《岘泉集》

Xianquan Ji (Collection from the Xian Spring) is a Daoist work in twelve fascicles by Zhang Yuchu of the Ming dynasty. The base text comes from the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) section of the Zhengtong Daozang (Orthodox Daoist Canon). It includes prefaces, records, discourses, biographies, letters, inscriptions, admonitions, eulogies, qingci (prayer texts submitted to deities during Daoist zhaijiao purification rituals), ritual intentions (zhaiyi), general sermons (pushuo), memorials (shu—documents stating the reasons for ritual petitions), fu-style rhapsodies, musical pieces (cao), and various forms of poetry. Qingci are prayers offered to the gods in zhaijiao ceremonies; shu are memorials used to petition the deities and explain the purpose of the rite.

Fascicle 1 contains prefaces; fascicle 2, prefaces; fascicle 3, records; fascicle 4, discourses, biographies, and letters; fascicle 5, inscriptions, admonitions, and eulogies; fascicle 6, qingci and ritual intentions; fascicle 7, general sermons and memorials; fascicle 8, fu and cao; fascicle 9, five-character ancient-style verse; fascicle 10, five-character regulated verse and extended regulated verse; fascicle 11, seven-character regulated verse; fascicle 12, seven-character long songs, seven-character quatrains, and ci lyrics.

The heading at the opening, “Preface to the Xianquan Ji of the Wuwei Celestial Master of Mount Xian,” is the title of the preface to Xianquan Ji.

Between heaven and earth, what is most subtle and profound is the Dao—the fundamental pattern by which all things operate; what is most clear and manifest is wen—the forms and textures through which the Dao appears. Without wen, the Dao cannot be made known; without the Dao, wen has nothing to stand on. Analyzed separately, Dao and wen seem like two things; traced to the root, they are in fact one.

Heaven and earth cover and sustain all things; yin and yang transform each other; cold and heat alternate; sun and moon run their courses; mountains and rivers flow or stand firm; plants flourish or wither in their seasons—none of this fails to embody the Dao, and none of it is not wen. How could Dao and wen be torn apart, or forcibly patched together by human effort?

Therefore, when the sages appeared, they recorded the forms that nature displayed, following the principles of how nature itself operates, and never imposed their own private intentions. Thus they compiled the Changes (Yi) from the patterns of transformation, the Documents (Shu) from the norms of explicating written characters, the Odes (Shi) from the record of political and cultural change, the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu) from principles of praise and blame, the Rites (Li) from the actualities of ritual and propriety, and the Music (Yue) from the work of harmony and unobstructed flow. These six classics can connect heaven and earth and carry past and present without alteration because they spring from nature. Later writers who talk about literature—if they leave these principles behind, where else can they go?

After the Zhou declined, the royal way (the political order of governing all under heaven through virtue) weakened and the hundred schools rose. They competed to theorize from private intent, showing off rhetoric and arguing to win; among them, those who truly did not violate the great Dao were fewer than one or two in a hundred. In that age there was Laozi, who took quiet clarity and wuwei (non-action) as the Dao and wrote a work of more than five thousand words.

In later ages, some have governed by this kind of thought and achieved results; such people may be said to have come close to the Dao.

The Realized Master who Succeeds the Teaching, Master Zhang, upholds governance through Wuwei (non-action). His family has honored the teachings of Laozi for generations; by Master Zhang’s time, they had reached the forty-third generation. He was gifted by nature, with outstanding insight. He read widely in Daoist scriptures, immortal elixirs, and works on the Golden Register and secret formulas, integrating them thoroughly; he studied the Six Classics, the masters, histories, and writings of the hundred schools even more deeply. In poetry, prose, and calligraphy as well, he excelled.

Thus, while serving at court, he was honored for his learning, repeatedly received special commendation, and was summoned for imperial audience; the court relied on him more year by year. Princes, nobles, and high officials all respected him. Literature and scholarship in Jiangyou (the region of present-day Jiangxi) largely followed the line of Duke Wu of Wu and Duke Jing of Yu; Master Zhang’s attainment could carry that tradition forward and surpass it. How could such achievement have come by chance?

Master Zhang brought out several fascicles of poetry and prose and asked me to write a preface. His poetry is deep and remote; his prose rich and refined—reading it inspires admiration. Compared with those who cling only to commentaries and glosses and rest content with one small skill, how great is the difference? Moreover, Master Zhang bore the weight of leading the lineage, devoted himself to teaching the world and guiding people toward good, and kept in mind assisting the state and sustaining the dynasty’s fortune. His success in poetry and prose was merely the overflow of these greater undertakings.

I have observed that Master Zhang’s virtue and work take Wuwei as their root, so that he could roam in mind in the Great Beginning (the primordial state before heaven and earth were divided) and unite with the Dao. At the same time he immersed himself in the classics of the Six Arts and gathered widely from the hundred schools. What he wrote thus joined principle and meaning naturally; he did not strive for artifice, yet achieved refinement of itself. His writings serve the way of Laozi and Zhuangzi—how can they be lumped with boastful, bizarre, empty talk?

Master Zhang and my family, the Wangs, have been friends for generations; we often discussed this at length, clapping our hands in delight until we had our fill. Hence this preface to his poetry and prose. “Xianquan” is the name of his hermitage. Wang Shen of Jinhua, Doctor of the Imperial Academy, wrote the preface.

The Xianquan Collection is the work of the True Person Zhang (Zhang Yuchu), forty-third Celestial Master (Tianshi) in the line of succession from Han. The True Person’s learning ran deep, his character was lofty, and his native gifts were outstanding; he mastered and harmonized the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, and there was scarcely a voice among the hundred schools of thought that he did not know. For that reason, what he wrote—essays and discourse alike—carried a bold, distinctive force; reading them, one cannot help but applaud.

I have long admired his prose. At times it is like clouds drifting across the sky—bright, splendid, and unpredictable—then in an instant it takes on a thousand shapes, rich in literary color. At other times it is like autumn water—still and deep, as if indigo were gathered beneath the surface; a light breeze stirs ripples, yet ten thousand acres of water remain clear and green. His fu and poetry each have their own grace—refined yet splendid, fresh and natural—and combine many strengths; one might call them complete in beauty and goodness.

I have heard that at Mount Longhu spiritual energy gathers and outstanding talents appear; generation after generation true immortals have emerged there, and moral teaching has been handed down in an unbroken stream from a distant source. If one asks who in our time both fills the heart with the Way and shines outward in literary brilliance, and stands at the head of a generation through writing—I see such a person only in the True Person.

Our dynasty’s founding emperor, the August Sovereign, unified the realm, brought peace to the land, and allowed the full splendor of mountains and rivers to show; for more than thirty years the nation has flourished and culture and education have thrived. Since the present emperor took the throne, national strength and the times have grown even more prosperous. Even in remote regions, people present their talents and seek out literary excellence, hoping to make their names in the age. How much more is this a place where documents and traditions converge, and where descendants of the divine dwell—long nourished by virtue and steeped in poetry and the classics…

In a state of utmost emptiness, vast and boundless, the ten thousand things fill it; the ten thousand things dwell within emptiness, and emptiness stretches without limit, while a single qi runs through it all. Without emptiness, the ten thousand things could not change and move; without space to hold them, the subtle workings of creation could not appear. Gathering and scattering, being and perishing of the ten thousand things all happen within it. Without what is solid, qi’s condensing and expanding, closing and opening would have nothing to rest on, and emptiness could not show its rising and falling, waxing and waning.

Heaven and earth are vast; their root is the supreme void (the boundless emptiness). The ten thousand things grow and change between heaven and earth through yin and yang alternating and stillness and activity succeeding each other. The turn of cold and heat, the alternation of day and night, are signs that the celestial body never ceases to move: sun, moon, and stars appear; thunder shakes; wind, rain, frost, and dew nourish the ten thousand things. The earth also keeps turning: mountains stand, rivers and seas flow, grass, trees, birds, and beasts flourish. Whether lofty or as small as gnats and mosquitoes, all dwell within utmost emptiness. Those deep, subtle workings of creation that cannot be fathomed are what we call “Dao” and “principle.” Without the vastness of Dao and the fineness of principle, how could they govern such wondrous change? Thus heaven and earth can run, the ten thousand things can grow, and human beings thereby take part in heaven and earth’s work of nurturing and transforming.

Therefore those who understand Dao do not only observe outer things; they must also turn to their own heart-mind. The heart-mind governs human nature and emotion; principle is complete in the heart, and qi fills the physical form—all of this is the flow of Heaven’s mandate given to the ten thousand things. What is called “void spirit,” “Taiji (Supreme Ultimate),” “center,” and “the One” all refer to the heart’s original condition—that is, the heart is Taiji. Every single thing possesses this nature.

The forms and colors of the myriad things interweave in endless variety, and their sounds differ one from another; all of this is difference arising where the formless and the formed blend and merge. The growth and change of things are no more than the dregs and embers left when qi—the primordial force that constitutes all things—has settled. Humans and the ten thousand things alike abide in empty space. Yet though the human heart is only a square inch, it can embrace the vast cosmos; though things are beyond counting, a person can stand with heaven and earth without going against them. This is because when the heart is empty and still, everything can appear within it. How could joy, anger, sorrow, and delight, or gain, loss, honor, and shame, clog that inner emptiness and stillness and block the spirit’s free passage?

When the heart can be empty and still, its action is not obstructed. Laozi says, “The Dao is empty; use it and it is never full—deep, it seems the ancestor of the myriad things.” Here “chong” means emptiness (xu). Zhuangzi says, “Only the Dao gathers in emptiness.” Liezi says, “Only in emptiness can one dwell at ease; only emptiness can hold the myriad things.” When the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness, spirit (Shen) settles; when spirit settles, qi transforms; when qi transforms, one can become one with the Grand Void—formless, boundless emptiness—and flow with heaven and earth. The dual qi of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) run without cease through the Six Directions—above, below, and the four quarters—and the various forces interact and work together.

If one can keep the heart empty and still, thoughts clear and bright, and hold fast with single-minded devotion—inwardly empty without overflowing, outwardly open without blockage, deep as an abyss, clear as a bright mirror—then one’s original nature aligns with heaven’s De (Virtue/Power), and would one not become the root of the myriad things?

Therefore, in cultivating body and mind, strip away ornament, forget the split between self and things, sweep away dust and grime, and strive to “attain emptiness and guard stillness” (zhixu shoujing)—return to true nature, return to the root, firm the foundation, wash the inner gaze, embrace unity and hold the mean. Then the Valley Spirit—the mysteriously nourishing power of emptiness—endures; stray thoughts lessen, desires grow thin, emptiness reaches its utmost, and at last one returns to Wuji, the undifferentiated origin. When the mind is empty, bright, and unobstructed, outer things cannot use us; we can use them instead.

To bring this power fully into play, forget the bonds of the body and put aside reliance on the cleverness of ear and eye; take the root as essential and concrete things as coarse, probing the source as foundation and simple holding as standard. Then one can discern the state before heaven and earth appeared, when qi and form first began to take shape—what is called Taichu, Taishi, and Taissu, the primordial realm before chaos was divided.

When one reaches the stage of analyzing things and clarifying their root nature, one should set aside clever contrivance and treat the fundamental as essential, the concrete as comparatively coarse, inquiry into origin as the main thread, and simplicity as the governing principle—yet even then one may still fail to see the principle clearly.

Before heaven and earth had taken shape, in the phase when qi, form, and substance were first emerging, this was called the Grand Inception, the Grand Beginning, and the Grand Simplicity—the undivided chaos, like Mount Kunlun in its undifferentiated wholeness. Later, clear qi and turbid qi separated; refined qi appeared and spread abroad, measuring the ten thousand things and carrying out transformation and generation. Refined qi became the sun, moon, and stars; radiance qi manifested as the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The Five Phases in motion gave rise to emotion; from emotion arose the essences within; from those essences arose spirit-intelligence; from spirit-intelligence arose De (Virtue/Power); from De arose culture and writing.

If yang qi does not stir, it cannot carry out teaching and transformation; if yin qi is not still, it cannot complete change. Applying these principles to govern the state and care for the people, resting oneself upon all under heaven, all under heaven can be quiet and upright. These principles take qingjing wuwei (pure stillness and non-action) as their aim and humility, simplicity, and not contending with others as their root—roughly what is meant by the way of the “inner sage and outer king.”

What fills the space between formlessness and the limitless— is it all the working of the Way of heaven? Within it are changes of mutual stirring and arising, mutual overturning and manifestation, mutual dependence and mutual concealment—changes that cannot be reduced to one formula or measured by one standard. This is the reason the spirit is unfathomable and the way of change has no fixed form. The pivot of heaven and earth’s motion and the patterns of things’ transformation may be known in advance or kept secret. When the heart-mind is empty and still, it can connect with clarity and insight; wondrous operation is contained within, and wisdom shines forth. Even when the ten thousand things transform in endless ways, all of it proceeds from here.

If one serves the Way of heaven with sincere heart, nourishes life with a peaceful heart, and benefits the ten thousand things with a compassionate heart, one can resonate with heaven’s movement without obstruction between. This is not something extraordinarily deep or hard to practice, nor sensational strange doctrine—why call it deceit, absurdity, or the supernatural? It is simply harmonizing the breath of central harmony and following the natural nature of the ten thousand things.

In former times, examples of applying these principles with visible effect include Guang Chengzi teaching the Yellow Emperor, Cao Shen honoring Master Gai, the Yellow Stone Elder instructing the Marquis of Liu (Zhang Liang), and the Han dynasty’s governing all under heaven through the way of quietness. Some may say these borrowed the doctrine to display their own techniques—but it was not occult fraud or supernatural tale; it was only harmonizing central qi and accord with the natural course of the ten thousand things.

Examples from the past in which the way of Huang-Lao was applied with success include Guangchengzi transmitting the Dao to Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor), Cao Shen inviting Gai Gong to serve as his teacher, Huang Shigong instructing the Marquis of Liu (Zhang Liang), and the Han dynasty governing the realm through quietude and Wuwei (non-action). Some hold that these figures merely borrowed such teachings to wield stratagems and pursue private gain, without understanding that this would harm the moral Way; that judgment may itself be somewhat excessive.

Historical writings mention Huang-Lao learning together with the art of “names and punishments” (the legalist emphasis on titles and sanctions), and record recluses each offering their own opinions. Later, Laozi–Zhuangzi thought was blended with the doctrines of Guan Zhong and Yan Ying; the teachings of Shen Buhai, Han Fei, Tian Pian, Shen Dao, Zou Yan, Sun Bin, Shang Yang, Lü Buwei, Chao Cuo, Chunyu Kun, Shizi, and Xuzi also arose in this milieu. Still later, the current turned into the alliance stratagems of Su Qin, Zhang Yi, Gan De, Cai Ze, and others, and the harm became extremely grave. One therefore cannot lay all blame on doctrines of emptiness and still extinction alone. In the Wei–Jin period, Liu Ling, Ruan Ji, Wang Bi, He Yan, and others discoursed loftily and indulged themselves at will, corrupting ethical norms and social order; Han Yu therefore said that the harm of Laozi and Zhuangzi exceeded that of Yang Zhu and Mozi, and even held that dynastic collapse and chaotic ages were caused by Laozi and Zhuangzi. Those who studied these teachings sank into one-sided fixation and unrestrained excess, ultimately inviting ruin and downfall; it is no wonder that people repeatedly attacked and rejected them—the mischief they caused may have been more serious than that of legalist “names and punishments” and alliance rhetoric.

Yet only by probing deeply and grasping the essentials can one see that the way of Laozi and Zhuangzi is vast and rich. Alas, the Dao is originally one, subtle and far-reaching. It is both the root of subtle mystery and penetrating communion, and can also respond with divine efficacy in the finest details—how could these be two separate things? Within depth and obscurity there is inherently essential qi; within indistinctness and ambiguity there is inherently form and image. If a person takes the inner qi of the yellow center as foundation, making the mind empty and still while outwardly open and responsive, with breath flowing freely through the four limbs and in harmony with the hundred spirits, the five qi gather and circulate, thereby aligning with the firm and yielding virtues of Heaven and Earth.

The key to cultivation lies in unifying original nature and nourishing primordial qi, allowing spirit to move back and forth amid the beginning and end of the myriad transformations of things, and guarding pure harmonious qi. Lord Sima said: “The myriad things all take emptiness as their root and are born from qi; qi forms the body, the body receives nature, nature gives things their names, names establish conduct, and conduct then awaits the arrangement of fate. Therefore emptiness is the place where the myriad things are stored.” The “emptiness” he speaks of is precisely this meaning.

The operation of emptiness (xu) begins with the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water): one and six are placed behind, two and seven in front, three and eight on the left, four and nine on the right, and fifty-five runs through as the connecting thread. This is what is meant by taking emptiness as root and operating in mysterious subtlety. Perhaps this is also one form of what is called “guardian numerology” (wei shu).

Only when the inner mind is empty and still can one exhaust the marvelous, know transformation, and grasp the principle of tracing all things from their beginning to their end. As for refining form and soul, treading the void and riding qi, following the constant way of Heaven and Earth, steering the changes of the six qi (yin, yang, wind, rain, obscurity, and clarity), letting the spirit roam the eight directions and endure within the postnatal realm, surveying endless cyclical changes in the world; settling the spirit-mind in plainness, merging breath into silence, and thereby passing beyond the chaos before Heaven and Earth were formed, entering the undivided realm of primordial mist—seeing all ages as if in a single breath, viewing birth and death like the alternation of morning and evening; like a cicada shedding its shell, or like breath blown away. Before Heaven and Earth were born and after they end, all operates within my empty stillness. How can such a person be compared with those who cling to life, fix on the visible, and cannot transform?

If one only steals reputation and hunts praise in the present age, yet is blinded by bias, sunk in indulgence, and busily chasing after things—what difference is there from filth and dregs? Such people are merely empty names and stolen glory.

Alas! When one knows how to reach emptiness, the mind becomes clear; clarity leads to penetration, penetration to spirit-like responsiveness. Reaching that responsiveness, one can be swift without haste and arrive without walking; nothing fails to respond, nowhere is blocked. Otherwise, how can one be said to study Laozi’s Dao well? How can such a person speak of the ultimate emptiness?

The Roots of Caution (Shenben).

To pursue learning one must have a foundation, and that foundation is learning for ordering the world and for transcending the world. Therefore, if one does not apply one’s mind to what ought to be studied, one cannot be called truly ambitious. The way of ordering the world that is truly worth studying is the way of the sages. What is the way of the sages? It is Dao and De, nature and life (xingming), and benevolence and righteousness.

Before the three dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, the transmission of the Way began with Tang Yao and Yu Shun; hence when later ages speak of the lineage of the Way, they invariably take them as the standard. The principle was made clear by the Three Sovereigns, virtue shone forth in the Five Emperors, and institutions and laws were perfected under the Three Kings. Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Wen, and Wu as rulers each fulfilled the duties of a ruler; Gao Yao, Yi Yin, Fu Yue, Zhou Gong, and the Duke of Shao as ministers each fulfilled the duties of ministers; Confucius, Yan Hui, Zengzi, Zisi, and Mencius as teachers each fulfilled the duties of teachers. From age to age the principles people have taken as their model have never changed.

Though the sages are far removed in time, their Way is fully preserved in the Six Classics. The Changes (Yi) clarifies Yin-Yang and unfolds the patterns of change in Heaven and earth; the Odes (Shi) express human nature and feeling and distinguish the orthodox tones of Feng and Ya from their variants; the Documents (Shu) record governance and explain the reasons policies rise and fall; the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu), through praise and blame, reward and punishment, show right and wrong and uphold the discipline of honoring the Son of Heaven and restraining hegemonic lords; the Rites (Li) set out ritual and institutions and explain the norms each rank above and below should observe; the Music (Yue) harmonizes the qi of the human heart so that Heaven and earth attain harmony. The essentials by which the sages transmitted the mind-method and handed on the lineage of the Way are all contained in the Six Classics—nothing is more complete.

The profound and subtle principles in the Six Classics can all be clearly manifested in our own minds. When Yao and Shun transmitted the lineage of the Way, what they stressed was nothing beyond holding to the mean, maintaining reverence, and settling the heart in the right Way—and that was all.

Confucius spoke of ren (benevolence), Zisi spoke of cheng (sincerity), the Great Learning speaks of jing (reverence), Mencius spoke of xin (heart-mind), and the Doctrine of the Mean speaks of zhong (centrality)—in the end these teachings converge. When a person can reach the state in which Heaven and humanity are fused as one, the heart-mind can attain centrality, equilibrium, and peace; one can hold fast to sincerity and bright virtue, investigate the principles of things, and fully bring forth the nature proper to oneself and to the myriad things. In this way one can take part in Heaven and Earth in transforming and nourishing the ten thousand things, comply with and fulfill the patterns by which Heaven and Earth operate, and assist Heaven and Earth so that each thing finds its proper place. Thus wisdom can extend to all things, and the Way can benefit the whole world.

This is the Way of the junzi (exemplary person): taking oneself as the root, verifying it in the lives of the people, examining the deeds of the sage-kings of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, testing it against Heaven and Earth, and seeking confirmation from the spirits; even after a hundred generations, it can await verification by later sages without arousing doubt. Looked at broadly, it sets the standard for Heaven and Earth, settles the root of life for the people, upholds human relationships and moral order, and supports worldly teaching; people pursue it tirelessly and without wavering. When one abides by it, it is the fundamental constant Way; when one practices it, it is the weighty norm. What appears in the human realm includes ritual and music; what appears in the hidden realm includes the spirits—therefore it cannot be discarded for a single day, nor left for a moment.

One must be cautious and self-restrained when alone, and work at the critical junctures of vigilance, fear, holding fast, and letting go—only then can inner cultivation be established and carried into action. At first one must stop at what should be stopped; only then can one be settled; when settled, one can be tranquil; when tranquil, one can be secure; when secure, one can think with thoroughness; and when thinking is thorough, one can gain results.

With long cultivation, even starting from the subtle, one can reach sincerity; sincerity shows forth, and once it shows forth it grows ever clearer; when it is clear it can move others; through this one promotes change until things undergo deep transformation. All of this can be obtained from one’s own cultivation. To reach this point is to fully realize one’s inborn nature and settle the Way of life—to dwell in benevolence and walk in righteousness. When gathered inward, the Way is hidden in the subtle; when extended outward, in small measure it can govern states and families, and in large measure it can be broadly applied to states and families throughout the world.

The following quotations from Xunzi, Yang Xiong, Dong Zhongshu, Han Yu, Zhou Dunyi, Cheng Hao, Shao Yong, Zhang Zai, Zhu Xi, Lü Zuelian, and others are all meant to clarify principle and suffice as aids and explications of the classics. The writings of Zuo Qiuming, Qu Yuan, Jia Yi, Ban Gu, Sima Qian, Li Bai, Liu Zongyuan, Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, Zeng Gong, and Wang Anshi likewise touch on principle, yet their main concern is literary composition; they do not truly bear the Great Dao. However fine the prose, it is not fit to take as a model.

Thus when the Dao is stored within, it appears as De (virtue/power); when it manifests outward, it becomes literary form. Whether virtue or writing, both should accord with the orthodox way. From the Qin and Han onward, learning gradually split into memorization, belles-lettres, and stratagem and craft—none of which could match the learning of the sages. When sages spoke, they meant their teaching to reach later ages and their principles to endure without being lost. They fathomed the vastness of heaven and earth yet did not claim to have fully plumbed its utmost limits; they harmonized Yin-Yang yet did not claim complete mastery of its patterns; they probed the subtle realm of ghosts and spirits yet did not claim to know all its mysteries. How could literature be enough if it relied only on polishing diction, carving phrases, and patchwork borrowing—to startle the world and pander to popular taste?

Without pursuing genuine understanding and putting it into practice, how could one ensure that whether in office or retirement, speaking or silent, one follows nothing but the way of righteousness? Confucius and Mencius traveled among the feudal states to carry their Dao forward; when the Dao could not be implemented, they withdrew to guard themselves and disposed of advancement and withdrawal, employment and rejection, according to righteousness. As for those whose aim is to leave the mundane world and transcend birth and death and worldly defilement, they must seek a path of transcendence—and what is meant is precisely the teaching of Laozi and Zhuangzi.

Laozi first served the Zhou as Director of the Archives beneath the hall (the scribe in charge of records and documents), and later as Keeper of the Repository (curator of the state book collection). He wrote the upper and lower parts of the Daodejing, setting forth the principle of cultivating sage virtue within and practicing kingly governance without. Those of similar resolve included Jizi, who instructed King Wen; Guan Yin, who held the pass; Master Kangcang, who dwelt on Mount Weilei; Zhuangzi, who lived in the Lacquer Garden; and Liezi, who lived in the Garden of Zheng—all of them lofty like Chao Fu and Xu You, pure like Bo Yi and Shu Qi, reclusive like the Four Hermits of Mount Shang, holding to their integrity and refusing to submit. In their view, reputation was merely an appendage of substance; they would rather stay in muddy waters than be adorned like a sacrificial victim and offered up for display.

Like the man who clung to his jar and carried a pole to water his garden, Zhuangzi was content with his own way of life. He held that wealth or poverty, joy or sorrow, gain or loss could not in the least disturb his inner peace. This was because he devoted himself to heart fasting (xinzhai)—making the mind empty, still, and unified—thereby grasping the hub of change in things, and so he could meet endless transformations.

Such a person could take heaven and earth as his court and govern the myriad things, viewing heaven and earth as a great furnace and the Creator as the master smith. The vastness of the cosmos was too small to measure his mind; the wonder of wind and thunder too slight to measure his clarity; the depth of rivers and seas too shallow to measure his profundity; the height of mountains too low to measure his stature; the subtlety of ghosts and spirits too coarse to measure his reach. He took level plain as benevolence, rugged path as righteousness, boundless openness as joy, remote winding track as ritual. He saw life and death as one, self and myriad things as equal, unbound by obscurity or eminence, walking alone without being turned by outer things.

Thus the three powers—heaven, earth, and humanity—were unified through him; the myriad things were leveled through him; the reasons of things were ordered and concrete forms found their lodging. To govern all under heaven was for him as easy as turning soil. By following Wuwei (non-action), he could employ the world with ease to spare; if he forced deliberate action, he would be used by the world and find his strength insufficient.

Therefore he treated life as a superfluous growth and death as festering sores; he transcended life and outer things and matched the realm of no desire. His words often took the form of allegories; his discourse was bold, free-ranging, broad and vast.

In stillness he was like a sage; in action like a king. At rest he joined with yin; in movement he flowed with yang. In action he followed the Way of heaven; at rest he settled like earth, able to let the myriad things follow change while guarding their root. Whatever was bound by form and breath could neither hold him within nor shut him outside. He harmonized with heaven’s harmony, blended with heaven’s joy, rested in heaven’s even balance, conformed to nature’s divisions, let the myriad things transform, and wandered alone within the Way of heaven. This was because he preserved his inborn nature. Unless one apprehends the boundless, wanders in what has no form or trace, and keeps company with the Way of heaven, how could one reach such a state?

They look upon the paths of worldly life—where people cling to gain and loss and compete for status—and the pursuit of fame and profit, and feel that such things have nothing to do with them. They are not deliberately putting on a cold, false front to mislead the world, nor using strange words and deeds to bewitch the crowd, still less treating all this as capital for pride. The Way they cultivate has always been like this.

Later students of the Way who do not seek the root of Dao and De and the source of nature and life, yet hope to glimpse the undivided origin of primordial chaos through petty, shallow, and absurd habits—I do not see how that can be done.

There are those who eat flower buds and take mugwort or reed for a staff; their faces are haggard, their lives plain, they endure hunger and toil, their clothes are in tatters—almost more than one can bear to look at. They dwell where woodcutters and herdsmen go, where deer and swine roam, and take mist, fish, and birds for their joy. Their minds are like dead ashes, their bodies like withered wood; they hold themselves aloof and their gaze is far; they are strict with themselves. The slightest touch of worldly splendor and trivial affairs—how could it shake them?

Even one who rides in a fine carriage and carries gold cannot buy them. If such things are forced upon them, they come and go like shadows, leaving no trace, bound by no outward form: when the Way aligns they stay, when it does not they leave, resting only in their original state. Sumptuous offerings, carved halls, rank and power—how could these bind them? Such are those who stand above the common world—people in the vein of Jie Yu and the man with the bamboo basket, perhaps.

Some, however, adopt this bearing to win worldly reputation—and that is another matter entirely. In retirement they play at purity; in office they hurry toward advancement, all to trade on fame and praise. Once a chance comes from among the people and they are noticed, they at once abandon what they once held to and sink into comfortable habits: fine clothes, rich food, arrogant manners, inflated speech; carriages and retinues in full display, dwellings deliberately adorned in luxury. They associate only with the grand and powerful; those around them run to serve and vie to be their companions and supporters.

People praise one another, saying: “That person has the Dao and De, profound learning; when he travels he has escorts, his dwelling is lavish, and those he associates with are all eminent and noble; attendants rush to serve him, and many vie to follow him.” They then assume that such a person must be worthy of honor and high standing.

Yet if you trace why people rush and chase after him, it is nothing but valuing power and profit—how can that be called morality? Alas, those who use reputation to gloss over the real situation—why should they not be rejected and denounced by the world? This is nothing but trying to deceive people and pander to the fashion of the times. Even if for a time they mislead the crowd and no one sees through them, how can that make the world and later ages believe?

One who truly has the Dao would never act this way.

I fear that this corrupting trend and shallow custom will spread, grow ever stronger, and become impossible to reverse or stop—all because people do not treat the root with care. When a junzi (noble person) serves or withdraws, speaks or stays silent, if even once he goes against righteousness and strays from the right path, how grave an error that is—how can he not be cautious? Only by knowing how to guard the root with care can one truly unite with the Dao; abandon the root, and I do not know what can still be called learning.

Question on Xuan

Someone asked: “What exactly is the ‘Xuan’ that the Daoist school speaks of?” (“Xuan” is the Daoist term for the deep, hard-to-articulate aspect of the Way.) Another answered: “How can one not be cautious? Know how to guard the root with care, and you can unite with the Dao; abandon the root, and I do not know what can still be called learning.”

Someone asked: “What does the Daoist school mean by xuan?” The reply was: “Xuan is Heaven—in other words, the source of the Dao arises from Heaven.” They asked again: “Is that drawn from Laozi’s line about ‘xuan upon xuan’?” The answer was: “Yes.”

I have heard what the Grand Historian’s tradition says: Daoist teaching keeps the spirit unified and conduct aligned with the formless Dao; virtue is ample and can embrace the ten thousand things. In governing, it follows the great rhythm of yin and yang, takes what is strong in Confucian and Mohist thought, and distills the core of the School of Names and the Legalists; it shifts with the times and adapts to whatever it meets, setting up institutions that fit ordinary life and handling practical affairs—there is scarcely a situation where it does not apply. Its aim is concise and easy to put into practice; the cost is small and the results are great.

As for the marrow of the great Dao, it means shedding hardness, self-assertion, and grasping desire, and giving up the show of cleverness. If one leaves the great Dao and chases only administrative techniques, there is little worth keeping. Daoists also speak of wuwei (non-action) through which nothing is left undone: the way of doing is easy to follow, but the words are hard to fathom; emptiness and non-being are the root, and accord with nature is the method—without fixed authority or fixed form—so one can see how things truly are. It neither leads nor trails the ten thousand things, and therefore can be their sovereign. That is why the Grand Historian valued Huang-Lao learning and ranked the Six Classics after it.

Laozi lived in the late Zhou and served as Keeper of the Archives at the royal court. When the Zhou house waned, he wrote the Daodejing in two parts and then withdrew from public life. Later followers in Laozi’s line included Guan Yin, Kang Cang, Zhuangzi, Liezi, and others. Their teaching, at bottom, was to cultivate virtue and guard both original nature and life itself. Inwardly, one holds to unity and the mean to preserve life; outwardly, one benefits the ten thousand things through non-contention and wuwei.

In affairs, align with the great Dao; in action, follow what is natural. Cultivate the inner life carefully and respond well to outer circumstances, so the heart stays pure and unconfused. Stay quiet, focused, and unchanged in purpose; let the mind be open and return to wuji (the boundless). Only when conduct matches the way of Heaven does one embody heavenly virtue. Even when engaged in the world, take kindness, thrift, humility, and simplicity as your measure—do not overdo, hold to yielding and restraint, do not force mastery over the ten thousand things, and turn back toward emptiness and plainness, clear stillness and wuwei, softness and unadorned simplicity.

Therefore, when all things under heaven are treated with humility, they are not dragged into entanglement; when they are nourished through emptiness and stillness, they are not blocked; when affairs follow the way of ease and plainness, they do not meet with difficulty; and when one understands how to adapt, one does not fall into dead ends. In this way the people can be transformed, made simple, and set upright in a natural manner. The aim is to preserve each thing in its own nature and to bring them back to their original state.

This is not to say that benevolence and righteousness, loyalty and trustworthiness, or the many expedients of government, instruction, and changing custom cannot govern the world. It is only that when the Zhou dynasty declined and customs grew corrupt, there was still need to support what was failing, rescue what was endangered, and return the age to the plain ways of old.

This passage also takes in what is strong in Confucian and Mohist teaching. Confucius once asked Laozi (Lao Dan) about ritual. Laozi said: “Those who are clever, sharp, and deeply perceptive easily bring danger on themselves, because they delight in criticizing others; those who are widely learned, skilled in disputation, and broad in vision may also endanger themselves, because they delight in exposing others’ faults.” This is roughly saying that Confucius knew antiquity through and through, and heard these words from Laozi.

Yang Zhu opposed the Mohist doctrine of universal love; after he met Laozi, he gave up quarreling over precedence. Mohism upholds “identifying with superiors” and “making ghosts manifest”—believing in spirits and using them to encourage good and punish evil—which in some respects seems close to certain Daoist ideas. The writings of Zhuangzi and Liezi also mix in such views. The school of names, in its ideas on governing the state, using the military, honoring the worthy, and caring for the people, has points near to Daoism; the strategists’ arts of alliance and opposition, weighing strength and weakness, advancing and retreating, are similar in the same way.

Yet what has been handed down for long as the root meaning of Daoism is above all this: single-mindedly guarding the spirit, quiet sufficiency, nourishing the ten thousand things, removing hardness and greed, restraining the display of cleverness, and taking emptiness and non-action (wuwei) as the foundation. When a person is without desire, plain and sincere, they can fold their sharp edge and dissolve conflict, so that their light does not shine outward and they blend with the dusty world; by placing themselves after others they can yet stand before others; by not putting themselves first they can yet preserve themselves.

Hence what is bent can thereby be preserved whole; knowing the danger of fullness, one keeps to the low; knowing that the new must still keep touch with the old. Then one appears clear yet like one who is dull, advances yet like one who retreats, skilled in discrimination yet like one who cannot speak, clever yet like one who is clumsy, straight yet like one who is bent.

By holding fast to one’s own integrity without compromising personal purity; by being upright yet not unrestrained; by being luminous yet not flaunting one’s edge—only thus can one preserve the full efficacy of the self. If one establishes oneself in sincerity, acts with simplicity, treats others with generosity, and responds with silence, then concrete things will be seen as coarse appearances, while empty stillness and luminous clarity will be taken as subtle efficacy.

Confucians therefore regard such allegories and elaborate discourse as extravagant and remote, unable to meet the practical needs of the world. Even so, what they discuss is nothing other than the principle that runs through Heaven, Earth, and humanity, and the ordering of the nature of the ten thousand things—only they turn away from the common understanding of life and death and argue by setting aside the traces of concrete things. From this one may perhaps glimpse a realm beyond Heaven and Earth, and a state before Heaven and Earth came to be: gathering the myriad into a single breath, and dispersing that single breath into the myriad. Such a state may be called concentrated stillness, depth, clarity, empty unity, and obscurity. It is indeed vast and undifferentiated, as if roaming in the Great Beginning, when Heaven and Earth had not yet taken form.

When Heaven and Earth operate, what rises light and clear is accumulated Qi; what sinks heavy and turbid is condensed matter. They circulate through the six directions without end, bending and stretching, waxing and waning, advancing and retreating in firmness and yielding, running through day and night and shifting with the four seasons. Wind and thunder take shape; the ten thousand things flourish in succession. They generate and transform on their own, each forming its own shape and color, and likewise dissolve and cease on their own. The myriad blend as one, not yet separated from one another; Yin and Yang and their forms are complete—all born from Heaven and Earth’s condensing essential Qi—so that generation upon generation never stops. Day and night alternate and things follow one another without a moment’s interruption.

Therefore one must transcend Heaven and Earth, forget the ten thousand things, free the mind from the limits of conventional reason and the transformations of Qi, and trace back to before creating-and-transforming had reached its limit or left any trace. That realm cannot be known through sound or scent, nor inferred through image or number. Dark and indeterminate, it transcends the ten thousand things yet is their root—is this not supremely subtle and abstruse?

The “Xuan” (Profundity) of Yang Xiong pairs numbers with the Classic of Changes, sets up levels of region, province, department, and family, and calculates efficacy through odd and surplus numbers—this is roughly one branch of what calendar officials manage, not the “Xuan” I speak of.

The Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji) says: Those in the world who study Laozi often belittle Confucianism, and those who study Confucianism often belittle the teachings of Laozi—why must they mock and wrangle with each other like this? Yet the teaching of Laozi honors emptiness, stillness, and profound remoteness; those who later revere it have often drifted into the absurd and one-sided. Can all of that be blamed on Laozi and Zhuangzi? One who learns well should pursue the root of “nothingness and emptiness”—this is what is called “the mysterious” (xuan).

Someone asked: “The profound principles you discuss seem to begin from concrete affairs of the world; yet what the scriptures say treats heaven and earth as lowly and the cosmos as cramped, scorns the way of hegemony and of the barbarian realms, and honors the kingly way. What they value is seeking inwardly, cultivating the self to enrich life, transcending the bodily form and casting off illusion, until one reaches a wondrous, unfathomable state and a lifespan that surpasses heaven’s allotted span. How does any of this differ from the words of Laozi and Zhuangzi?”

The reply was: “The Dao is one—how could there be a split between what is empty and what is real? I have examined the various classics and know that these teachings do have their basis. It is only that later generations, in transmitting Laozi’s teaching, took the upper and lower parts of the Daodejing as the root; if successors do not mix other things into it, they easily make it sound absurd. ‘Inner sage, outer king’ does not mean there is no method for a ruler to govern the realm—only that the way it is applied differs.

“As for cultivation, what is spoken of is nothing beyond the ‘spirit of the valley, the mysterious female’ (symbolizing the deep, unfathomable way of ceaseless generation), attaining emptiness and maintaining stillness, guarding the center and embracing unity, and guarding unity to achieve harmony. Only when later promoters of these teachings spread them did distinctions of true and false, orthodox and heterodox, arise. The Yinfu Jing treats both self-cultivation and ordering the world, so its intent aligns with the Daodejing; the content of the Longhu Shangjing accords with the Cantong Qi transmitted from the stone wall. For those who study the way of Laozi, if they set aside the path of immortality, what else could they still pursue?

“In internal alchemy (Neidan), nothing is not rooted in Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy); in external alchemy (Waidan), nothing is not keyed to lead and mercury as the essentials. The way of the golden elixir accords with the turning of heaven-and-earth’s creative transformation. The spirit chamber—the inner core used in elixir work—is the pivot where the pill is formed; the sun-soul and moon-soul are the true lead and mercury. Yang qi ascending and yin qi descending cannot do without the two positions of zi and wu; the sun’s course and the moon’s coming and going correspond to the two positions of mao and you. When refining the elixir, yang fire rises from the zi hour and reaches its peak at si, and then yin qi begins from the wu hour; yin qi descends from wu and reaches its peak at hai, and then yang qi is reborn again from zi. The spirit chamber’s center is empty, about an inch across, round and raised—it can gather the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity. This is the central place within my own body.”

From the transformations of yin and yang arises “true mercury” (neidan terminology for a symbolic aspect of the medicine or refined qi). When one nurtures within the body the “profound essence” (the subtle, refined vital essence), fire then rises from the Kan position (symbolizing water and the north), while water descends from the Li position (symbolizing fire and the south). Thus Kan and Li correspond vertically as north and south; “cinnabar” (sha) and “mercury” (gong) are merely different names for them.

Water and fire are the mode by which Qian and Kun (symbolizing the yin-yang of heaven and earth) exert their function—that is, the working of metal and earth. What the scripture calls “three-five and one” refers to the subtle power between heaven and earth; understood according to the pattern of “three-one,” three and five can mutually hold fast, and metal and fire can turn and sustain each other. Cinnabar (dansha) is born within true lead; the “metal and fire” spoken of here is “true lead.” Hence the scripture says: “Lead is the essence of metal; water is the pivot of the Dao.” The Cantong qi also says that Qian and Kun occupy above and below, while Kan and Li ascend and descend in the middle; the wu earth in Kan symbolizes the essence of the moon, and the ji earth in Li symbolizes the radiance of the sun. The Five Phases take these as their framework: Kan symbolizes the yang aspect of the metal essence, Li symbolizes the yin aspect of fire-light, and both occupy the central position. The virtue of earth rises from the Zhen position (east), fills at the Qian position (northwest), gradually fades passing the Xun position (southeast), and is fully exhausted at the Kun position (southwest).

Being and non-being mutually constrain each other. White symbolizes the metal essence; black symbolizes the root of water. Metal is the mother of water, and the mother is hidden within the child’s womb; water is the child of metal, and the child is concealed within the mother’s belly. When metal returns to its original nature, water and metal together revert to their true character. Cinnabar is the essence of wood; once it obtains metal, the two can merge. When metal and water have joined, wood and fire are stirred in turn; metal and wood intertwine, water and earth coordinate with each other, and the elixir is finally formed.

What is called the “medicine” is Qian yang arising within Kun, and Kun yin enveloping Qian. Qian metal born from Kun earth symbolizes the middle line of the Qian hexagram entering within the Kun hexagram—this is the common source of metal and water; the middle line of the Kun hexagram entering within the Qian hexagram symbolizes wood and fire occupying the same position. Qian and Kun manifest form through Kan and Li, and Kan and Li are precisely the mode by which Qian and Kun function. The completion number of fire is seven; returning to the eastern Zhen position is called “sevenfold return”; the completion number of metal is nine; returning to the northern Kan position is called “ninenfold restoration.” Therefore one must use fire to refine earth, so that metal enters within and becomes water, then is enveloped, volatilized, and congealed, opening the inner gate of subtle wonder. Yet one must use fire to refine lead and form the elixir before Kan and Li can truly become the mode of Qian and Kun’s functioning.

The completion number of Fire is seven, so its return to the eastern Zhen position is called “seven returns”; the completion number of Metal is nine, so its return to the northern Kan position is called “nine reversions.” Thus it is said that fire is refined within earth, and metal enters water; through enveloping, ascent, and congealing, the gate of spirit and wonder is opened. Yet one must use fire to refine lead before the elixir can form.

What is meant by huohou (firing process—the rhythm and intensity of alchemical “heat”) is the cadence formed by the turning of the Dipper pivot and the cycles of pitch-pipes and calendrical regulation. It takes nine and one as root numbers, and coordinates with two, six, three, and nine. When the cycle reaches its end, it necessarily begins anew; within it, primal qi is stored and the true origin is held fast, and at the zi hour essence is sent forth. Yin and yang reach their turning points at yin and shen.

The method of calculating yarrow stalk numbers is this: assign the twelve months of the year to the twelve hexagrams; each hexagram corresponds to two and a half days, and the stalk count for each line follows that hexagram’s own lines. From the eighth month’s Guan hexagram to the first month’s Tai hexagram, yang lines take the lesser count of twenty-eight stalks and yin lines take the “old” count of twenty-four stalks; from the fourth month’s Dazhuang hexagram to the seventh month’s Pi hexagram, yang lines take the “old” count of thirty-six stalks and yin lines take the lesser count of twenty-two stalks. One full circuit through the twelve hexagrams constitutes one month’s practice; twelve such months complete one year’s cycle. Thus the cycles repeat without any shortfall in number.

This matches the order of cyclical movement in Shao Yong’s Chart of the Prior Heaven, and likewise follows the hexagram sequence and directional arrangement of Fuxi’s Yi. The subtlety of “Heaven’s Root and the Moon’s Cave” means that yang qi begins at the Fu hexagram and reaches its peak at Qian; yin qi begins at the Gou hexagram and reaches its peak at Kun. Cycling through all sixty-four hexagrams in this way, there is not the slightest discrepancy. This movement refines and molds the ten thousand things yet never shows a trace; it accords with a realm vast and penetrating, deep and blended. So far-reaching and broad that nothing lies outside it; so fine as a hair or the tip of an awl that nothing lies inside it apart from it—therefore it does not deviate from the Dao.

As for najia (assigning the ten heavenly stems to the eight trigrams to track yin-yang change), Qian is paired with jia and ren, Kun with yi and gui, Zhen with geng, Xun with xin, Gen with bing, and Dui with ding—each with a fixed position; Kan is paired with wu and Li with ji, which have no fixed position. The yin-yang changes within the six trigrams are in fact the weekly ascent and descent of the lines within Kan and Li. Zhu Xi said that this doctrine may be borrowed provisionally to explain the timing of yin and yang’s advance and retreat—and that is apt.

The writing of the Huoji (Fire Records) has its own foundation. Later generations borrowed things such as cinnabar and mercury as metaphors, and thus divided the elixir way into Neidan (internal alchemy) and Waidan (external alchemy), each relying on written words to display itself to the world. Yet since human beings are more spiritually endowed than the myriad things, why must one rely entirely on plants, minerals, and metals to reach a realm of wondrous transformation? What the Cantong qi (Joining of the Three According to the Book of Changes) means by “borrowing names of stone-like substances and concealing and entrusting [the teaching] within various writings” is precisely this. Although few speak of these principles openly, what they discuss is essentially the qi of human nature, life, and spirit.

If one can exhaust the root principles of Yin-Yang and seize the divine wonder of creation and transformation, the elixir path reaches its limit. What is called “elixir” (dan) is only a borrowed metaphor and image; the same holds for talk of furnaces and cauldrons, elixir fire, lead and mercury, Dragon and Tiger, infant boy and maiden girl, and the like. Certain expressions in the Guan Yinzi—such as infant and elixir maiden, golden tower and crimson palace, green flood dragon and white tiger, precious cauldron and red furnace, and clay idols—did not exist in Laozi’s time. Some therefore take the work for a forgery for just this reason.

If one clings to images and words, abandons the root to chase the branch, and delights only in strange and uncanny talk to show off before the world and mislead the common crowd, that is the fangshi (technical master) who trades in the bizarre. Figures such as Shaojun, Yue Da, Wencheng, Wuli, and Gongsun were of this sort. What the Baopuzi describes—refining yellow and white substances and making them transform—belongs in the same category. They specialize in heterodox paths to bewilder the masses and may succeed for a time by chance; yet when one indulges in reckless action and piles up wrongdoing again and again, how can one avoid ruin?

Alas, those who speak well of the way of immortals say only: do not look outward, do not listen outward; guard the spirit and keep to stillness. That is, forget the body to nourish qi, forget qi to nourish spirit, and then forget spirit and return to emptiness. Thus one who holds to the Dao has complete De (Virtue/Power); when De is complete, the bodily form is whole; when the form is whole, qi is ample. On this point, I believe there is no changing the truth.

When you gather the mind-heart and bring it to a state of utmost emptiness, spiritual nature becomes clear and bright; when spiritual nature is clear and bright, wondrous transformation arises, and you then keep company with the Dao of Heaven, roaming in the time when the myriad things first come into being. The light, pure qi rises and floats upward, and the most yang form-essence rises with it. Some say: “The sage does not take seeking immortality as his teacher—is that deceiving the world? To seek the Great Dao, perhaps it consists only in guarding inner centrality.” (“Guarding the center” means holding the spirit-mind steady so it neither leans nor is thrown into disorder.)

Someone asked: “In refining elixir and cultivating the Dao, isn’t guarding the center enough? Why establish so many teachings, with methods and gateways all different and tangled? Can guarding the center alone not fully reach the Great Dao—must one still rely on additional arts and numerical techniques?”

The reply was: “Can the Great Dao be split into two paths? What we call Heaven is qi gathered and condensed; Shangdi (the Supreme Lord) is the divine spirit that governs Heaven. From the primordial state before Heaven and Earth were divided, the three qi were generated, forming the three sources Fan Qingjing, Xuanyuan, and Shi. ‘Subtle Non-being’ (Miaowu) is the starting point of xing and ming (nature and life); ‘Subtle Being’ (Miaoyou) is the starting point of qi. The three qi in turn generate the nine qi—that is, the Nine Heavens. The realm of emptiness and non-being has no end; light, pure qi has no fixed form; and the divine spirit that governs the myriad things has no fixed place.

“Once the governing spirit had a hierarchy of authority, scriptures and registers (falu) were sent down to teach the world, and talisman methods (fulu) were used to clarify the Great Dao—so the various gateways were established from this. Especially prominent in transmission were the Han Celestial Master (Tianshi), Perfected Lord Mao (Maozhenjun), Xu Jingyang, Immortal Lord Ge, and Perfected Lord Qiu. The Three Caverns and Four Supplements, Qingwei, Lingbao, Shenxiao, Dengyue, and the like are all categories of cavern scriptures and supplementary scriptures; the texts and registers fall within them as well.

“The Qingwei lineage arose from Yuanshi Tianzun (the Primordial Heavenly Worthy) and was expounded by the lineage founder Zhenyuan; later the Perfected Lord of Nanyue and Lord Zu of Lingjun received the transmission. The patriarch widely carried four lineages of transmission; those who advocated this school included Zhu Dongyuan, Li Shaowei, Nan Bidao, Huang Leiyuan, Li Xuji, and others; afterward Zhang, Xu, Ye, Xiong, and others continued to revive and expand this transmission.”

The Lingbao lineage traces its roots to Yuchen; its fundamental practice rests on the methods of the Duren Jing (Scripture of Salvation). The Three Perfected Ones of the Xuanyi lineage expounded this teaching; later figures such as Perfected Lord Xu of Taiji, Perfected Lord Zheng of Zhuyang, and Perfected Lord Lu of Jianji carried it forward. Others who spread this message included Tian Ziji, Yu Dongwei, Du Dazhen, Xiang Deqian, Wang Qingjian, Jin Yunzhong, Gao Ziyuan, Du Guangting, Kou Qianzhi, and Liu Chongjing; after them, the transmissions of Zhao, Lin, Bai, Chen, and others gradually flourished. Thus the Lingbao lineage also developed distinct branches such as Donghua and Nanchang.

The Shenxiao lineage encompasses the various branches of thunder practice. It derives from the Jade Purity True King and was elucidated by Fire Master Wang the Perfected Lord. Later, Palace Attendant Wang, Perfected Lord Xujing, Lord Sa of Xihe, Lord Li the Demon Subduer, and Lord Xu the Pivot Minister continued the line. Lin Lingsu, Xu Shenweng, Liu Hunkang, Lei Mo’an, Wan Wulei, Fang Pinle, and Deng Tieya spread this teaching; afterward the lines of Shangguan, Xu, Tan, Yang, Chen, Tang, Mo, and others gradually expanded.

The Deng Yue lineage included Zhu Ximing, Zheng Zhiwei, Lu Yanghao, Ye Fashan, and others; Zuo, Zheng, Pan, Li, and others proclaimed its message, and its branches likewise multiplied over time.

Yet when one traces the root meaning of all these ritual lineages, none departs from the subtle principle of the “Three Blacks and Five Phases.” The scripture says: “Three-five united as one—the utmost essence of Heaven and Earth.” This refers to the numerology in which three and five combine in the Hetu (River Chart). Thus the Way of thunder aligns with the numbers nine and one: yang is thunder, yin is ting (the accompanying rumble); frost arises from ting, and ting carries the power of killing and cutting down; the pivot belongs to yin, the trigger to yang; thunder governs generating goodness, ting governs imposing awe. All these principles are contained within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate).

Understood from the body, the region between the shoulders is the thunder rampart; the five hei (black) correspond to the Five Thunders; the heart is the spirit mansion, the ruler of the five senses. With one’s own luminous nature, aligning with the subtlety of the “Three Blacks and Five Phases,” one can illuminate the hidden and dispel obscurity. This is like refining the utmost yin with the utmost yang, and lighting the utmost dark with the utmost brightness.

The Southern Dipper (among the southern asterisms, the Dipper mansion) can temper the po (corporeal soul); it belongs to the water number six. The Northern Dipper can forge and refine the po; it belongs to the fire number seven.

Through the practice of “refining the self” (lianji)—cultivating oneself and gathering the mind and spirit—one refines the heart and soul, collects turbid and scattered qi, and transcends heavy, clinging thoughts, so that the inner world turns bright and clear and one leaves behind dim, murky states. Thus one can work with the opening and closing transformations of yin and yang, unite the essence of “two-five,” and condense the soul of “nine-one.” The text says “seven is the number of fire,” meaning that the numbers of the firing process (huohou) explain cultivation; “two-five,” “nine-one,” and similar phrases are symbolic-numerical terms in Neidan (internal alchemy) practice.

By refining the self one refines the soul, gathers scattered and turbid qi, and goes beyond sluggish, stuck thoughts, so that a yang-bright realm arises and one leaves the yin-dark realm. One who can regulate yin and yang unites the essence of two-five and gathers the qi of nine-one. Nurtured within the body, this is called “internal elixir” (Neidan); applied outward, it is called “method” or ritual power (fa). With the qi of the Five Phases one stirs change so that sound is produced; effects such as wind, rain, clear weather, and cloud cover can also appear in the space of a breath. Using one’s own spirit-intent to command another’s spirit-intent, one can feel and respond in stillness—this side sensing, that side answering. Therefore, setting in motion the austere power of heaven and earth and matching the regulating transformations of yin and yang are all expressions of one’s own numinous nature harmonizing with heaven and earth and penetrating the divine. As for driving off evil spirits and averting disasters and epidemics, those are merely secondary matters.

In antiquity there were rites of prayer and sacrifice to heaven; later these flowed into prayer and offering, as they had been since the time of Emperor Wu of Han. The classics say: “When offering to the Lord on High, one must fast and purify the body”—all to show sincerity. Even humble greens gathered by the water’s edge can serve for sacrifice; what matters is expressing sincere heart. Hence: “Ghosts and spirits have no fixed offerings; what they receive is sincerity. Millet and grain are not fragrant in themselves—what is fragrant is bright virtue (mingde).” One should cultivate virtue and thereby serve ghosts and spirits.

If sincerity is lost and virtue fails, and one relies only on outward display—even with brocades and painted silks laid out in crossing splendor, and music and color pushed to the utmost to dazzle the world and shock custom—what is the point? Is what sacrifice truly values really bells, drums, jade, and silk? Daoism sets up divine images and rites according to the majestic order of celestial deities and earth spirits (tiandi), and therefore has its systems of Keyi (liturgy). These rites are all ways of showing reverence and exhausting sincerity; as long as those who gaze and bow return their hearts in reverence, they can resonate with the divine.

Later generations were not like this. They chased fame and profit, admired flashy display, and everywhere abandoned the root for the branch, turned their backs on what is real, and competed in what is false. How is that different from shamans and ritual specialists who crave offerings and goods and fawn for gain?

They spoke of cultivation as deep and secret, set up strange side paths, and mystified the key points to bewilder the crowd and stir up their kind. Those who followed them learned to praise one another without investigating inner refinement, showing off only on the surface—far from the Dao. What talk is there of ganying, the mutual resonance between the cultivator and the spirits or the Way of Heaven?

Alas, though methods of transmission differ, all paths lead to the same end; there are not two Daos. One who inherits well should inquire widely and hold fast with care, to resolve doubts and clear confusion—not take abundant fasting and odd ritual alone as the highest reach of practice. Does the teaching not say: “Within truth there is spirit; outside sincerity there is no method”? Seen this way, does this not truly match the meaning passed mouth to mouth?

The ancients spoke of those with teacherly virtue: they wore grass for clothes and gathered wood for food, let body endure hunger and hardship, tempered body and mind, washed away stray thoughts and desires, and would not let material craving or emotional attachment rule them in the slightest. Only then could they reach the cultivation realm where Heaven and human are one, dwell with the spirits, and unite inner mind with the Way of Heaven—their own heart was the Way of Heaven. Thus, joining the Way of Heaven with the Way of Heaven, one cannot call one side Heaven and the other not Heaven, or one side mysterious and the other not. Then the mechanism of resonance returns to oneness—what difference could remain?

The so-called way of pure simplicity is to single-mindedly guard the spirit (Shen); guard without loss, and one unites with the spirit. When utmost sincerity becomes one body, one aligns with the Way of Heaven—is that not as it should be? If one abandons this road, sinks into worldly filth, chases renown and glitter, is blinded by bustling spectacle, and bands together as master and friends like ants swarming or bees clustering, one has turned from the root of cultivation.

Having abandoned the correct path, they sink into the turbidity of the mundane world, chase after fame and outward splendor, and are blinded by flashy secular ways; they also take one another as teachers and friends, clustering like ants or bees, day after day calling themselves “I am an immortal” or “I have spiritual powers”—is that not delusion? And how could such people be what Zhuangzi called the “Great Master” (Dazongshi)—one who truly penetrates the Dao and is fit to be others’ model?

Alas, the principles recorded in the classics, had they not been clarified by figures such as Peng Zu and Wei Boyang (greatly honored in the Daoist cultivation tradition), would almost have been reduced to petty techniques and illusions; and the secretly transmitted methods, without masters such as Wang Xuanpu and Bai Yuchan (lineage patriarchs in the Daoist tradition), might likewise have drifted into shamanistic rites and prayer-magic. As for steering heaven and earth, embracing the myriad things, and sharing with spirits the knowledge of fortune and misfortune—that still must be pursued and opened up from the principles I have spoken of. What is meant by “exhausting one’s mandate to penetrate the mysterious” (zhiming tongxuan)—its intent can be grasped in the heart.

Commentary on the Diagram of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji)

Taiji is the complete ontological body of the Dao. It is undifferentiated unity without bias, vast and formless, beyond depiction in concrete images—perhaps this is the root of nature and life. Human nature is endowed by Heaven’s mandate; principle and pattern are contained within nature; the heart-mind governs both nature and principle—this is called the Dao.

The ontological body of the Dao is called “Huangji” (the Sovereign Ultimate). “Ji” (ultimate) occupies the fifth place among the Nine Categories (ancient ninefold principles of governance and cosmic order), hence the name Huangji. The Yijing says “gathering at the ultimate,” and the Shijing says “none fails to reach the ultimate.” From this perspective, Taiji is heart-mind, Dao, and also zhong (the Mean). Zhou Dunyi said: “Zhong is reaching the utmost.” Cheng Hao said: “Taiji is the Dao.” Shao Yong said: “The heart-mind is Taiji.” Zhu Xi said: “Taiji is li (principle).” Lu Jiuyuan said: “Zhong is the great root of all under Heaven—it is also Taiji.” The truth is one; taken together it is the Dao.

The Five Phases arise from Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang arise from Taiji. Though the Five Phases manifest five distinct forms, in substance they are all composed of the two qi of yin and yang; though yin and yang show two modes of change, in root they return to one. What is meant by “two” is that Heaven with yang qi makes the myriad things sprout, and Earth with yin qi makes them take form. In movement they appear as yang, in stillness as yin; yang qi transforms and yin qi interpenetrates, producing the five qi, and from the five qi the myriad things are born—hence the saying that the Five Phases each differ.

Though the Five Phases differ, their root lies in yin and yang; yin and yang depend on each other as mutual roots. Yin and yang interact and the Four Images form; the Four Images differentiate and the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) form; the trigrams interweave and the myriad things come into being. This movement and stillness is the subtlest principle of Heaven and Earth in operation. Therefore the five qi are distributed, the four seasons run their course, and the myriad things grow without cease, extending unbroken.

The Five Phases return to yin and yang; yin and yang return to Taiji. Taiji disperses and becomes the myriad things; each thing receives one nature and each possesses one Taiji, still whole and undivided; within this, stillness always holds the dominant place.

Capable of uniting “being” and “non-being,” encompassing substance and function, embracing movement and stillness, it serves as the root of change in the ten thousand things and the foundation of all existence—the subtle union of Yin-Yang and the qi of the Five Phases. Each thing has its own nature, and each also possesses a Taiji (the complete fundamental principle within every entity); they form an undivided whole, while the aspect of stillness often holds the leading role.

Zhu Xi said that Taiji is principle and that movement and stillness are qi. Taiji is the subtle principle inherent in things; movement and stillness are the openings through which qi runs and transforms. When the opening stirs, qi moves and Yin-Yang turn; how could principle fail to appear within that? Qi carries principle and comes into being; principle takes shape through qi. Nature holds the leading place, while Yin-Yang and the Five Phases interweave in motion. In sum, the ten thousand things together are one Taiji; taken separately, each thing likewise has its own Taiji.

Before heaven and earth had formed and chaos had not yet divided, primordial qi was the root of the ten thousand things. The substance of primordial qi is called principle; the part within it where Yin and Yang ceaselessly flow and change is called qi. Thus, before differentiation, the Dao was Taiji; once the ten thousand things were formed, each also possessed this principle. The mind may also be called Taiji: empty and formless, yet holding all principles within. After Yin and Yang took shape, principle and qi showed themselves as distinct.

Taiji differentiated and first produced one odd and one even (symbolizing yang and yin respectively), from which generation continued without end: one divided into two, two into four, four into eight, eight into sixteen, sixteen into thirty-two, and thirty-two into sixty-four. This is the process by which Yin and Yang divide layer upon layer. Before the sages had revealed this teaching, Fuxi began to draw the trigrams: a solid yang line for Qian and a broken yin line for Kun, thereby presenting the Taiji in the heart. Yang and yin lines symbolize change; stacking lines forms hexagrams, and splitting hexagrams reveals the lines—all of these are the clearest, most manifest signs of Yin-Yang transformation.

The principle disclosed by these line figures is vast and deep, subtle and fine; it cannot be seen directly in physical form or temperament, nor sought through sound, color, shape, or appearance.

Heaven and earth and the myriad things appear bright and clear, with vital energy flowing in harmony. Their essential nature is empty yet holds numinous clarity; though luminous, it also holds subtle refinement. When it spreads out, it becomes the diversity of things; when it gathers in, it returns to a single root. At no moment is there the slightest break or difference; its circulation has no end, vast and deep without limit.

The movement of heaven and earth, the nourishing rain and wind, the display of thunder, the austerity of frost and snow, mountains and rivers that flow or stand firm, plants that flourish or wither, tiny creatures that fly or hide, and the multitude of animals and plants—all follow the course of Heaven’s mandate and each receives the endowment of the same root source.

What is called “youji” (having an ultimate) speaks from the perspective of principle (li); what is called “wuji” (no ultimate) speaks from the perspective of form and image. Yet the supreme root of principle originally has no form. If we call it merely “nothing,” that is not enough to explain how it becomes the root of all change in the myriad things. Shao Yong’s “wuji” also says it “has images”: “having” means it has inherent substance; “not having” means it is without sound or odor and transcends physical form. Those who can discern the body of the Dao will not split “nothing” and “having” apart.

Laozi’s “wuji” refers to what has no form and no exhaustion; Zhuangzi’s saying that “the Dao is before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)” means the same. As for the numerology of the Hetu and Luoshu and the images of the prior heaven (xiantian), though within them there are advance and retreat, fullness and emptiness, waxing and waning, the root still turns on emptiness as the pivot. When the mind can be empty and still, one can grasp the subtlety of the Taiji as it is, and need not cling to distinctions of bright and dark, open and blocked.

The Book of Changes says the mind can fathom the myriad affairs, and the root of the myriad transformations is the mind. What the mind holds is the supreme principle that heaven, earth, and the myriad things jointly follow. Master Cheng said: only after there is principle are there images; only after there are images are there numbers. The human way begins with yang and is completed by yin, takes stillness as root and flows toward movement—this is the same as the myriad things. Yet yang also returns to yin, and stillness is again rooted in movement; each movement and each stillness are the shared operation of heaven and earth. Only when stillness is primary can human nature be established; when nature is established, the way of centrality and correctness, and benevolence and righteousness, can also be settled.

Therefore, essence and function share one source; between what is manifest and what is hidden there is no barrier. As for this diagram, Zhu Xi said Zhou Dunyi obtained it from Mu Bo, Mu Bo from Zhong Fang, and Zhong Fang from Chen Tuan. Chen Tuan studied the teachings of Laozi, so Lu’s school criticized Zhu Xi, holding that the doctrine of “Wuji” (the Limitless) originated with Laozi. Yet the Yijing speaks of “youji” (the Supreme Limit) and never of “wuji”; Zhou Dunyi’s Tongshu also treats only Yin-Yang and Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate)—on this point there is no doubt. Still, Zhu Xi’s explanation of Wuji as formlessness does not violate reason. Pan Zhi held that Zhou Dunyi created this diagram himself, a view that also has support. Others say Zhou Dunyi, Hu Su, and Shao Gu studied together under a Buddhist monk in Runzhou and thus received the diagram; but can the principles the diagram expounds really be what a Buddhist monk could fully grasp? Earlier Confucians held that the learning of Zhou Dunyi and Shao Yong, together with the Xiantian tu (Diagram of the Prior Heaven) and the Taiji tu, share the same rationale; their transmission need not have come from two separate lineages.

The substance of this teaching is vast and boundless, embracing all things; its operation is wondrous and unfixed, present everywhere. From the alternation of darkness and light between heaven and earth down to the minutest insects and plants, nothing fails to accord with it. People must follow the principles of xing and ming (nature and life), and exhaust the patterns of change. The intent of sages and worthies since antiquity has always been one; unless one returns to examine oneself, one cannot grasp this. Whether as far as the four quarters beyond heaven and earth or as near as within one’s own person; whether in an instant or in the subtle shifts of movement and stillness—none of this can be known as the Way of heaven through words and hearing alone. One must work to unify and penetrate, and investigate deeply, so that the inner luminous, clear, and empty-quiescent substance fills heaven and earth and governs the transformations of the myriad things. With long cultivation and single-minded sincerity, clarity and penetration are reached; numinous responsiveness reveals mystery; penetrating the subtle leads to grasping the profound. The establishment of the image, the expression of intent, and the analysis of subtle principle are all complete therein. The Way of xing-ming, the logic of birth and death, and the reasoning from a thing’s beginning to its end are all exhausted thereby.

Worldly rank and official dress counted for no more than the smallest weight in his eyes; gold, jade, and riches were no more than dust. Who could alter his resolve? I venture to set forth an explanation for those who still harbor doubts.

On the Pre-Heaven Diagram

The Pre-Heaven Diagram is traditionally attributed to Fu Xi. In it, the order in which the trigrams and their lines are arranged follows the original sequence in which the trigrams were first drawn—unlike the arrangement in King Wen’s Post-Heaven Diagram.

The Changes begins with Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the undifferentiated root of all things). Taiji gives rise to the two forms (Yin and Yang); the two forms give rise to the four images (lesser yang, great yang, lesser yin, great yin); the four images in turn give rise to the eight trigrams. Yang rises to meet Yin above; Yin descends to meet Yang below, forming the four images of Heaven. Hard and soft interweave, forming the four images of Earth. The eight trigrams cross and combine, and the myriad things come into being.

The numerical order of the trigrams is: Qian one, Dui two, Li three, Zhen four, Xun five, Kan six, Gen seven, Kun eight. When the four images pair with one another, sixteen kinds of change arise; when the eight trigrams push and stir one another, the sixty-four hexagrams take shape. This is the pattern of hexagrams shown in the Pre-Heaven Diagram. What Shao Yong meant by “one divides into two, two into four, four into eight” is this same process of step-by-step differentiation. The trigrams arranged from Qian to Kun are all hexagrams of what is not yet fully formed; read from the end back toward the beginning, they correspond to the turning of the four seasons. When the Commentary on the Changes speaks of “counting the Changes in reverse,” it refers to this.

The trigrams’ positions are: Qian in the south, Kun in the north, Li in the east, Kan in the west; Zhen in the northeast, Dui in the southeast, Xun in the southwest, Gen in the northwest. From Zhen to Qian is forward motion; from Xun to Kun is reverse motion. Yin is the mother of Yang, and Yang is the father of Yin. The mother carries and bears the eldest son, forming the hexagram Fu; the father begets the eldest daughter, forming the hexagram Gou. Thus Yang begins from Fu, and Yin begins from Gou.

The Commentary on the Changes says: “Heaven and Earth take their places; mountain and marsh share their breath; thunder and wind stir each other; water and fire do not harm each other; the eight trigrams interlock.” This means that heaven and earth, mountain and marsh, thunder and wind, and water and fire correspond and interact in pairs, while the eight trigrams cross and mesh to produce the sixty-four hexagrams. To reckon hexagrams for what has already occurred, count in the forward direction; to infer changes not yet come, count in reverse. Arranged turning left are hexagrams of what is already formed; arranged turning right are hexagrams of what is not yet formed. The order of the sixty-four hexagrams is obtained by first setting the eight trigrams in columns, then combining them by successive overlay.

Below the three lines are the eight trigrams from the earlier diagram; above them, three lines are stacked in a fixed order on each lower trigram, so every lower trigram gives rise to eight hexagram figures. If one follows changing lines step by step to generate one another, that is what Master Shao (Shao Yong) meant by: the eight trigrams divide into sixteen, sixteen into thirty-two, and thirty-two into sixty-four. All of this reflects the subtlety of natural change. These four figures are what is called the learning of the Earlier Heaven.

Yang’s nature is like the round; once formed it appears square. Yin’s nature is like the square; as a symbol it appears round. In the round chart’s arrangement, Qian stops at the noon position, Kun at midnight, Li at the mao position, and Kan at the you position. Yang qi begins to arise from the zi position and reaches its peak at noon; yin qi begins to arise from noon and reaches its peak at midnight. Yang is in the south; yin is in the north.

In the square chart’s arrangement, Qian starts in the northwest and Kun ends in the southeast; yang is in the north and yin in the south. These are all numerical patterns formed by the opposition of yin and yang.

Starting from Kun, yang gradually increases, passing through Gen and Dui, until it reaches Qian; starting from Qian, yang gradually declines, passing through Xun and Gen, until it reaches Kun and Zhen. When yin first meets yang and yang begins to arise, this shows as Zhen adjoining Kun and Xun adjoining the round chart; when yang begins to decline and yin begins to arise, it shows as Xun adjoining Qian.

In the round chart, the order of waxing and waning yin and yang is: Zhen as one yang, Li and Dui as two yang, Qian as three yang; Xun as one yin, Kan and Gen as two yin, Kun as three yin. All of this follows natural principle. Trigram numbers go from one changing to two, two to four, four to eight, forming the eight trigrams. The round on the outside symbolizes yang; the square within symbolizes yin. The round symbolizes movement and thus stands for Heaven; the square symbolizes stillness and thus stands for Earth. Though round and square differ in form, the order in which the eight trigrams are arranged is the same in both. Therefore one may say this system comes from Fuxi (the legendary creator of the eight trigrams), not from Master Shao; even if Master Shao composed it, he must have done so on the basis of Fuxi’s teaching.

“Xiantian” (Prior Heaven) refers to the primordial state of things before heaven and earth had taken form; when one follows the way of Xiantian, heaven and earth themselves do not go against it. Beyond this, neither King Wen nor the Duke of Zhou spoke of it in those terms.

Some say: “Xiantian is the He Tu (River Chart)—the legendary diagram used to explain the numbers of heaven and earth.” The numbers of the He Tu are: the heavenly numbers one, three, five, seven, and nine; the earthly numbers two, four, six, eight, and ten. There are five heavenly numbers and five earthly numbers; the five pairs match and combine with one another. The heavenly numbers sum to twenty-five, the earthly to thirty, and the numbers of heaven and earth together total fifty-five. The sages drew the hexagrams (gua) in accord with these numbers.

Others say: “The Bagua (Eight Trigrams) is the He Tu.” That is incorrect. Moreover, the order in which the Xiantian hexagrams are arranged both agrees and disagrees with the order in the He Tu. In the He Tu, Qian and Kun are arranged vertically, while the six “child” trigrams (the six trigrams born of Qian and Kun—Zhen, Xun, Kan, Li, Gen, and Dui) are arranged horizontally; that arrangement is the root of the numerology. The rationale of the Xiantian hexagrams, however, cannot be explained by numbers alone—each position embodies the generating numbers from which the Bagua arise.

The generating number of yang is one; that of yin is two. Thus when yang generates yin, two is multiplied by six, yielding twelve; when yin generates yang, three is multiplied by ten, yielding thirty. Hence Qian begins from one; Dui is twelve; Li is twelve times thirty, or three hundred sixty; Zhen is twelve times three hundred sixty, or four thousand three hundred twenty. From Xun through Kun, the same applies—all are derived by extending the odd and even generating numbers. When these numbers are assigned to the sixty-four hexagrams, one multiplies the generating number of each hexagram to obtain its corresponding total.

From the middle of the Zi hour to the middle of the Wu hour belongs to yang. The fourth line from the bottom is yang; the first two lines in the middle are yin, the last two yang; the top line is yin, the second line yang.

From the middle of the noon hour to the middle of the midnight hour, the yin-yang order of the hexagram lines runs as follows: at first all four lines are yin; before the midpoint, the first two lines are yang and the last two yin; the top line is yang, the second line yin, the third yang, and the fourth yin. In yang phases, the middle and upper two lines go yin then yang, meaning yang arises from within yin; in yin phases, those two lines go yang then yin, meaning yin arises from within yang.

The sequence of hexagrams begins with Zhen and ends with Kun, arranged according to the waxing and waning of yin and yang. What the Shao school calls the Huangji Jing Shi (a system that uses yin-yang change and number to unfold the order of the cosmos) rests throughout on Prior Heaven (xiantian) learning. When lines are ordered yin then yang, yang is shown as born from yin; in yin phases, the middle and upper lines are ordered yang then yin, showing yin born from yang. The hexagram order from Zhen to Kun likewise follows the numbers of yin-yang increase and decrease.

Number always starts from “one.” The order in which the sixty-four hexagrams generate one another in cycle appears in sun and moon, stars, water and fire, earth and stone, heat and cold, day and night, birds and beasts, and plants—each assigned to one of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), and thus forming a ceaselessly regenerating numerology. Things change through mutual stimulation (ganying); the patterns this shows include heat and cold, day and night, temperament, bodily form, beasts and birds, plants, color and sound, and odor. Things change through mutual response (yinghe); the patterns include rain and wind, dew and thunder, beasts and birds, plants, temperament, bodily form, and the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. All of this belongs to Prior Heaven number.

In the Huangji Jing Shi framework, heaven has yin and yang, expressed as greater sun, greater yin, lesser yang, and lesser yin; earth has soft and hard, expressed as lesser hard, lesser soft, greater hard, and greater soft—this is what the Yijing calls the Eight Trigrams. When yin-yang change is complete, the four seasons take shape; when soft-hard change is complete, the four directions are distinguished. Heaven is represented by odd-numbered line counts, earth by even; yang number is nine, yin six—all derived from the “four numbers.” Zhu Xi’s remark about “viewing the myriad things in four parts” refers to this same way of sorting.

Celestial phenomena such as the sun, moon, and stars are all outcomes of change in the eight trigrams (bagua). Change in heaven and earth can be periodized by yuán, huì, yùn, and shì; change in human affairs can be summarized by huáng, dì, wáng, and bà. Yuán, huì, yùn, and shì correspond to spring, summer, autumn, and winter and express the cycle of growth, flourishing, storage, and withdrawal in the ten thousand things. Huáng, dì, wáng, and bà correspond to the Yijing, the Shijing, the Shujing, and the Chunqiu, respectively embodying virtue and achievement. Each pair runs in succession on its own side, yielding sixteen stages in all. The number “sixteen” is the count produced when the four images (sixiang) succeed one another in mutual continuation. Change in heaven and earth, resonance among the ten thousand things, and the inheritance, reform, reduction, and augmentation of institutions ancient and modern—all fall within these sixteen stages. The number sixteen already exhausts the principles by which heaven and earth operate. This is roughly what Shao Yong meant when he said that between one movement and one stillness lie the most subtle principles of heaven, earth, and humanity.

The learning of the xiantian (prior-to-heaven) speaks of the principles contained in the mind; the learning of the houtian (posterior-to-heaven) speaks of the traces in which those principles appear. Hence the diagrams all unfold from the center, and myriad changes and affairs all arise from the mind. He also said that the Xiantian Diagram is like the center of a ring. Though the diagram bears no words, the principles I discuss all day never depart from it, because the principles of heaven, earth, and the ten thousand things are all contained within it. The circle represents the numerology of the Hetu (River Chart); the square represents the pattern and meaning of the Luoshu (Inscribed River Writing). “Playing with the pill” (nong wan) uses the turning of a sphere to illustrate the imagery and principle of the xiantian circular diagram. What they discuss is nothing other than following the waxing and waning, coming and going of yin and yang.

The winter solstice stands at the middle of the zi position and is the moment when yang qi first stirs at the Fu hexagram. “Yue ku” (moon cavern) refers to the Qian hexagram meeting the Xun hexagram—that is, the yang transformation from Fu to Qian; “tian gen” (heaven’s root) refers to the Kun hexagram meeting the Zhen hexagram—that is, the yin transformation from Gou to Kun. Yang qi governs the life-force in human beings; yin qi governs the ten thousand things. From Qian to Xun spans five hexagrams, among which the Gou hexagram corresponds to yue ku; from Kun to Zhen spans five hexagrams, among which the Fu hexagram corresponds to tian gen.

The so-called “thirty-six palaces” are obtained by accumulating the numbers from Qian-one through Kun-eight. Tian gen corresponds in the calendar to the winter solstice and in the day to midnight, and is therefore called “the heart of heaven and earth.” On the left side of the circular diagram, movement begins at the first line of the Zhen hexagram at the winter solstice, passes through the interval between Li and Dui to the spring equinox, and reaches the summer solstice at the last line of the Qian hexagram; on the right side, it begins at the first line of the Xun hexagram at the summer solstice, passes through the interval between Kan and Gen to the autumn equinox, and finally reaches the end of the Kun hexagram, then hands off again to the winter solstice.

Yin and Yang cycle back and forth without end. What we call a month, a day, or an hour never departs from this principle. In change that never ceases to turn, the arc runs from the end of the Qian hexagram to the summer solstice; from the beginning of Xun on the right side, through the summer solstice and the autumn equinox between Kan and Gen, until Kun at the end meets the winter solstice. Such turning never stops.

From Shen (the text uses this character) to Kun, yin holds yang within it; from the Fu hexagram to Qian, yang separates out yin. Between Kun and Fu lies Wuji (the Limitless); returning from Kun toward Shen is before Wuji; continuing from Qian to Fu is after manifest form appears. Qian and Kun meeting forms the Tai hexagram; Kan and Li meeting forms the Jiji (Already Fulfilled) hexagram. Qian arises at the zi hour, Kun at the wu hour, Kan ends at yin, Li ends at shen—thus aligning with the seasons of heaven. Yin and Yang arise from the two flanks; the empty center is Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate).

From the winter solstice to the summer solstice is called “shun” (following the natural order); from the summer solstice to the winter solstice is called “ni” (reversing). Yin and Yang circulate through one full circuit, and everywhere vitality flows as in spring. Zhu Xi said that in the Yi, twenty-eight hexagrams invert to become fifty-six; only eight—Qian, Kun, Kan, Li, Daguo, Yi, Xiaoguo, and Zhongfu—remain the same when read forward or backward. Twenty-eight hexagrams folded into eight yield the “thirty-six palaces.” All of this speaks to the subtle working of the cycle of Heaven’s Root and the Moon’s Grotto (tiangen yueku—the pivot of yin-yang exchange and generation).

Therefore the Xiantian (Prior Heaven) diagram, though it does not rely on written explanation, contains a doctrine of great breadth; every word and every layer of meaning in the Yi stays within its scope. As for form and layout, the Taiji Diagram is not as vast and detailed as the Xiantian Diagram; as for principle, the Xiantian Diagram is not as fine and concise as the Taiji Diagram. Yet the Taiji Diagram in the end still lies within the compass of the Xiantian Diagram—the nature of things they describe is the same, and their imagery and numbers do not differ. From the moment the hexagram lines are not yet drawn until all six lines are complete, what is taught is the learning of the Prior Heaven.

After the hexagram figures were drawn, people inferred and applied their meanings separately—this is what is called “Later Heaven learning.” In Shao Yong’s terms, “Earlier Heaven” refers to the Changes (Yi) as Fuxi drew it; “Later Heaven” refers to the Changes as King Wen developed it. Fuxi’s Changes originally had no written text, only a single diagram, used to embody hexagram images and number-symbolism. It contained the principles of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, and the full course of yin–yang transformation.

The directions of King Wen’s eight trigrams are: Li in the south, Kan in the north, Zhen in the east, and Dui in the west; Qian in the southwest, Kun in the northwest, Gen in the southeast, and Xun in the northeast. These directions are used in practical application and belong to Later Heaven learning. Although Confucius wrote commentaries based on King Wen’s Changes, passages in the Ten Wings on “after the eight trigrams are set in order, they are paired and doubled,” on “Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the Two Modes, the Four Images, and the Eight Trigrams,” and on heaven, earth, mountain, marsh, thunder, wind, water, and fire all stem from Fuxi’s idea of drawing the trigrams. One cannot treat King Wen’s developed Changes as identical to the Changes Fuxi first drew simply because King Wen once worked out the Changes.

Some say this diagram was obtained by Shao Yong from Li Tingzhi, Li Tingzhi from Mu Bochang, and Mu Bochang from Chen Tuan; hence it connects with the Way of the elixir (internal alchemy, Neidan). If one reads from the hexagram Fu (Return) to Qian (Creative) as yang qi gradually rising, and from Gou (Encounter) to Kun (Receptive) as yin qi gradually rising, then Qian and Kun are the two hexagrams that fix upper and lower positions, while Li and Kan stand to left and right—like heaven and earth opening and closing, sun and moon going out and coming in. After the winter solstice comes “exhalation”; after the summer solstice comes “inhalation”—this describes the breath-like rhythm of heaven and earth through the year. In the month of the winter solstice, the cycle of movement resembles the day of the summer solstice; in the month of the summer solstice, it resembles the day of the winter solstice. In spring and summer, movement runs from the hour zi through chen and si; in autumn and winter, from wu through xu and hai. The four cardinal-position hexagrams are Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li. The Cantong qi (Zhouyi Cantong qi) says: “These four hexagrams, the feminine and the masculine, serve as gate and pivot.”

Kan and Li correspond to the numbers “one” and “two.” Taking south and north as the vertical axis, Kan and Li stand for true Water and Fire: they are the root of the other six trigrams, while those six trigrams express how Kan and Li function. Both Yin and Yang qi take zi and wu as their points of beginning and ending. The Cantong qi says: “The four male-and-female trigrams serve as gate and pivot.” This means that these related hexagram images together form the hinge of yin-yang change.

Kan hides liù wù (Six Wu), symbolizing the refined essence of the moon, situated in the north—like a golden tiger (metal) arising within water. Li hides liù jǐ (Six Ji), symbolizing the radiance of the sun, situated in the south—like a cinnabar dragon (mercury) arising within fire. The lunar image begins in the Zhen trigram and waxes until it is full at Qian; it then wanes through Xun until it is exhausted at Kun.

The middle line of Qian lodges within Kun, showing that metal and water share one source; the middle line of Kun lodges within Qian, showing that wood and fire occupy one position. Qian’s transformation produces three yin trigrams, arrayed in the east: above is Xun, in the middle is Li, below is Dui—two yang lines generating one yin line. Kun’s transformation produces three yang trigrams, arrayed in the west: above is Zhen, in the middle is Kan, below is Gen—two yin lines generating one yang line.

Kan’s “embryo” position is at wu; Li’s is at zi. The west draws on the root of metal; the east draws on the ancestor of wood. Qian withdraws and lodges in Kan; Kun withdraws and lodges in Li.

In the Na Jia method (the rule that assigns the ten heavenly stems to the eight trigrams to explain yin-yang change), Qian corresponds to the full moon (wang ri), Kun to the dark moon (hui ri), and Kan and Li rise and fall in between. Specifically: Qian takes jia and ren; Kun takes yi and gui; Li takes ji; Kan takes wu; Xun takes xin; Zhen takes geng; Dui takes ding; Gen takes bing—these assignments match one another.

Kun’s first change yields Zhen, symbolizing the new moon just appearing, the moon rising in the geng direction. Its second change yields Dui, symbolizing the first-quarter moon, the moon rising in the ding direction. Qian’s first change yields Xun, symbolizing the moon beginning to wane, the moon seen in the xin direction. Its second change yields Gen, symbolizing the last-quarter moon; from here the moon gradually wanes until it nears the dark of the month.

On the first morning of the month, the Zhen trigram (symbolizing the first stir of yang) receives the talisman, and the Fu hexram (Return, symbolizing yang beginning to recover) marks the starting point. Zhen in the west corresponds to the stem geng; its image matches the najia principle that “Zhen receives geng.” On the eighth day, Dui takes ding; on the fifteenth, Qian is pure yang and takes jia; on the sixteenth, Xun takes xin; on the twenty-third, Gen takes bing; on the thirtieth, Kun takes yi. Ren and gui pair with jia and yi, while Qian and Kun span the whole process from beginning to end. These shifts also align with what neidan (internal alchemy) calls huohou—the “fire phases” or timing of the furnace.

Zhu Xi treated the Earlier Heaven Bagua as one integrated scheme and did not trace the moon’s order from dark to bright; his hexagram imagery still corresponds to najia—the system of assigning the ten heavenly stems to trigrams—as in such formulas as “Heaven and Earth fix their positions” and “Pi and Tai resemble each other.” From this, Wei Boyang’s Zhouyi Cantong qi may well follow the line of Chen Tuan (styled Xiyi); its hexagram placements all quietly match that text. Yang rises from Fu to its height in Qian; yin rises from Gou to its height in Kun.

Twelve months in a year, thirty days in a month, and twelve double-hours in a day each complete one circuit of heaven (zhoutian). Sixty-four hexagrams and three hundred eighty-four lines together make one full cycle; each line stands for one day, in line with the numerology of the Zhouyi (Book of Changes). People take the Cantong qi for an imitation of the Zhouyi and miss the depth of yin-yang transformation: the two were not forced to agree, yet they naturally coincide.

Some say the Earlier Heaven diagram and the Taiji diagram appeared together; yet Zhou Dunyi and Shao Yong never knew each other’s work, so the two diagrams cannot really be linked by direct transmission. From the birth and end of Heaven and Earth to the life and death of persons, and from ancient times to the present—all lie within waxing and waning, fullness and decline. That was hardly a law only Shao Yong saw.

The vague, hazy state of diffused mingling is the starting point of the cyclical transformation of the ten thousand things—what Zhu Xi called “the root that points upward.” Zhu Xi also said that by then Confucian scholars had lost transmission of this teaching, while those who cultivated the Way outside the orthodox path secretly handed it down and treated it as the art of refining the elixir. Not until Master Xiyi (Chen Tuan) and Master Kangjie (Shao Yong) returned to the Yijing (Book of Changes) did its rationale become clear and credible. Therefore, to honor and trust this diagram truly matters.

Yet such trust has its limits. Yang Xiong’s Taixuan, imitating the structure of the Yijing, arranged fang, zhou, bu, and jia—all derived from numerology based on “three”; Guan Lang’s Dongji listed twenty-seven images; Sima Wengong’s (Sima Guang’s) Qianxu used numerology based on “five” to set out fifty-five lines. These were only supplementary imitations compiled into books; they did not genuinely attain the complete Dao.

One who skillfully investigates the tracks of Yin-Yang movement and the key to creation and transformation will view heaven and earth from the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the fundamental state before the myriad things of the universe have differentiated—and understand that heaven and earth are themselves merely one among the ten thousand things. From this one knows that heaven and earth are produced by Yi (Change), while Yi is not produced from heaven and earth. If a person can exhaust the subtleties of the Taiji and grasp the operation of the xiantian (principles prior to the formation of heaven and earth), they can encompass heaven and earth, complete the ten thousand things, and make the power of creation and transformation return to themselves. At that level, even “xiantian” no longer applies—what more need be said?

The Book of Changes says: “A chart appeared in the Yellow River and a writing in the Luo River, and the sages took them as their models.” The “Appended Phrases” of the Book of Changes also states that the heavenly numbers run from one to ten as one, three, five, seven, and nine, and the earthly numbers as two, four, six, eight, and ten. There are five heavenly numbers and five earthly numbers; the five pairs match and correspond to one another. The heavenly numbers sum to twenty-five and the earthly numbers to thirty, so the numbers of Heaven and Earth total fifty-five. Confucius drew on the numerology of the Hetu (River Chart) to explain how the transformations of Heaven and Earth take shape and how ghosts and spirits operate.

The generative numerology represented by the Hetu is: Heaven generates one, water; Earth completes it with six. Earth generates two, fire; Heaven completes it with seven. Heaven generates three, wood; Earth completes it with eight. Earth generates four, metal; Heaven completes it with nine. Heaven generates five, earth; Earth completes it with ten.

The “Announcement of Gu” in the Book of Documents says that the Hetu was kept in the eastern alcove. Tradition holds that when Fuxi ruled the realm, a dragon-horse (longma) emerged from the Yellow River, and Fuxi drew the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) according to the patterns on its back. The Book of Rites likewise says that a horse chart appeared in the Yellow River—that is, a dragon-horse came bearing the chart on its back. The Analects mentions that “the Yellow River did not produce the Hetu,” and Kong Anguo explained that the Hetu is the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). From this it is clear that Fuxi modeled the Bagua on the Hetu; how could one dismiss that as empty fancy?

The Hetu probably appeared before writing and tally marks existed; it expresses the natural order of Heaven and Earth. It holds the subtlety of creation and is the root of the images and numbers of all things. Zheng Kangcheng said: “The Yellow River opens the way of Qian and shows Heaven’s signs; the Luo River flows in the track of Kun and reveals Earth’s tokens.” The Hetu has nine sections and the Luoshu six. Liu Xu said that Fuxi received Heaven’s mandate and became king; after obtaining the Hetu he drew the Bagua according to it. The Hetu and Luoshu are warp and woof to each other; the Bagua and the nine chapters are inner and outer to one another. Wang Su said: “The Hetu is the Bagua (Eight Trigrams).”

Wang Chong also said: “The Hetu (River Chart) is the diagram that emerged from the Yellow River—it is the material of the Yi (Change) hexagrams.” Guan Ziming said: “The arrangement of numbers on the Hetu places seven in front and six behind, eight on the left and nine on the right.” Liu Mu said: “The Hetu’s numbers total forty-five; it displays the Four Images (Sixiang) but does not discuss the Five Phases (Wuxing).” The number arrangement recorded in the Dadai Liji (Great Dai’s Record of Rites) runs: “two, nine, four; seven, five, three; six, one, eight.” The legendary “Nine Treasures” were said to take their pattern from markings on a turtle shell. Some also hold that these characters already existed before the Qin dynasty.

Ouyang Xiu said: “What is called a tu (diagram) is simply the form of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). A divine horse bore it when it appeared from the Yellow River and delivered it to Fuxi. The Bagua were not invented by human beings but descended from heaven.” Yet if one puts it that way, the Bagua were still created by someone—so they seem unrelated to the Hetu. If one truly believes the Hetu was the Bagua borne on a divine horse rising from the water, then it would be the natural pattern of heaven and earth; why would Fuxi need to create the Bagua from scratch?

Wang Anshi said: “The Hetu is used to display the way of heaven (tiandao); the Luoshu (Inscribed River Scroll) is used to explain the way of humanity (rendao). What pertains to heaven is expressed through xiang (images/symbols); what is realized on earth is expressed through fadu (standards and measures).”

Cai Shen said: “From Kong Anguo and the father-and-son Liu Xiang through Ban Gu, all held that the Hetu was granted to Fuxi and the Luoshu bestowed upon Yu the Great. Guan Ziming and Shao Kangjie (Shao Yong) both maintained that the diagram of ten numbers is the Hetu and the diagram of nine numbers is the Luoshu. Only Liu Mu argued that nine numbers constitute the Hetu and ten numbers the Luoshu, claiming this view came from Chen Tuan (style name Xiyi)—which disagrees with other Confucian scholars.”

Cai Shen also said: “Fuxi created the Yi solely on the basis of the Hetu; he need not have seen the Luoshu beforehand, yet his work naturally accorded with the Luoshu. Yu the Great formulated the Hongfan (the ancient chapter on principles of governance) solely on the basis of the Luoshu; he need not have consulted the Hetu, yet his work naturally matched the Hetu. The numbers of the Hetu are even. Even numbers belong to stillness (jing); in stillness, movement (dong) serves as their function—hence the Hetu’s pairings and operations all take odd numbers: one paired with six, two with seven …”

In the River Diagram (Hetu), the numbers are predominantly even. Even numbers stand for stillness, and stillness must be activated through movement; therefore the paired numbers in the Hetu all combine into odd totals: one with six, two with seven, three with eight, four with nine, and five with ten. The Hetu’s form is circular, while its operation is square—the sages used this to derive the Bagua (Eight Trigrams).

Cheng Yi said: When the sages saw the Hetu and the Luo Writing (Luoshu), they drew the Bagua; the ancient sages simply took the most striking numinous signs. Even without the Hetu and the Luoshu, the Bagua would still have come into being.

In both the Hetu and the Luoshu, the number at the center is five. Extrapolating from this, each set of numbers extends to ten, and taken together they amount to fifty. The Hetu’s numbers sum to fifty-five; of these, fifty all depend on five—only five serves as the ground for the fifty, while five itself has no other number as its ground. Hence, if one sets aside this foundational “five” and does not count it, what remains is fifty alone.

Furthermore, among the fifty-five, the five tens can be apportioned as numbers for yin and yang, old and young; the remaining fifty have no fixed use, so one may also explain them as five times ten or ten times five—either way yielding fifty.

Shao Yong said: The circle corresponds to the stars in heaven, and the numbers used in calendrical reckoning largely appear from this; the square corresponds to the land, and the methods of dividing provinces and measuring fields largely follow this pattern. The Hetu presents circular numerology, the Luoshu presents square structure—thus Fuxi and King Wen of Zhou fashioned the Yi Jing (Book of Changes) from them, while Yu the Great and Jizi arranged and composed the Hongfan (Great Plan).

Zhu Xi said: The Hetu aligns with the numbers in the Yi from “Heaven one” through “Earth ten,” and displays the total of fifty-five for heaven and earth; therefore the numerology of the Yi all proceeds from this. Although the yin-yang (Yin-Yang) qi between heaven and earth each has its form, at first there were no concrete numbers. Only after the Hetu and Luoshu appeared did the odd-even and generative relationships among the fifty-five numbers become clearly manifest.

The Hetu (River Chart) assigns directions and numbers as follows: one and six belong to the same category and sit in the north; two and seven are paired companions in the south; three and eight follow the same track in the east; four and nine are friendly pairs in the west; five and ten rely on and guard each other at the center. In this arrangement, Yin and Yang match up, odd and even numbers pair, the total count of generated numbers is fifty-five, and the relational pattern is clear. These numbers simply express the pairing of one Yin and one Yang, one odd and one even, and the mutual coordination of the Five Phases.

In the Hetu, one through five are the generating numbers and six through ten are the completing numbers: the generating numbers govern the completing numbers, and the two sets occupy their corresponding directions respectively. It displays the full number series to illustrate constant numerical principle. The Hetu takes the generating numbers as primary; numbers six through ten depend on one through five and attach to those generating numbers. The five odd numbers sum to twenty-five and the five even numbers sum to thirty, for a total of fifty-five. Because the Hetu emphasizes numerical completeness, the count runs to ten and odd and even positions are balanced.

In the Hetu, the positions of five and ten are left empty, symbolizing Taiji (the undifferentiated root of all things); the twenty odd numbers and twenty even numbers in total symbolize the Two Modes (Yin and Yang); when one, two, three, and four are respectively paired with six, seven, eight, and nine, they symbolize the Four Images (the four forms arising from Yin-Yang change).

Hao Cheng said: Tradition holds that the Hetu appeared before Fuxi drew the trigrams. In the Yellow River a dragon-horse appeared, and the patterns on its back displayed these numbers: one and six at the rear, two and seven at the front, three and eight on the left, four and nine on the right, and five and ten in the middle—the five odd numbers and five even numbers matching each other. Fuxi observed heaven and earth, humanity, and the myriad things, and saw that everywhere Yang corresponds to odd and Yin to even, each facing the other. When he saw the numbers of the Hetu, he gained insight and drew one odd line to represent Yang and one even line to represent Yin; he then layered and extended the Yin and Yang lines to form the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), and further developed them into the sixty-four hexagrams. This is what is meant by the saying that Fuxi drew the eight trigrams according to the Hetu.

The River Chart (Hetu) has five directional positions, corresponding to the five celestial palaces in the distribution of stars in the sky: one and six in the north, two and seven in the south, three and eight in the east, four and nine in the west, and five and ten in the center. The River Chart has five positions, each with one odd number and one even number; though the numbers total ten, there are only five positions. In the Zhou dynasty, the River Chart was stored in the Jade Repository together with the celestial sphere and jade treasures.

Chen Tan said: The River Chart and the Luo Writing (Luoshu) each have a “primary diagram” and a “transformed diagram.” When the River Chart is taken as primary, the River Chart is the primary diagram and the Luo Writing is the transformed diagram; when the Luo Writing is taken as primary, the Luo Writing is the primary diagram and the River Chart is the transformed diagram. The two diagrams differ in whether they are arranged vertically or horizontally and in how they transform, yet they can still refer to each other and appear together—this is what is meant by serving as warp and woof to one another.

Weng Yong said: When the River Chart divides directions by Yin-Yang, the “generating numbers” that mark the initial emergence of things occupy the leading position, paired with the “completing numbers” that mark fulfillment. The northeast belongs to yang: odd numbers lead, paired with even numbers. The southwest belongs to yin: even numbers lead, paired with odd numbers.

Hu Yuan said: The River Chart uses generating numbers to distinguish Yin and Yang, with the five yang generating numbers governing the five yin completing numbers so that each pair shares one direction. Yang numbers lie within, yin numbers without; generating and completing numbers match each other, expressing the idea of yin and yang joining in harmonious flow. The River Chart’s ten numbers pair and align with one another, thereby establishing its fundamental form, and for this reason it is regarded as the constant Way.

Hu Yigui said: Compared with the River Chart, the Luo Writing has only five at the center of the diagram, not ten; yet one plus nine, two plus eight, three plus seven, and four plus six each equal ten, arrayed around the center, so ten is still fully present. Earlier Confucian scholars, probing deeply into the principles of yin-yang creation and transformation and searching out what is hidden, had already investigated the subtleties of the River Chart very thoroughly. Still, what is the same and what differs between the two diagrams remains disputed.

Liu Mu said: "One and six are in the north, two and seven in the south, three and eight on the left, four and nine on the right, and five and ten in the center—this is the Luoshu. Nine is above and one below, three on the left and seven on the right, two and four like the two shoulders, six and eight like the two feet—this is the Hetu." Thus Liu Mu called the nine-number diagram the Hetu and the ten-number diagram the Luoshu.

Zhang Wenrao, well versed in Shao Yong's teaching, likewise called the nine-number diagram the Chart and the ten-number diagram the Book; but Shao Yong spoke only of the circular and square forms and did not specify whether the numbers were nine or ten. Another view calls the ten-number diagram the Hetu and the nine-number diagram the Luoshu, which agrees with what Confucius and Jizi said.

Some hold that Shao Yong's line came from Mu Xiu and Liu Mu's from Chong Fang, both tracing back to Chen Tuan. Zhu Xi said that Chen Tuan passed the Xiantian tu (a diagram of cosmic generation through Yin-Yang and the Bagua) to Chong Fang, Chong Fang to Mu Xiu, Mu Xiu to Li Zhicai, and Li Zhicai to Shao Yong. Chong Fang also passed the Hetu and Luoshu to Li Gai, Li Gai to Xu Jian, Xu Jian to Fan Kuichang, and Fan Kuichang to Liu Mu. Mu Xiu passed the Taiji tu (a diagram of Taiji, Yin-Yang, and other cosmic principles) to Zhou Dunyi, and Zhou Dunyi to Cheng Hao. Cheng Hao, following Liu Mu's account and Zhu Xi's view, strongly criticized Liu Mu's position, treating it as a settled verdict that could not be overturned.

Wei also criticized Zhu Xi, holding that Zhu Xi had originally attributed the "nine-number chart, ten-number book" formula to Liu Changmin and falsely ascribed it to transmission from Chen Tuan. Jiang Shan of Jingshi argued that the Xiantian tu is the Hetu, that the numbers of the Five Phases' generation are the Luoshu, and that "nine worn on top, one trodden below" is the number pattern of Taiyi's descent.

Luo Duanliang once said he obtained the Hetu from Cai Jitong, and Cai Jitong had received it from a recluse in Shu. The image resembles a wheel, with black and white interwoven and then divided into eight parts to represent the Bagua. Pure white is Yang and stands for the qian trigram; pure black is Yin and stands for the kun trigram; as the Yin-Yang qi of black and white gradually weakens and shifts, the remaining trigrams are formed.

Xie Fang said that he once obtained the Hetu (River Chart) from an extraordinary person. The chart’s form is based on the Bagua (Eight Trigrams); the Kan and Li trigrams are written in the center and interwoven with each other, rather like the Kan-Li technique spoken of in inner alchemy—the method that uses Kan and Li as symbols for harmonizing Yin and Yang in practice. The nine-palace numbers that Zhang Pingzi (Zhang Heng) described in the Gan Zuo Du are the Taiyi diagram; Liu Mu held that this was the Hetu. Others say that both the nine-palace diagram and the twelve-part diagram belong to the Hetu. Could the lore of the Hetu really be as tangled as all that?

Zhu Xi said that since Ouyang Xiu’s time, some have doubted whether the Hetu and Luoshu (River Writings) are trustworthy. Yet Gu Ming, the Xici (Appendices to the Yi Jing), and the Analects all mention them. The numerical patterns of the two diagrams handed down by generations of Conf scholars do overlap in places, but they do not contradict one another; whether one works forward or backward, vertically, horizontally, by turns or in straight lines, clear rules apply—the explanations are already quite complete. Ouyang Xiu had simply never seen the original diagrams; he relied only on commentarial tradition, concluded that neither Hetu nor Luoshu existed, and even questioned whether the Xici was really by Confucius—an oversight in his thinking.

What the Hetu and Luoshu display is nothing other than the patterns by which the myriad things arise and change; which thing could violate those patterns? Moreover, the sages truly drew the trigrams according to the charts—does that mean the Hetu itself is the Bagua? Both Hetu and Luoshu embody the patterns of generation and transformation among the myriad things; the two fit together.

The Luoshu aligns with the order of the first through ninth categories in the Hong Fan (Great Plan), and it encodes the number nine in those nine categories. Talk of the nine categories originally comes from the Hong Fan. The Luoshu uses five odd numbers to govern four even ones, so the odd numbers are primary: one, four, six, and eight each in their kind sit beside one, three, seven, and nine. Rows and columns in the Luoshu all sum to fifteen; seven, eight, and nine also wax and wane in alternation. The empty five can be split into ten; one contains nine, two contains eight, three contains seven, four contains six—combinations interlock in every way, all tacitly matching the inner pattern. That is precisely the subtlety of inexhaustible change. Thus the numbers of Hetu and Luoshu extend from five through ten; together they make fifty.

The Luoshu (River Chart—a numerical pattern presenting the transformations of heaven and earth) totals forty-five. Its numbers lie on the outer ring and are distinguished by yin and yang and by the old and young forms of each. Five stands at the center; counting that central five as well, the whole comes to fifty. Because the Luoshu treats change, nine is taken as the utmost number; whether one reads its positional values or its actual counts, odd numbers predominate over even ones, while yin and yang each account for twenty.

Though yin and yang differ in number, the central five can be joined to each of the Four Images: Greater Yang plus five yields six, Lesser Yin yields seven, Lesser Yang eight, and Greater Yin nine. The result matches the way yin and yang interweave in the Hetu (Yellow River Chart), again forming the generative numbers. In the Luoshu, odd and even numbers stand in opposition, much as in the Hetu the dispersed numbers have not yet been paired; in the Hetu, generative numbers match one another, much as in the Luoshu numbers pair and each finds its proper place. Hence the earlier Confucian masters said that the Hetu and Luoshu are warp and woof to each other, and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and the Nine Chapters are inner and outer to each other—meaning precisely this.

The “fifty” of the Great Numbers of Expansive Change can also be understood as derived from the number five: each single number is carried up to ten, and the sum is fifty—the sense is the same. In both the Hetu and the Luoshu the center is left empty, symbolizing the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); odd and even each total twenty, symbolizing the two polarities; every row and column sums to fifteen and can transform into seven, eight, nine, and six, symbolizing the Four Images; Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li occupy the four cardinal directions, while Zhen, Dui, Xun, and Gen occupy the four corners, symbolizing the Bagua.

The Chart of the Prior Heaven (Xiantian tu) arranges the trigrams in a circle: the Qian trigram runs to the wu (south/noon) position and reaches its terminus; the Kun trigram runs to the zi (north/midnight) position and reaches its terminus; Li reaches mao (east), and Kan reaches you (west). Yang arises at zi and peaks at wu; yin arises at wu and peaks at zi. Yang belongs to the south, yin to the north.

The square diagram’s arrangement begins with the Qian hexagram in the northwest and ends with the Kun hexagram in the southeast; Yang sits in the north and Yin in the south. This layout has always matched the structure of odd and even numbers interwoven in the Hetu (River Chart). For that reason, the Xiantian (Prior Heaven) diagram is taken as the fundamental reference for the Way of the Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy cultivation).

In the Hetu, the generating number of Yang is five—the root of the Five Phases’ arising; the completing number of Yin is ten—the source of change in the ten thousand things. One plus nine and four plus six both equal ten, signifying that Metal and Water share one origin; one plus eight and three plus seven also equal ten, signifying that Wood and Fire are one body. The total count is fifty-five, distributed across the five directions: one and six in the north, two and seven in the south, four and nine in the west, three and eight in the east, and five and ten in the center.

Using the generating numbers, subtract each direction’s own number from the counts in the five directions—those base numbers are the wellsprings of the Five Phases. Using the completing numbers and subtracting each direction’s base number yields the root of the Five Phases. After subtraction, each direction has five remaining, twenty-five in all, symbolizing the form of Wutu (Earth of the center). Subtract again the base numbers of the Five Phases: the north has four left, symbolizing Metal. Metal naturally generates Water, yet here Metal is said to arise from Water instead—as lead comes from silver—this is the “Golden Tiger”; Metal emerges from within Water, hence the phrase “the tiger turns toward water to live.”

The south has three left, symbolizing Wood. Wood naturally generates Fire, yet here Wood is said to come from Fire—as cinnabar (mercury) coalesces in response to lead—this is the “Wood Dragon”; Wood is generated in Fire, hence “the dragon issues from fire.” The east has two left, symbolizing Fire; Fire is born within Wood and Water.

Fire arises from Wood, much as mercury is refined from cinnabar sand. The mercury within Wood lies hidden in the Li trigram (which stands for Fire)—the image of the mother concealed inside while the child grows in the womb, with seven daily round-trips called the “seven returns.”

The single number left over in the west stands for Water. Water arises from Metal, and a current of primordial Qi (vital energy) turns back to its root; the lead within Metal lies hidden in the Kan trigram (which stands for Water)—the image of the child returning to the mother’s belly, with nine daily turnings called the “nine returns.”

Empty space at the center symbolizes Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); the four emblems combine to make ten—this is the subtle point of true yin joining with ji earth. All of this concerns how heaven and earth invert yin and yang in their cycles of birth and change, and holds effects so subtle they are hard to measure. Such matters cannot be lumped together with Taiyi, calendrical systems, star lore, numerology, or what specialists in occult arts and techniques actually use.

Some hold that these ideas came down from Xiyi (the style name of Chen Tuan), with diagrams and texts all drawn as circles, and therefore believe that after the Three Dynasties the Hetu (River Chart) and Luoshu (Inscribed River Chart) vanished for more than a thousand years until practitioners of the technical arts preserved them and they resurfaced in the Song. Yet what those practitioners take from such material is only how many numbers there are and how odd and even rise and fall, then matching them to punitive virtue, life and killing, and the like—nothing more than the footing of calendrical astronomy and number craft. When earlier Confucian scholars treated the Cantong qi as beneath notice, that judgment may also have been too harsh.

An old text says: “From the Yellow River a dragon-horse came forth bearing a chart, and the sage took it as his model.” Fu Xi patterned himself on it and drew the eight trigrams, so the trigrams themselves cannot be identified with the Hetu. The Hetu belongs to Fu Xi’s age; later sages did not spell it out, and though Confucius spoke of the Hetu he never said clearly what it looked like.

After Confucius, from the Guan and Liu lines onward, opinions multiplied and each side stuck to its own view, without a settled conclusion. Zhu Xi, however, fixed the ten-number figure as the Hetu and the nine-number figure as the Luoshu—a pairing that already says enough. Some treat the Xiantian tu (Prior Heaven chart) as the Hetu; some say the Hetu is like a wheel with black and white alternating; some build figures on the model of the eight trigrams; still others count both nine-number and twelve-number figures as Hetu. With no single standard, which voice should later ages follow? The Xici passage that runs from “Heaven one” through “Earth ten” takes just these counts as the basis of the Hetu’s form.

In the main text of the Xici (Appended Remarks), the numbers from “Heaven one” to “Earth ten”: five is the mother number (the base from which numerical patterns are derived), and the ten that follow are the child numbers (numbers generated from that base). From one through ten, each number occupies the place the text itself assigns. Fifteen points arranged in a pattern resemble a constellation, so it is called a diagram (tu)—what is strange or absurd about that, and what is there to doubt?

Alas, Master Cheng said: “First there is principle (li); then there are images (xiang); with images, there are numbers (shu). Grasp the meaning, and images and numbers are already included.” The Changes begins with the diagrams and numbers (tu shu); it makes principle visible chiefly through pictures. In the diagram, the waxing and waning of yin and yang, above and below— from heaven and earth, light and dark, to flying and hidden creatures and the myriad plants—nothing fine is left out. Hence when the Changes speaks of aligning with the principle of nature and destiny and exhausting the way of transformation, it always uses images to clarify principle.

If one fixates on the coming and going of image-number patterns and holds that the Changes exists only for divination, without seeking the principle within, one is far from the Way. That is the learning of men like Guo Pu and Guan Lu. Their claim to “exhaust number-principle to fix the myriad forms of the world, and display those forms to judge fortune and misfortune” is only one path taken from the movement of spirit and the activity of mind. To pursue the meaning of the Changes by that path alone—how could one exhaust the doctrine that substance and function share one source, that manifest and subtle interpenetrate without gap, and thereby explain the reasons of life and death, light and dark, and embrace the myriad forms of heaven and earth? Therefore, as a way to seek the source of the sages’ teaching, I find it hard to accept.

The way of nature and life is fundamentally one matter; what learners seek is nothing other than the Dao. If one inquires into principle from the roots of xing and ming, how could one fail to gain some insight? It is only that the effort of inquiry falls short, so those who truly attain insight are few.

Han Yu investigated human nature, wishing to clarify what earlier thinkers had not fully explained and to carry forward the sages’ teaching; yet some points remained unclear, so further exposition was still needed. From antiquity to the present, many have spoken of nature, but how many have truly grasped the root?

Yao and Shun were born in accord with their nature; Tang and King Wu practiced and fulfilled their nature through self-cultivation—these all held to nature as it truly is. Thus Yao admonished Shun: “The human mind is unstable; the mind of the Dao is subtle.” This is quite enough to reveal the foundation of kingly rule. When the Zhou declined, Confucius was born, sufficient to inherit the sages’ transmission. When Confucius spoke of “nature and the way of heaven,” he meant that what completes the myriad things is nature; each thing settles its own xing and ming, and to know nature is to know heaven. No statements come closer or clearer to the root of the Dao than these.

Zisi said: “What heaven mandates is called nature.” Heaven’s endowment in a person is nature; to know how to act in accord with nature is called the Dao. Mencius’s “goodness of nature” means the same. The mind governs nature and emotion; originally there is nothing not good—this is what is called “nature as heaven mandates.” The four virtues of benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom are inherently present; one can put them into practice without deliberate artifice—this is “what continues it is good.”

The nature heaven gives to the myriad things is originally good, but in human beings there is also skew from endowment of qi—this is “the nature of qi endowment,” also what is meant by “natures are similar.” When one is moved by external things, pulled by desire, and further obscured by acquired habit, differences appear; hence the distinction between supreme wisdom and extreme foolishness. Yet these obscurations are only like dust on a mirror, muddy water, or haze in the sky—they do not destroy the original brightness. When the grime is washed away, the mirror’s clarity shows of itself; when turbid water clears, its transparency returns. Who could truly alter the goodness human beings originally possess?

Therefore, when this mind-nature is added to sages, it does not make them more complete; when it falls upon the foolish and unvirtuous, it does not diminish them in the least. Only when one fully realizes one’s own nature can external things no longer disturb the will, desire no longer sway the mind, and habitual tendencies no longer obscure the original heart. Then the original heart becomes utterly empty, still, and luminous, utterly clear and bright—like radiance shining in the great void. How could it be confused by good and evil?

Thus, in stillness one is single-minded; in action one is upright. When sincerity is established, the mind becomes penetrating, and clear discernment arises from this. It governs the five senses and directs the whole body, so that the Four Beginnings (compassion, shame, deference, and the sense of right and wrong) are fully present and the Seven Emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, and desire) are properly regulated.

On the large scale, it has no boundary: the right principle of nature and life, the rationale of birth and death, and the reasons of the hidden and the manifest (the obscure and the bright, and also the realm of the dead and the living world) are all contained within it. On the small scale, it has no inner limit: the substance of things great and small, the conditions of every kind of life, and the qualities of form and appearance are all connected with it. To fully develop this nature is to become someone like the Duke of Zhou or Confucius; to turn away from it is to become someone like Jie or Bo (the tyrants). To practice it is to become an Yi Yin or a Fu Yue; to keep pure integrity is to become a Boyi or a Shuqi; to rest in this Way is to become a Yan Hui or a Min Ziqian. These are all effects produced by clearly discerning the good Way. Their beneficence reaches one age and flows on without end.

When it harmonizes the human heart, ritual and music take shape; when it brings people into concord, law and institutions take shape. Following it, the great norms and constants are established; using it as a measure, codes and rules are formulated. Whatever accords with the order and sequence arranged by Heaven—is this not the manifestation of Heaven’s principle running justly? Moreover, what Yangzi called “good”…