Red Brocade Rock, a clear spring flows; from Old Zhang Crag, the peaks are so captivating that one lingers and forgets to leave. At times, one can even glimpse a wonder like a dragon-transforming pole.

The zither sounds clear and bright, like jade striking jade. At dawn, one leans on the railing beside the parasol tree and gazes out. Literary talent shines in the court, while the mountains, streams, woods, and wilderness pavilions seem desolate. Red flames gleam brightly before one’s eyes.

Xiyuan is truly lovely; its autumn scenery delights the Daoist. When the season arrives, the air naturally turns cool. Deep into the night, the full moon still brings joy. Climb to the blue-green mountain summit and give a long, ringing shout. Know that fine wine, poetry, and song are the hardest things to part with.

After the people here cut wood and made charcoal, the pavilion stood empty. This is just the time to taste the new rice and celebrate the harvest, while children dance the “Fetal Immortal” dance, a pose of immortals found in Daoist dance or cultivation imagery.

Xiyuan is truly lovely, its pines covered in white snow in winter. Hand in hand, climb the stone altar and admire the scene before you. Gaze quietly at heaven and earth, as though entering a secluded immortal realm. This place is much like Great Mao Peak, a famous Daoist mountain. Robes and sleeves drift softly, while the zither carries deep feeling.

Playing before the Moon Cave, the melody seems to hold green jade within it. Refined delight flows with the music, like the sounding of the Yellow Bell, the standard pitch in ancient Chinese music. Feelings well up in the heart as well.

Xiyuan is truly lovely, with secluded paths winding deep into the hills. The valleys lie one after another, their scenery unchanged; the pond is open and still, its surface without a blemish. Someone fishes by the water. A little immortal boat waits there, as people hope for your arrival.

The returning boat glides through the sunlight, the water bright as a mirror. At night, set out by boat as if riding the immortal raft said to travel to and from the River of Heaven, until the stars sink from sight. Wind and rain stir the cold sandbar.

Xiyuan is truly lovely. Its mysterious cave seems to possess a spirit of its own, drawing visitors to seek it out. People have reclaimed fields along the water, where the stream rushes swiftly; they have cut a path through the mountain, and flowers drift along the current. Traces left by visitors of old remain here.

Forget all the things of the world, and a sense of refreshment comes over you; even the white clouds gradually disperse. Siming, the deity who oversees the registers of human lifespan and fortune, once came here on a brief visit and rested in a quiet chamber. Ziyang, a Daoist figure, truly walked this secluded path. I hope to carry on this predecessor’s aspirations and continue to wander here.

Xiyuan is truly lovely, a place as clear as a Crystal Palace. For ages, people have praised this clear spring with the name “Jade Ford.” It seems to flow from Dragon Well straight to Heavenly Peak, leaving a charm that truly moves the heart. The water is clear to the bottom; can its renown really be due only to the flourishing Tang dynasty?

The spring waters soak the clean paving stones before the rocks, and even the dense clouds over the distant ridges cannot conceal them. Their clear, bright beauty is reflected in the heart.

West Source is beautiful. After the rain stopped and the sky cleared, the crystal-palace-like surface of the water held a sweep of rosy clouds. For a long time, people have hoped that Yujin would become as renowned as Zhuoding, just as Longjing leads toward Tianfeng. This place truly preserves a beautiful legacy. The water is clear to the bottom—is its flourishing really confined to the Tang dynasty? Before the cliffs, the water washes over a clean stone weight; in the distance, clouds and mist gather thickly over the mountain ridges, yet seem not to veil the sky. This clear, luminous scene is reflected in the heart as well.

West Source is beautiful. After the rain, the rosy clouds gradually fade. The emerald water ripples quietly, as if waiting to welcome an old fisherman; the green cliffs carry a chill, and the fishing folk rise because of it. People travel by carriage and enjoy spring tea together. The wind sweeps broadly, and Stone Screen Mountain looks lovely against the brocade-like shade of the trees. Striking the green bamboo above Zhuoding, I lead a perch westward; the splashing waves seem to shatter cinnabar. Do not ask again where the ford of happiness lies.

West Source is beautiful. I have come once more to the west side of the Daoist temple courtyard. Late chrysanthemums bloom beyond the abbot’s quarters, while snowflakes drift beside the cold plum blossoms. Three immortal cranes happen to gather together. Clarity between Heaven and Earth is precious; emptiness, stillness, and single-mindedness are best. Dwell in Wuwei (non-action). Even leaving by moonlight at night is still a parting; on the plain, there is incense offered by imperial decree, so there is no need to lose one’s way. Here, I straighten my clothes and return.

More Leaks

Reply in the Rhyme of Perfected Yu

I recite the true scripture, hoping to complete ten thousand readings, yet the fire of ignorance in my heart has not gone out. I should turn back and examine myself, seeking the true emptiness, and settle at ease in calm and quiet. Where are the people of ancient times now? I only remember in vain the names they traded on for profit. Cast off worldly entanglements and cultivate a life of ease and freedom; the jade nectar, the immortals’ dew of Daoism, will naturally keep the face youthful.

Su Muzhe

With a lone qin in my arms, I play a little tune. I sit alone in a secluded studio, with no visitors all day. I cherish only the mist and rosy clouds of the mountains and forests, giving voice to a long call in carefree freedom. The bright moon and clear breeze have been my companions since ancient times. I understand the principles that govern Heaven and Earth, and know the changes of Yin-Yang and male and female. I am too indolent to follow those who toil in the dusty world, rushing about and struggling endlessly for gain. I love to climb high and gaze into the distance, letting the daylight pass, while others follow the turning of sun and moon, hurrying through their days.

Magnolia with Reduced Characters

Presented to Wang Jiepu, Assessor

In the bitter cold of winter, Yang energy had only just begun to stir a few days ago, and several more snows have fallen from the sky. The pines rise straight toward the clouds, standing solemnly in the pavilion, inspiring wonder that they endure the bitter cold without withering. People of the past hesitated and wavered, then went into the mountains to live in seclusion. The circumstances are the same in every age; better to enjoy the pleasures of the moment, for a while, with music and song for company.

Fragrant Courtyard

Ascending again.

Regulate the Three Passes—the upper, middle, and lower gates of the body in cultivation—so that the limbs are at ease and in harmony, and the mind is calm, undisturbed by grief or worry. In the unseen realm, unite with Taiwei, the celestial palace among the stars, and the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun) will send word to the immortals. Revise anew the precious, wondrous canon written in jade characters, and inscribe compositions at places such as the Western Terrace and Mount Heng in the south. Above all, honor the methods of cultivating the Dao: though the body lives in the human world, the heart yearns for the Great Clarity Heaven, the pure and tranquil immortal realm of Daoism.

A sage once descended among the clouds. At night, he bowed in worship at a Golden Altar, a site for Daoist ritual, while immortals rode in tall carriages and lingered there. They spoke of jade blossoms and numinous elixir, precious medicine or sweet dew of the immortals, through which both body and spirit might be preserved. The body must be nourished by wondrous Qi, while the spirits return to dwell in the Yellow Gate and the Dantian, where the inner gods and Qi reside in Daoist internal cultivation. Grasp the subtle, true teachings, and radiant light will protect you; Heaven and Earth, too, will preserve your long life.

“Moon over the Southern River”

Sent to Mingquan

On an autumn night, moonlight blankets the towering bamboo pavilion. The clear, quiet sounds of wind and water mingle—who else is there to hear them? A breeze bears me down from beneath the eaves. How could the moon’s waxing and waning fail to stir the heart? Friends of the Dao on Zhongnan Mountain, again and again I send you songs and laughter. In the cold night at the Vermilion Palace, horses pass through and ride away; at daybreak, the Yellow River reflects boats moored across its waters. We once rode side by side, and now we are to part again.

“River God’s Son”

Colored clouds shine over the towers, and a fortunate union rests in harmony and fulfillment. The rain has just stopped; the moonlight is bright. In the deep, still night, the wind from Heaven carries the sound of “Pacing the Void,” the chant sung in Daoist purification rituals. Why do those who have gone to pay homage to the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning return so late? I see only the twin phoenixes growing smaller as the five-colored auspicious clouds drift gently away. Falling blossoms and flowing water stir thoughts between two distant places. It is a pity that no message can be trusted, and even in dreams we cannot meet. I lean against one railing after another, yet before me the wind over Chu remains cold and desolate. Dew drips from the pine boughs; all around is silent. I open a precious Daoist talismanic text and recite the Scripture of the Yellow Court.

“Immortal at the Magpie Bridge”

Sent to Mingquan

The spirit is clear, the mind’s realm mysterious, and the mountains and waters lie far away. If fate allows, in what year might we meet? The clear sky is limpid and still. Suddenly, a colored cloud flies past, stirring endless reverie. If I could change the path of cultivation and receive the blessings and sweet dew of Jiuhua, I would ask only for someone to show me the way clearly. Wind sounds often rise among the bamboo groves. The Purple Tenuity Palace, abode of the Celestial Emperor and a name for Heaven, seems willing to let me return home.

“Water-Tune Song”

The Perfected One underwent corpse liberation in Sizhou, leaving the body behind as his spirit departed. Later, he appeared in transformed form at Qingcheng and composed this lyric, entrusting it to the Perfected One Sa Shoujian.

A sublime perfected person left behind subtle oral instructions, and those who understood the Way used them to rescue the bewildered. As long as one’s mind is clear and one’s conduct pure, all will turn toward this Way—those in heaven and on earth, ordinary people and sages alike. Cultivation does not lie in circulating essence and Qi, regulating the breath and directing Qi, or in arts such as ascending to heaven and treading the astral patterns. When the mind and spirit are scattered, such practices only deepen one’s doubts. The key is to cast off false thoughts and delusions, bringing the inner mind into accord with the divine. Realize the principle of True Emptiness, free yourself from worldly bonds, and abandon clever schemes and calculations. By nurturing an upright and abundant, noble Qi, one can command thunder and lightning and reveal power that shakes heaven and earth. Gather the power of the myriad spirits into one, and with a single thought unite heaven and earth: only then has one truly reached the realm of Wuwei (non-action). At a word of command, one can summon wind and rain, assist the world, and help bring about an era of clear governance.

“Six Songs for Crossing the Clear Heavens”

Realize the principle of True Emptiness, free yourself from worldly bonds, and abandon clever schemes and calculations. Nurture an upright, noble Qi, and you can command thunder and lightning, shaking the might of heaven. Gather the power of the myriad spirits into one, and with a single thought unite heaven and earth: only then have you reached the realm of Wuwei. At a word of command, you can summon wind and rain, assist the world, and help bring about an era of clear governance.

As the first watch begins, the city gates are half shut and the travelers have all gone home. In my quiet, untroubled thatched hut, with nothing on my mind, I sit alone before a single lamp, its light clear and luminous. Seated securely on a rush cushion, I relax my body, fold my legs, and sit upright, my mind as calm as ever. The moon rises faintly above the horizon, and an unnamed bright pearl appears in the sky.

At the second watch, the night has grown deep; the palace bells have fallen silent, and all around is still. The bright moon fills the sky, as though spreading a field of golden light. Moonlight mingles with the reflected glow of all things; the night is clear, with no shadow of darkness. I rise and casually play the stringless zither—a figure for a mind and spirit at ease, beyond ordinary tones and rhythms. Its music is lofty and ancient, stirring the heart. When I have finished, I sing and chant alone. The wind among the pines and the water in the mountain streams seem like kindred spirits.

At the third watch, the mist disperses and the clouds draw together; all around is still, without a breath of wind. Moonlight enters the mind.

At the third watch, the mist disperses; all around is still, without a breath of wind. Moonlight shines into a palace clear as crystal, and heaven and earth merge into a single emptiness. Its radiance spreads everywhere, as if entering the realm of Huaxu, that legendary vision of peace and beauty, without beginning or end from ancient times to the present. An iron serpent dances through the air, winding like a rainbow; I ride backward on a white phoenix and roam Mount Kongtong, the legendary abode of immortals.

At the fourth watch, the night stretches on. The ox sees off the rat, yet my heart remains untroubled. Here the ox and rat mark the change from one watch to the next. In the alchemical furnace, the fire’s intensity is brought under control, giving rise to a new fragrance. Yin energy fades away completely, and True Yang rises again. The Golden Lady and the Wood Father meet in joyful accord, as if host and guest had gathered to raise their cups. The wine cup passes from hand to hand without pause. Host and guest exchange places, yet neither feels constrained. When they part in the deep of night, they both forget the encounter.

At the fifth watch, as the night nears its end, the wind blows hard and the dew is cold beneath a blue-black sky. The sun rises from Fusang like a round disk of reddish silver. The city gate is still clamorous, with dust and noise everywhere. Day and night contend in turn, while all living beings revolve endlessly between life and death. The Daoist lives alone in his room, yet feels the world vast and open. Only when the sun has risen high does he open the gate.

Walking alone, he still hears the clamor of the city gate and the noise of dust. Light and darkness alternate, while all living beings revolve amid life and death. The Daoist lives alone in his room, yet his mind is as vast as Heaven and Earth. Only when the sun has risen high does he open the gate.

Walking alone, sitting quietly alone; singing alone, and answering my own song. Every day I pass once through the streets. I do not know myself—who, then, could know me? The mornings and evenings of human life change with the seasons, but the subtle workings of the mysterious Dao never shift. Can we discern the principle by observing what appears in people’s faces? When understanding comes, we sing together: “Luo-luo-li.”

“Qinyuanchun”

Lyrics set to the rhyme of Master Wu, presented to Yuangui.

There is already a level path, fit for reaching the Mysterious Pass—the gateway to the subtle realm—as everyone says. May every demonic obstruction disperse and every worldly stain be swept away. May the heart, like the sound of a zither, be gentle and harmonious, and the natural disposition clear and complete. I cannot believe that ordinary people cannot turn their minds and bodies around and take up the lofty path of cultivation; they only delay again and again, attached to sensual pleasures and desire. How can the true workings be awakened? For now, I will express them in words.

Though everything may be tied to fate and karmic conditions, how could one who understands the world have no feelings about it? Focused stillness is most wondrous. The more days one spends at ease, the less joy one finds; but once one reaches a free and untroubled state, all grief and vexation can be ended forever. One’s shadow is reflected in a clear pool, one’s voice echoes through an empty valley. The karmic fires of affliction and suffering die away, and everywhere is pure and peaceful as an auspicious lotus. May peace and well-being prevail throughout the land, firm as the earth and enduring as Heaven.

“Eulogy”

An eulogy for the corpse liberation of Sizhou, composed in the winter of the Bingwu year of Jingkang.

A bronze mirror, several ridges of emerald-green jade. In a trance, a boat sets sail at night; the body shifts and enters a grotto-heaven, a Daoist immortal realm. In the jeweled hall, clouds of incense gather; in this unpeopled place, all things rest in ease. The red sun sinks beneath the western mountain, as mist and rain fall in a steady drift.

Collected Sayings of the Perfected Lord Xujing, the Thirtieth Celestial Master, Volume Seven

Compiled by his descendant, the Forty-Third Celestial Master Yuchu.

Five-Character Quatrains

“The Parrot”

The parrot is called the fifth among the numinous birds. A tall crest crowns its head, and its feathers shine like a phoenix’s. It opens its beak and cries out, as though to wake those sunk in sleep.

“Inscribed at Alchemy-Refining Cliff”

A white crane flies in, and a visitor appears among the pines. The green moss wears away, and the stone seems to have lost its clothes. The floating world goes on, yet human affairs change; few old friends with white hair remain.

“A Playful Verse”

I am in the prime of life, yet fallen into hardship and disappointment; everyone laughs and calls me mad. Once the times turn in my favor, the world before me will open wide as the vast sea.

“Bamboo”

After the rain, the riverside is fresh and bright. Wind passing through the courtyard rails clears the mind. If an old friend feels so inclined, let us listen together to autumn’s sounds after nightfall.

“Writing on the Fan of the Forest’s Steward”

Nine luan birds accompany jade beasts; eight phoenixes present golden lingzhi. Lovely music rises, as the Mysterious Maiden sings her refined verses.

“The Great One of Dongyang at Mount Qingcheng”

I went to Mount Qingcheng to seek the immortal master in his cave. His name has long been entered on the Cinnabar Terrace, the register of the immortals. He recites the Yellow Court Scripture day after day, and so auspicious clouds descend.

“Jotted Down by Chance in the Wild Pavilion”

The sun and moon are like two fireflies; Heaven and Earth, like a magpie’s nest. A poor, austere man lives in this little pavilion in the wild. Who would dare knock at his door without cause?

Six-Character Quatrains

“Inscribed on the Pavilion of Contentment at Chongxian Abbey”

Human nature is originally empty, like a slender stream, yet it has its own perfect clarity. Tell me, Master: where does contentment lie? In the pavilion, beneath the bright moon and gentle breeze, there it is.

“Jotted Down by Chance in the Quiet Chamber”

In poverty, I keep company with the clear breeze and bright moon; in wealth, I do not covet beauty or cosmetics. At midnight and noon, the phoenix faces the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning; wherever it goes, thunder and lightning follow.

Seven-Character Quatrains

“The Bell”

Cast from metal, the bell hangs high like the stars of the Dipper. Who knows how many years it has hung in a jade palace among the immortals? Its finest moment comes at the fifth watch, when a dream still lingers: the bell rings, seeming to pierce the white clouds and reach the heavens.

“Ode to a Window”

Without contrived courtesy, one instead obscures the bright moon; if one deliberately sets out to do something, especially…