《岘泉集》Vol. 3

Shanxian Rock was originally called Fanju. It boasts twenty-four named sights and has been renowned far and near for a long time. Tradition holds that a Celestial Master of the Han dynasty once refined elixir on this mountain; a dragon and a tiger appeared among the cliffs, and the rock’s fame grew still greater. From then on, scholars throughout the realm—noble or humble, old or young—whether passing by or coming on purpose, all wished to visit. Those who went by boat did so without a break through the year.

On the sixth day of the ninth month in the Bingzi year of Hongwu (1396 CE), I set out by boat from the stream bank with my house guest Yang Mengxu, my younger cousin Zhanbi, my nephew Hao Ruxu, and our companions Wang Jingshan, Hao Chuyuan, and Yuan Zhian. We brought wine aboard and let the current carry us; in less than an hour we arrived. That evening we rested on the left side of the rock, at Yanfa Temple—the shrine of the Han Celestial Master. High halls and towers rose into the clouds; the Water Curtain, the Dipper Altar, Dan’ao, and Zhiyan Rock stood on either side, and we lodged nearby.

After a night’s stay, at dawn the next day we boarded again. The boatmen pointed out sights ahead and astern, busy poling and steering, scarcely idle a moment. On islets, sandbars, and waterside flats, strange rocks and remarkable trees, quiet flowers and thick fragrance—each place had its own charm and was especially delightful. Before long the boat wound through bends and crossed clear stretches of water. Here the bank fell low and the hull scraped easily; there were hidden, narrow caves and perilous narrows where only birds and beasts could climb in and out, beyond human reach. Some fishing huts lay deep in wooded ravines; some winding paths hid among wild, grassy shoals. The scene was truly no different from the Peach Blossom Spring of Wuling.

Later we opened our tea things and drank tea by the water, then drifted on downstream. Sheer cliffs rose straight up—some like dragons and leopards leaping, some like dragons lifting their heads and tigers crouching; overhanging brows of rock layered like folding screens or surging clouds.

Afterward everyone sat drinking tea and looked down along the stream. Sheer cliffs rose straight up—some like dragons leaping or leopards springing, others like coiled dragons or crouching tigers; lower folds spread like screens and folding barriers. Cloud and mist surged past, the view shifting without end, layer upon layer. In the hollows of dark caves one could even make out shapes like kitchens, granaries, windows, looms, beams, and walls—complete enough to stir longing when you looked up, to open the chest and set the spirit free, until you almost forgot there was ordinary human life in the world.

Looking down, the pool was a sheet of clear green; all around, the sounds of nature. Looking up, peaks pierced the clouds as if holding up the bright sun; high rocks and valleys stood in ranks, green hills stacked like brocade. Farther on were rushing water and shallows, the scene deep and winding—I could not tell where it ended.

After a long while we came below the cliff, straightened our clothes, and climbed. The precipice rose ten thousand ren; the rock overhung like a huge canopy, wide enough for dozens to sit. We spread wine and food and drank there. Some recited poetry, some sang, some played the zither, some painted. We wandered at leisure the whole day and only stopped at dusk. A west wind came up then, as if one could tread the empty air and ride the wind; our mood stayed high long after. We had a boat prepared and went to the right of the cliff to visit Mingcheng Abbey—the Hetu Immortal Altar of the Great Master Hao. Night was near; we lit torches and pressed on to lodge. Our host was Hao Congshan, skilled at discourse on the Way; we talked all night and returned the next day. Poems from the journey filled our sleeves before we knew it, enough to make a scroll.

Meng Xu later put it into a written account and said: “In human life, what matters is joy in action. That famous mountains and great rivers are where xianzhen—the immortals and perfected ones of Daoist teaching—dwell, I had long heard. The sights here do not fall short of Penglai, Weifeng, Fanghu, or Yuanjiao. Many in the world wish to visit and cannot; others hear of it and think it extravagant or false and will not believe. Today I have been fortunate enough to see it with my own eyes. Anqi, Xianmen, and the rest, and the image of flying immortals roaming at will, seem almost before my eyes—how could I not feel blessed?”

I wish to place this piece at the head of the collection, recording this stroke of good fortune so that readers in later ages may also encounter it. When I imagine immortals such as Anqi and Xianmen roaming freely in flight and ascension, as if close at hand, how could I not feel fortunate? I wish to write a preface for these works, recording this fine elegant gathering of scholars in shared verse and song, so that it may endure.

I did not decline, and sighed: Since heaven and earth were opened, each has kept its place, and mountains and rivers were formed thereby. This rocky peak has stood through long ages, towering without toppling or crumbling. Looking back across myriad years, who can say how many rises and falls it has witnessed? And how many people, like us today, have shared the joy of such an outing? In myriad years to come, who knows how many will share the delight of this day?

Many in the world are trapped in the fame and rank signified by splendid carriages and official robes, sunk in worldly clamor; others are blocked by rain and mist, or bound by life’s joys and sorrows—such cases are beyond counting. Those who cannot come to roam here are separated from us by more than the distance between heaven and earth. This excursion also brought the pleasure of responsive verse, zither, and song. Compared with past gatherings at places like Red Cliff or the Orchid Pavilion, it need not fall short—how could we not write it down?

People in the world who are restless and shallow long for quiet; the weary long for leisure—can they truly taste natural spontaneity? I gladly accepted his request and wrote this preface.

Preface to the Collection of Returning to Truth

The way of immortals has been honored since antiquity. The Yellow Emperor once questioned Guangchengzi on the Dao—a story widely known. People in the world who are restless and shallow long for quiet; the weary long for leisure—can they truly taste natural spontaneity? I gladly accepted his request and wrote this preface.

Since antiquity, the way of immortals (xian) has been held in high regard. Legend says the Yellow Emperor sought the Way from Guangchengzi; later generations called this teaching “Huang-Lao learning” and identified Guangchengzi with Laozi. Talk of immortals arose from there. In myth, Qian Keng of Pengzu in the age of Tang Yao, Xiaofu in the Xia, Wanqiu in the Shang, and Prince Qiao of Zhou were all immortals—such stories existed already through the Three Dynasties. Only when King Mu of Zhou built a grass pavilion to summon masters did the lore of the immortal path spread widely.

The First Emperor of Qin and Emperor Wu of Han trusted masters who compounded drugs and ingested mineral elixirs. Wang Cizhong, Dongfang Shuo, and others touched the immortal path but never received true transmission. Heterodox and confused claims multiplied until people harmed themselves. Learned scholars and Confucians criticized the immortal way—understandably.

In the Han, Wei Boyang modeled Zhouyi Cantong Qi on the Yijing, developing the Guwen Longhu Jing. Thus the path of neidan (internal alchemy—cultivation centered on the inner person) was clarified: no longer fixated on swallowing minerals and herbs, chasing cloud-and-mist transformations, or guiding and tonifying arts alone, but chiefly explaining how body, mind, shen (spirit), and qi (vital energy) run by nature—using hexagram lines and time markers by analogy to align with yin-yang, odd and even, and image-number reasoning.

Later, Zhongli Quan (styled Yunfang) passed this to Lü Yan (Lü Dongbin) of Tang. Lü inherited the teaching and set out its core in verse and treatises, so later ages could largely grasp orthodox cultivation aims. Successive dynasties had transmitters. In Song, Zhang Ziyang, Shi Xinglin, Chen Niwang, Bai Ziqing, Li Yuxi, and Li Qing’an were outstanding figures of their time. The intent of their writings does not fall short of Wei Boyang’s, and each had deep personal insight.

Separated by hundreds or thousands of years, why do their words fit together like tally halves? Because the principle is the same across ages and human hearts are the same. When teachings diverge and clash, it is mostly from heterodox and bizarre views—some flattering the world, some fabricating to mislead posterity. How could such talk truly match the natural course of body, mind, shen, and qi? So the ancients had to find the right person to transmit the Way; the Way would not spread on its own without cause.

The mysteries of cultivating the Dao are certainly not something a teacher may disclose casually, yet the student must truly accumulate merit and practice with earnest diligence. If one only traffics in empty rhetoric and pretense, chasing reputation and showing off, that has nothing to do with cultivation—how then speak of the Great Dao, let alone embody its meaning in words?

Hunranzi of Linjiang in Nanchang—his original surname is no longer known—was widely learned. He once met an extraordinary person and received secret transmission, yet he still labored at writing. I have read his work for a long time and once met him at an inn to seek instruction; because I was in haste, I could not explore it in depth. This spring my fellow disciple Yuan Wenyi returned from the Wu region bearing Hunranzi’s Huai Zhen Ji (Collection on Returning to Authenticity), and asked me to write a few words. Reading it again and again, I am convinced that it expounds the aim of the Golden Fluid Returning Elixir (Jinye Huandan—a formulation of Neidan, internal alchemy): it clarifies profound principle and also explains how to apprehend and apply it. If one cultivates accordingly, even compared with masters such as Ziyang and Qing’an, it would be hard to say who ranks higher or lower.

I have long worried over the shallow, arrogant, and one-sided temper of the age—a habit deeply ingrained and hard to uproot entirely. Yet I rejoice that this book is enough to rouse what is sick in a declining world. Perhaps those of firm resolve and upright character will discern and mine the jade within; then they will not find it difficult to let spirit and mind roam the realm where the ten thousand things are newly arisen and not yet formed, and to nurture primordial Qi in undivided chaos. Thus one may exhaust the beginning and end of things and penetrate wondrous transformation.

If someday we can summon the yellow crane to descend from the sky and discuss the Dao together on the banks of the Xiang or among hills and streams, it will not be too late. This piece is placed first at the head of the volume, awaiting the reader.

End of Xianquan Ji, fascicle 2.

Xianquan Ji, fascicle 4

Composed by Celestial Master Zhang Yuchu of Qishan Wuwei

Liezi said that the world passes through four stages: Taiyi (Great Simplicity), Taichu (Great Beginning), Taishi (Great Commencement), and Taisu (Great Element). In Taiyi, Qi is not yet visible; in Taichu, Qi first appears; in Taishi, form begins to take shape; in Taisu, concrete matter begins to form. Once Qi, form, and matter are all present but not yet separated from one another, this state is called “Hunlun”—all things mixed together, not yet distinct.

Qi is the starting point of form and matter. Before Yin and Yang have differentiated, the myriad things are a single undifferentiated whole; once they divide, it is as if holes have been bored open, and the unified chaos no longer exists. Although Qi, form, and substance separate from one another, they always contain and cycle through each other in mutual dependence. Outwardly they seem apart, yet in their waxing and waning they never violate one another, so they still remain not far from Hunlun.

Qi moves through heaven and earth, giving rise to wind and rain, frost and dew, mountains and rivers, valleys and streams; in the human body and in all things, it constitutes the limbs and the hundred parts of the body. Whether flying, swimming, moving, or growing, the myriad things differ in kind and form, yet all are bounded by body and matter. How Qi first appeared is hard to infer, but once Qi has condensed into concrete form, it can be observed and investigated.

The sky appears vast and blue—that is the true color shown when the Great Void is clear. But when shade and change suddenly occur, that blue is obscured; it is precisely through such change that the sky’s condition is fully revealed. Human beings receive Qi and form, and originally possess their own nature; yet when emotions and desires flare up, hardness and softness, good and evil come to the surface, diluting what was thick and simple, mixing what was pure, and staining what was clean. Speaking of nature before adornment, it originally comes closest to the state of chaotic wholeness. Still, the hardness, softness, good, and evil in a person are also one way in which human nature manifests itself. The same holds for the myriad things: movement and stillness alternate, all contained within change.

Therefore, a plain vessel shows no splendor unless patterned; a natural flavor lacks balance without salt or bitter greens; a soft sound cannot harmonize without adjustment to the lü-lü (ancient pitch standards). These are necessary features within the nature of things.

People must restrain desire and return to their primordial state because only then does their innate simplicity not grow thin, their pure character stay unmixed, their clear mind remain unstained, and their luminous true nature show itself plainly. Thus human strength and softness, goodness and evil shift like sky brightening and darkening in an instant—yet the primordial simplicity within does not change on that account.

Some in the world who follow this teaching cultivate themselves by nurturing their nature alone and have not yet reached the realm of “wandering in supreme primordial simplicity” (you hu tai su). Without reaching that state of tai su, how can one see the starting point of true nature?

True nature is constant while outward adornment decays; true nature brings stillness while adornment easily wins others’ favor. Those who aspire to the Dao must cast off the florid and return to essence. When one can return to essence, thought and spirit grow clear, inner and outer stand upright and pure, and the myriad things merge into one undivided whole. Is this not precisely beholding the primordial beginning?

The eminent practitioner Lian Taisu of Five Dragons Palace on Mount Wudang in Junzhou is widely learned and upright in conduct. He has lived in our mountains for more than twenty years, steadfast in cultivation. He often dwells alone in a single room, without dealings with the world. My late father always received him with courtesy; after I succeeded to my teaching office, I too consulted and studied with him on many points in the Daoist classics. Could it be that only by reaching the state of tai su could he practice in such solitary dedication?

This autumn he planned to leave, and I urged him strongly to stay but could not keep him. I therefore said to him: “Through the ages, famous mountains and great rivers have always had immortals who dwell and rest there—why should the mountain you are going to be any exception? I have heard that this peak is uniquely marvelous in all the world. Are there not recluses there like Anqi and Xianmen? Perhaps on this journey Lian Taisu will meet them, broaden that realm of undivided oneness, return to the dark primordial chaos of the beginning, and transcend the limits of form and temperament. At that stage, would one still need to seek the starting point of essence?”

As he was about to depart, Lian Xi gathered these words together, recorded them, and asked me to write this piece as a keepsake of farewell.

Zhang Yanhong of Xujiang came from a family renowned for virtue and standing. Last spring, when I was traveling to visit Xishan and Huagai Mountain and passed through Xujiang, I met him. I admired his simple, sincere character and spoke with him; I learned that he was very earnest in seeking the teachings I expound. He had taken for himself the style name Chunyi Zi—“Master of Pure Unity” (meaning one who is single-minded and pure). At that time I was about to return and had no leisure to discuss it at length.

This spring he came to visit the mountains where I live. My younger brother Yanji and I accompanied him to Longjing, Guanchen Lake, Pipa Peak, Yuntai Peak, Miaogu Peak, and other scenic places. We bathed in rushing streams and rested on great rocks, as if wandering with Heaven and Earth, forgetting that the human world still held its cares and disputes.

Yanhong then asked me: “You once spoke of my style name ‘Chunyi Zi’; now that I am fortunate enough to accompany you on this tour, I venture to ask you to explain the meaning of this name.”

I pointed to the water and said to him: “Water seems still when it lies deep in its source and in the valleys, clear enough to scoop up in one’s hands. Yet once it issues from the source, it surges and leaps, winding downward—we know not for how many thousand or hundred li. The great becomes seas and rivers; the small becomes streams and ravines. Where it meets stone it churns; where wind touches it, it sounds. Even if blocked by thorns, fouled by filth, inhabited by dragons and fish in the depths, or hidden by trees in the gloom, with wind and rain darkening the surface—nothing can make it cease to flow. Day and night without pause, not for an instant can it be held back: this is water following the terrain as it changes.

But in terms of water’s true nature, it is originally clear and bright; it is not truly blocked by thorns, nor is it utterly defiled by filth. It can contain all things and reflect all things—because Yuanqi (the fundamental vital breath by which Heaven and Earth and the ten thousand things operate) moves and circulates within it. The principles spoken of in the Dao fundamentally arise from qi. Water moving through Heaven and Earth is like qi moving through the human body. Activity and stillness, coming and going, transformation—all lie within each inhalation and exhalation, embracing fullness and emptiness, waning and waxing, change and flux.

The human heart-mind is governed by qi; originally it is pure, clear, and bright—empty and spirit-like, like clear, limpid water.”

When a person is obscured by desire and moved to act by external things, if they do not guard and regulate themselves even slightly, the spirit and mind are driven by externals and conduct becomes chaotic—like a flood surging and churning, hard to control. When qi disperses, it turns into thought and desire, as if water blocked and turned muddy.

Therefore sages teach people to guard and restrain the inner heart and correct wrong thoughts so the heart returns to its original flow. Understand that the heart’s clarity and brightness were never truly bound; that luminous state still exists—this is called “practice of the Way,” also called “method.” Spirit and mind circulate through the four quarters of heaven and earth, in accord with heaven and earth’s movement without conflict; when it manifests, it is like wind, rain, and thunder—as if that power were innate.

Why is this so? The “two-five” numbers in the Hetu and Luoshu (ancient diagrams symbolizing change in heaven and earth), and the “three-five” Way in thunder ritual, all take the same root as the basis for the growth and movement of the ten thousand things. Thus, nurturing it can reach the utmost peace; deploying it has wondrous efficacy. With sincere heart to cleanse and temper until inner and outer connect, one can quickly align with its subtle use. As for strange matters of ghosts and spirits in the hidden realm, few speak of them—I apply them as well.

Cultivation must first reach purity and unity before one can return to the One; returning to the One, the path of nature and life (xingming) is complete—what need is there to speak further of ritual techniques? Observing the nature of the ten thousand things, one knows one’s own nature; fully realizing one’s nature, one understands how the Way of Heaven operates. Understanding the Way of Heaven, one knows that the heaven within oneself connects with the heaven of heaven and earth. How could the principle of responsive communion be split in two?

Therefore some inner cultivators deliberately act wild or use wine to release restraint; in talk, laughter, anger, and scolding they can still command wind and summon thunder—is that done casually? Yan Hong has thoroughly explored the subtleties of ritual technique and the work of purity and unity, and has practiced and verified it in person—what more need be said? I also hear that an ancestor of his once heard the Way and transcended; his earnest love of the Way surely relates to past habit as well. Yan Hong, continue to strive. Alas—as one from the homeland of Attendant to the Celestial Sovereign Wang Zhenjun (a Taoist deity), you should all the more revive the legacy left behind to inspire those who come after; that is my hope. At Yan Hong’s request, these words are carved on stone.

Zhi Xue

The foundation of learning lies in xing (nature) and ming (life mandate)—that is, Dao and De. The human heart governs both nature and emotion; nature is what one receives from Heaven’s mandate. The turning of the four seasons, the transformations of the Five Phases, and the growth and change of the myriad things all issue from Heaven’s mandate; the moral sprouts of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness, the various ethical norms, and the ten thousand things are all fully present in human nature. Though changes are manifold, their root is one, and the principle has never differed. Therefore, following the upright path indicated by one’s nature is called “Dao”; cultivating and practicing this upright path is called “teaching”—yet one can only understand this through learning.

Learning begins with honoring parents, loving siblings, loyalty, and trustworthiness, and is carried out in daily ritual and social exchange—there is no time or place that does not require learning. The Shangshu · Yueming speaks of learning, stating that one gains only by studying the admonitions of the ancients; from beginning to end, learning is the main task—this is the learning that sages uphold. Sages clearly grasp and fully embody impartial heavenly principle, and so their heart-and-mind is lucid and pure; the foolish and unworthy sink into selfish desire, and their heart-and-nature becomes dim, turbid, and skewed.

Therefore, to seek learning is to remove obscuring veils and restore the goodness originally inherent in one’s nature. One must investigate how to fully develop one’s nature, comply with Heaven’s mandate, discern what is good, and make oneself sincere. Li and yi set the measure of conduct and guard against deviation; speech and action must be corrected through self-cultivation and reflection. One must also respect teachers, cherish good friends, maintain a reverent heart, and act in accord with yi (righteousness). Day by day and month by month, learning enters the ears and settles in the heart, and when one acts, things fit naturally.

Zaofu excelled at driving chariots, Hou Yi at archery, Shi Kuang at music, Chui at bow-making, Xi Zhong at making chariots, and Du at driving horses. Even these skills, though minor matters, require focused study to master. How much more so for learning the teachings of sages and worthies—one cannot fail to apply oneself. Confucius had already become a sage, yet did not rest on that title; he still said that at fifteen he set his heart on learning. How could people ten thousand generations after Confucius leap over the sage and cease to learn?

Ancient times established schools: under Tang and Yu they were called “Chengjun”; in the Shang there was “Taixue,” also called “Puzong”; in the Zhou, Taixue was set in the eastern suburb and village schools called “Yuxiang.” The school systems of Han and Tang and later all developed from these traditions.

Sage rulers such as Yao and Shun all studied under teachers in their time. Yao learned from Juncai, Shun from Wucheng Zhao, Yu from Xiwang Guo, Tang from Chenzi Bo, King Wen of Zhou from Shizi Si, and King Wu from Guo Shu. This shows that innate human nature and personal cultivation can also be opened and refined through learning.

Confucius once asked Laozi about ritual, inquired of Chang Hong about music, and consulted Kezi on matters of lineage and clan. Mencius studied under Zisi, and Xunzi learned from Zou Yan—this was how Confucian teaching was handed down from generation to generation. Later, Dong Zhongshu and Han Yu carried on the tradition; still later, scholars associated with Lianxi and the Luoyang school continued it, all seeking the root of centrality, humaneness, and righteousness and steadfastly returning to the path of self-cultivation.

Those who truly grasp the essence of the Six Classics are pure within and correct without, able to take part in Heaven and Earth’s work of transformation and nourishment and to bring the myriad things to harmony. They set down what they have realized in writing, weaving it in clear patterns across the page and using words to bear the great Dao. Thus ritual objects such as balance weights, fine jade, and glazed gems, along with vessels like yi, ding, jian, and zuan, need no deliberate ornament for people to recognize them as implements used in ancestral temple rites. How does that compare with those who furtively imitate others and parade empty show, carving language and vying for novelty only to win approval? If one cannot reach a broad, luminous level but chases crooked byways instead, how can that be called true pursuit of learning?

Learning must take in the guiding purpose and in the end yield real achievement. Compared with what one first received through teachers and friends, once learning has truly entered the heart it is like goods already placed in a pouch or pottery already fired—one has it without strain. What is understood from within oneself is the subtlety of the Dao and the depth of learning; the inner life is full, light shows forth, and one advances day by day. Brocades and woven finery are not true splendor; rush mats, ding vessels, jade tablets, and seals of office are not true glory. Even with coarse cloth and plain food, or the spare living of Xiao and Cao with no more than a cup of water, one can still be at ease and not let go of one’s contentment.

Even when not a single distracting thought weighs on the mind, one must still persevere without slackening. A qilin or a fine steed may strain in one leap yet cover no more than ten paces; a poor nag that keeps walking for ten days can go a great distance—and the decisive difference is simply that one stops to rest while the other does not. This, I believe, is what the sages meant when they resolved to pursue learning and refused to rest content with what they had already attained.

My nephew, [name withheld], is by nature upright, bright, and fond of study. He once asked his elder brother, [name withheld], to inscribe the place where he daily applied himself to learning with the name “Aspiration to Learning” (Zhixue), and also asked me to set down a few words clarifying its meaning. In learning I have barely crossed the threshold; I have not yet entered the inner hall of the learning associated with Min. How could I offer him any real guidance? I only hope that [name withheld] will press on, until what he studies grows ever more familiar and is truly carried out in conduct. I look forward to what he may achieve hereafter—then who can measure how far his path may extend? For this reason I have written this brief piece, to await the day when he has made his mark.

—Inscribed by Zixu Yuanjun

Yuanjun Wei Huacun, styled Xian'an, was a native of Rencheng. She was the daughter of Wei Shu, Minister over the Masses in the Jin dynasty, and was born in the third year of Jiaping under Qi of Wei (251 CE). Endowed with exceptional natural gifts, in her youth she read the Laozi and Zhuangzi, came to revere the Daoist arts, and loved quiet solitude.

When she was twenty-four, her parents insisted that she marry Liu Wen of Nanyang, styled Youyan. The couple had two sons, named Pu and Xia. Liu Youyan later served as magistrate of Xiuwu County in Ji Commandery. Once the two sons could manage on their own, Wei Huacun observed fasting and purified her mind, withdrew from household affairs, abstained from food, and again donned the garments of one in cultivation.

On the night of the sixteenth day of the twelfth month of the ninth year of Taikang (288 CE), the Perfected of the Grand Ultimate, the Lad of Azure Youth, the Divine King of Fusang and the Yang Valley, the Perfected of Jinglin, the Perfected of Pure Vacuity, and others descended and said to Wei Huacun: “We have heard that you secretly cultivate true Qi; the Great Thearch has ordered us to transmit to you the true way of immortals.” They produced the Eight Pure Hidden Books, the Great Grotto True Scripture, the Lofty Immortals’ Feathered Mystery, and other supreme treasured scriptures—thirty-one juan in all—and entrusted them to her, saying these books had formerly been passed to the General Perfected of the Western Citadel and were now turned over to her; they also taught her oral formulas for visualization meditation (cunsi), the essentials of cultivation, and the like, then departed. At that time Wei Huacun was thirty-seven.

In the ninth year of Xianhe (334 CE), the Lad of Pure Vacuity and Azure Youth again descended, bestowed upon her two doses of medicine for her to take on schedule, and arranged to meet her at Luoyang Palace. On the seventh night of that month at midnight, the Grand Ultimate sent a carriage to welcome her. Wei Huacun employed the “concealing the form” method, entrusted her body to a divine sword, and transformed away; she lived eighty-three years, then went to Mount Yangluo. The next day the Lad of Azure Youth, the four perfected of the Grand Ultimate, and the Pure Vacuity King again descended and met her at the cloud terrace in the Hidden Grotto. The perfected ones each transmitted important instructions to her; after three days they departed.

Wei Huacun long recited jade scriptures, yet her appearance remained like a young girl’s. Later the Queen Mother of the West and the Primordial Lady of the Southern Pole came to welcome her; she ascended at dawn to the jade gate of the Upper Clarity Palace. The Great Lord of the Jade Empyrean Way, the Thearch of the Grand Abyss, and the Later Sage Lord of the Golden Gate each sent mandates, conferring upon her jade tablets and golden writs and enfeoffing her as Purple Vacuity Yuanjun, to command the office of Upper True Director of Fates of the Southern Marchmount, with rank equivalent to a Duke among immortals. By mandate she governed the grotto-heavens of Mount Tiantai and Mount Dahu, was charged with instructing in the human realm those who sought immortality and cultivation, and oversaw Director of Fates, immortals, and related affairs under the Southern Marchmount. The perfected ones then went with her to Mount Tiantai and Mount Dahu; on the way they passed Golden Altar at Jurong, where Lord Mao Shushen entertained them for two days and two nights before they went on together to Mount Dahu.

On the twenty-third day of the sixth month of the second year of Xingding (1218 CE), Wei Huacun and the perfected ones descended to the home of Yang Xi at Golden Altar, Jurong, and the line of Huayang transmission began from this. She is honored as the first patriarch of the Shangqing school. In the Yuanyou era of Song, she was further enfeoffed as “High Primordial Illuminating Purple Vacuity Perfect Way Yuanjun.”

Biography of Jin Ye'an

Jin Pengtou was a native of Yongjia; his given name was Zhiyang, and his style was Ye'an. Because he wore his unkempt hair gathered in a topknot at the crown, people called him "Pengtou" (Messy-Head). His family had lived for generations at Yunsheng, and the local community held him in esteem. From youth Jin Zhiyang was bold and ambitious, unwilling to be tied down by convention. As soon as he came of age, he turned toward the Dao, set aside worldly cares, and took Li Yuexi, a Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) priest, as his master. Li Yuexi was a disciple of Bai Ziqing; at first sight he judged Jin Zhiyang a person of promise and sent him to travel through Yan, Zhao, Qi, and Chu in search of the true Way. Later he visited the elder Li Zhenchang, and his understanding grew deeper.

Passing through Yuanzhou, Jin Zhiyang met a garrison guard named Dian Junzi. The man was tall and imposing in build and had long kept apart from ordinary society, sleeping at night in spirit shrines. Jin Zhiyang saw that he was no ordinary person and accepted him as a disciple. As they spent more time together, Dian Junzi's speech gradually revealed what he had attained. At that time Zou Tingzuo of Zishan, who revered the Dao, built Changchun Guan and invited Jin Zhiyang to reside there. Before long Jin Zhiyang put his disciple Liu Zhixuan in charge of affairs at the abbey, then traveled on to Wuyi Shan and Longhu Shan.

At that time the abbot of Xiantian Guan on Longhu Shan was Fu Shizheng. He arranged lodging for Jin Zhiyang at Penglai Hermitage. Penglai Hermitage lay among peaks such as Zhengjun, Shengjing, and Miaogu. Jin Zhiyang climbed rugged cliffs, took deer and wild boar as companions, and passed through mists and clouds as if it were nothing unusual. At night he often sat on flat boulders in quiet cultivation; when serpents and tigers came before him, they too would flee in fear. He then found a level, open spot and had his disciples Li Quanzheng and Zhao Zhenchun build Tianrui Hermitage on the summit.

When people far and near heard of his attainments, anyone who fell ill would come to see him. Those who ate the fruit offered to Jin Zhiyang recovered without exception, so visitors who came to pay respect increased day by day. Once, during a drought, he went to Longjing to pray and summoned the dragon to speak. The dragon appeared and obeyed; as the rain slackened he drew it into his sleeve. Jin Zhiyang then ordered it to stop; the dragon surged upward and leapt into the water, and soon rain fell from the sky.

In the guisi year of the Yuantong era (1333), Jin Zhiyang again withdrew to Wuyi Shan and lived at Zhiqing's Zhizhi Hermitage. Li Taiping, military commander of eastern Zhe, heard of him and came to honor him. Jin Zhiyang told him: "When government is strict and clear, the ruler can govern the state well; when the inner mind is pure, anxious thoughts grow fewer." Li Taiping admired him all the more.

Later the rebel Li Zhipu invaded Zhangzhou. The court sent Vice Commissioner Wu to govern the region; he also visited Zhizhi Hermitage.

The Marshal Li Taiping of Zhejiang heard of his deeds and paid him a respectful visit, saying: “When government orders are strict and clear, the ruler can govern the state well; when the mind is clear and bright, worry naturally diminishes.” Li Taiping admired him all the more for this.

Later, the rebel Li Zhipu invaded Zhangzhou. The court appointed Vice Commissioner Wu to reconnoiter the enemy and to serve as vanguard in putting down the rebellion. Wu’s son Zhongliang wished to become his disciple, but he did not accept. The rebellion was soon suppressed.

The spirits all held him in reverence. Later, wearied by the throngs who came to see him, some plotted to poison him. He perceived this in advance and had his disciples dig a hole in the ground. Sure enough, someone removed the poison and buried it there; later generations called that well the “Spitting-Elixir Well” (Tudan Jing).

On the first day of the first month of the Zhiyuan era, his contemporary Guixin Yuan—known to the world as Guifengzi—passed away in seated meditation on Mount Lu. Before long he heard of it. On the tenth day of the fourth month he had his disciples write his testament, then passed away in seated meditation. Thirteen days later his body lay face down, still warm and supple, as if alive. His disciples buried him beside the ancient plum tree near the hermitage.

He was born on the fourth day of the fifth month in the bingzi year of the Zhiyuan era. Several outstanding disciples—Lao Yansu, Guo Chuchang, Li Xilai, Yin Pona, and Fang Fanghu—all became renowned throughout the world for their mastery of the Dao.

Mangmiaozi said: In antiquity, those of integrity and righteous conduct often practiced ascetic discipline and kept themselves pure to fulfill their aspirations. They therefore regarded injuring their bodies and exhausting their strength as matters of course; through such exceptional conduct they could serve as models for a thousand years—Jin Pengtou was such a person. To establish a name in the world one must at least reach this level; how much more so for those who seek to transcend the form and attain the Dao? When one can do this yet still fail to achieve the Dao, there has never been such a case. Alas, how many in each age can actually do it?

Zhao Yuanyang, styled Yizhen, was a native of Anfu County in Jizhou. His ancestors had originally lived in Junyi and were thirteenth-generation descendants of Prince Yan Zhao Dezhao of the Song dynasty. An ancestor of the Zhao family served as magistrate of Anfu under the Yuan, and the entire clan then settled there.

From childhood Yuanyang was quick-witted and perceptive. As soon as he learned to read he excelled at recitation and gained wide familiarity with the classics, histories, and the writings of the various masters. When he grew older he studied for the civil service examinations. Before long he set out for the capital to take the tests, but illness prevented him from completing the journey. When his sickness lingered without recovery, he dreamed at night that a divine being said to him, “You are one of our Daoist fold—why still seek worldly rank and honor?” His father therefore had him follow the Daoist path and study. From then on he devoted himself to quiet simplicity and detachment, and his learning steadily deepened.

At first he took Zeng Chenwai, a accomplished practitioner in his home prefecture, as his master and received the essential methods of the various lineages. Where transmission was incomplete or unclear, he always investigated and set matters forth clearly. He also studied under Zhang Tianquan of Taiyu Abbey in Jizhou. Zhang Tianquan, also known as Iron-Mysterious Zhang, had studied under Jinye’an of Longhu Mountain; through him Yuanyang learned the formulas of golden-fluid Neidan (internal alchemy) and Waidan (external alchemy). Later he studied under Li Xuanyi of Nanchang. Li Xuanyi recommended that he take Master Feng of Puyi as his teacher; Master Feng had also studied under Jinye’an.

It is said that Yuanyang once traveled to Yongxing Abbey on White Crane Mountain. That site preserved traces of the Western Jin immortal Kuang’s cultivation, and he settled there. When people asked him about rites to summon wind and rain or to deliver the dead, what he performed proved effective. Word spread, and people from a thousand li away gathered to join and follow him.

When military turmoil broke out in the renchen year, he took disciples and traveled west through Wu and Shu. After returning he also visited Wudang Mountain, paid respects at Longhu Mountain, and sought out traces left by the Han-dynasty Celestial Masters (Tianshi). The then Celestial Master, Lord Chongxu, treated him with great respect and wished to keep him, but he declined. Many learners in the abbeys took him as master.

He later returned to Ziyang Abbey in Yudu, Ganzhou, and made his home there. He compiled the profound aims and essential methods of the Dao into books and wrote poetry as self-admonition; he also practiced medicine to relieve the suffering of the world. He declined social engagements, lived alone and spoke little, and seldom jested. Many wished to call on him but could not gain an audience. His conduct was lofty and his integrity firm.

He was of noble character and outstanding integrity, esteemed and admired by people of his time, and more and more seekers followed him to study. On the first day of the first month in the year of Renchen, he took leave of the assembly and said: “I am about to leave this world. From today onward, close the quiet chamber, guard stillness carefully, and let no one disturb me.” On the third day of the fifth month, the summer solstice, he opened the quiet chamber, charged his disciples to conduct themselves well in the world, then rinsed his mouth, bathed, changed his clothes, and sat cross-legged. At that time an imperial edict arrived in the county; he wrote a few lines of verse, cast aside the brush, and passed away. Thunder and lightning suddenly broke out, and daylight turned dim. The next day officials and common people came in crowds to pay their respects.

He sent his disciples to Yan, Zhao, Qi, Chu, and other regions to seek the true Way. Later he visited the elder Li Zhenchang and gained further understanding. Passing through Yuanzhou, he met a garrison captain known as “Mad Junzi.” The man was imposing in appearance, ordinarily kept apart from the world, and at night often lodged in spirit shrines to inquire about the Way. Pengtou saw he was no ordinary person and took him as master. As they spent more time together, their discussions of principle gradually bore fruit.

At that time Zou Tingzuo of Zishan, who revered the Dao, built the Changchun Guan and invited him to reside there. Before long he had his disciple Liu Zhixuan manage affairs in the abbey while he himself traveled to Mount Wuyi and Mount Longhu. Then Fushizheng, abbot of the Xiantian Guan on Longhu, installed him at the Penglai Hermitage. The hermitage stood where Zhengjun Peak, Shengjing Peak, Miaogu Peak, and other summits met. Pengtou climbed steep cliffs and ravines, keeping company with deer and wild boar and treating clouds and mist as everyday sights. When he sat on stone at night and serpents and tigers came before him, he did not startle; they withdrew on their own.

Later he found a level, open site and had disciples Li Quanzheng and Zhao Zhenchun build the Tianrui Hermitage on the peak summit. People far and near heard of his evident attainment in the Way; whenever anyone fell ill they came to seek help, and after taking the fruit he offered, no ailment failed to respond—so those who came to pay homage grew day by day.

Once, in a year of drought, he went to Longjing to pray and summoned the dragon to speak. The dragon answered the call, listened to his words, then gradually shrank and leapt into his sleeve. He admonished the dragon in verse; the dragon surged upward and returned to the water. Before long rain fell. In the year Yuantong, guiyou, he again withdrew to Mount Wuyi and lived at the Zhizhi Hermitage on Ziqing Peak.

When Li Taiping, military commander of Zhejiang, heard of his deeds, he went to pay his respects and said, “When laws and regulations are clear and strict, government can be well run; when the mind is pure and still, distracting thoughts grow fewer.” Li Taiping therefore respected and admired him all the more.

Later the rebel Li Zhipu invaded Zhangzhou. The court appointed Vice Prefect Wu Gong to lead the vanguard and suppress the uprising. Wu Gong’s son Zhongliang wished to take Wu Gong as his master, but Wu Gong did not agree. In time Li Zhipu and his followers were indeed brought down.

The spirits held him in awe, yet so many people came seeking an audience that he was worn out. Someone plotted to poison him; he sensed it beforehand and had his disciples dig a hole in the ground. The man actually vomited up the poison into it, and the well afterward was called the Spit Elixir Well (Tudan Jing).

On the first day of the first month of the Zhiyuan reign of the Yuan, his fellow practitioner Guixin Yuan—known in the world as Guifengzi—passed away in seated transformation on Mount Lu, and he soon heard the news. On the tenth day of the fourth month he had his disciples set down his final instructions, then died sitting upright in meditation. Thirteen days later his face was still bowed down as if prostrate on the ground, and his limbs remained warm and supple, as though he were still alive. His disciples placed his body beneath an ancient plum tree beside the hermitage. He had been born on the fourth day of the fifth month in the bingzi year of the Zhiyuan era.

His foremost disciples were Lao Yansu, Guo Chuchang, Li Xilai, Yin Pona, and Fang Fanghu, all famed in their day for their practice of the Dao.

Mang Miaozi remarked: In antiquity, men of firm principle who valued righteousness often purified themselves through harsh discipline in order to fulfill their calling. They treated cutting the flesh and breaking the bones as nothing out of the ordinary, and so could stand apart and leave examples that long outlasted them—Jin Pengtou was such a man. Even to win a name in the world one must go that far; how much more so to seek to leave the bodily form behind and transform life and death. To reach such a state without real accomplishment on the path of the Dao (daoye) has never been known. Yet how many in any age can actually do it?

Zhao Yuanyang, whose daoist name was Yizhen, was a native of Anfu in Jizhou. His ancestors originally lived in Junyi and were thirteenth-generation descendants of Zhao Dezhao, Prince of Yan of the Song dynasty. One member of the family served as magistrate of Anfu under the Yuan dynasty, and the family then settled there.

From childhood Zhao was quick and perceptive. As soon as he could read he memorized with ease, and he gained wide familiarity with the classics, histories, and the teachings of the various masters. When he grew older he devoted himself to preparing for the civil service examinations. Before long he intended to travel to the capital to sit for the exams, but illness prevented him from going; he remained ill for a long time without recovery. One night he dreamed that a divine being said to him, “You belong to our Daoist tradition—why do you still hanker after worldly fame and wealth?” His father therefore had him turn to the Dao. From then on he deeply loved quiet simplicity and detachment, and his learning steadily advanced.

At first he took as his master Zeng Chenwai, a accomplished practitioner in the prefecture, and inherited various ritual and technical lineages. Where transmitted material was incomplete, he always investigated carefully and explained it in full. Later he also studied under Zhang Tianquan of Taiyu Temple in Jizhou. Zhang, styled “Iron-Mysterious Zhang,” had studied under Jinye Hermitage on Longhu Mountain and mastered the formulas of the golden elixir (jinye) for both Neidan (internal alchemy) and Waidan (external alchemy). After that Zhao Yuanyang studied under Li Xuanyi of Nanchang. Li Xuanyi recommended that he seek instruction from Master Feng of Puyi, who had likewise studied under Jinye Hermitage.

It is said that Zhao once traveled to Yongxing Abbey on White Crane Mountain. That site preserved traces of the Western Jin immortal Kuang’s cultivation, and he settled there. People asked him to apply what he had learned—praying for rain and thunder, delivering the dead—and what he did consistently showed efficacy. Those who heard of him did not hesitate to journey a thousand li to meet him and follow him.

When warfare broke out in the year of Renchen, he took disciples and traveled west through the Wu and Shu regions. After returning, he again visited Yongxing Abbey on Wuh He Mountain—another place associated with the Western Jin immortal Kuang—and stayed there. Later he traveled to Wudang, visited Longhu Mountain, and sought out traces of the Han dynasty Celestial Master (Tianshi). The then Celestial Master, Duke Chongxu, held him in high regard, received him with great ceremony, and wished to keep him, but he did not remain. Many scholars in the abbey took him as their teacher.

When he returned to Ziyang Abbey in Yudu, Ganzhou, he made his home there. He compiled the profound aims and essential methods of the Dao into books, and sometimes wrote poetry and songs to admonish himself. He also used medicine to aid others and broke off worldly social ties, speaking and laughing little. Those who heard of him wished to call on him but often could not succeed. His lofty conduct and steadfast integrity were admired and looked up to by people of his time, and those who came to study with him grew ever more numerous.

On the first day of the first month in the year renxu, when taking leave of the assembly, he said: “I am about to depart. From today onward, lock the quiet chamber and be careful not to let anyone disturb it. Open it again on the third day of the fifth month, at the summer solstice.” He urged his disciples to stand firmly on their own, then rinsed his mouth, bathed, changed his clothes, and sat cross-legged.

Just then an official dispatch from the county arrived at Leyu. He wrote his final instructions, cast down the brush, and passed away. Thunder and lightning broke out at once, and daylight turned dim. The next day officials and common people came in crowds to pay their respects. His disciples were grief-stricken; Deyuan and others asked to lay out his body for burial and found his limbs still as if he were alive. After the encoffining was complete, his whole body was drenched in sweat. Three days later his body sat upright on Fenghill behind the abbey. Long afterward, the vegetation on his grave withered clean, and crows did not nest there. His disciples included Cao Ximing and Liu Ruoyuan, both of whom had received his inner teaching. He left a number of poems and songs that have circulated in the world; his profound and hidden teachings appear in the Fayao (Essentials of the Method).

The encomium says: Though Daoist writings run to millions of words, the way of the inner sage and outer king is already complete; as for talk of immortals and long life, in the end it comes down to emptiness, stillness, plainness, and Wuwei (non-action)—truly easy to understand and easy to practice. Therefore those who, generation after generation, transcend the world and stand apart must constrain themselves with arduous cultivation and lofty integrity. Without exceptional resolve and insight, one can hardly reach such a level. How then can it all be dismissed as vague and unreal? One such as Yuanyang—whose words suffice as a model for the world and whose conduct suffices to enlighten those who come after—how could we fail to record him? Yet his clear, shining character that will not fade—what need has it of others’ belief before it shows itself?

Letter on Fire Phases, in Discussion with Ni Mengchong

That day you graciously came down to visit my mountain retreat, and we talked together for a whole day—enough to wash away the dullness and narrowness I had felt from long years in these remote hills. I was truly heartened. I had hoped you might stay one night longer so that, with mountain rain for company, we could talk into the night and taste the true meaning of forest, stream, and stone. Instead you left as if borne on the wind, drifting far off beyond my reach to follow, and I could not help feeling bereft.

Later you honored me again with your fine writings. I read them over and over and reflected on them in quiet; the longer I read, the more I did gain some understanding. Your learning, my friend, is wide and deep—how could I ever fully grasp or exhaust it? You were just setting out to probe the subtle and investigate hidden, profound principles when you met with sudden misfortune. Flattery grew ever more rampant, deceit followed deceit; for a time the situation overturned and turned perilous, like fire and flood, with nowhere to turn.

I could only bear it in silence, count myself dull, blame myself and examine my faults—what more was there to say? At that time I looked for someone steadfast who would uphold ritual and righteousness and stand by one another in them, and found no one. That people should so lightly set aside the Way and chase after worldly fashion—how lamentable. Are there not in the world men of talent like Feng Xuan and Zhu Bo? Have they all sealed their lips, watching events unfold yet refusing to speak? Can one refuse to pull a drowning man from the water for fear of wetting one’s feet?

Fortunately, through your clear judgment and the grace left by our forebears, you were able to preserve yourself and return in safety. Afterwards you were ill for a long time; human affairs and the temper of the times rolled like thunder and surged like rivers—in an instant all changed so sharply that one can only sigh. Therefore, in this straitened state I mean to look inward and restrain myself, to be ever cautious and watchful, and to cultivate virtue while awaiting Heaven’s decree. That is the ancients’ way with honor and disgrace, gain and loss: to accept peacefully whatever comes. Whether those near to one grieve or those who bear ill will rejoice at one’s trouble, none of it is enough to shake my purpose or change my conduct.

So it is that hardship and danger are precisely what test the strength of one’s cultivation of the Way. King Wen of Zhou, when imprisoned, worked out the Zhouyi (Book of Changes); Confucius the Sage, in distress, edited the Spring and Autumn Annals—the same lesson holds.

Therefore, when the human body is placed amid hardship and peril, that is precisely when one can test the strength of one’s cultivation of the Dao. For this reason, when King Wen of Zhou was imprisoned he developed the Yi (Book of Changes); when Confucius met with adversity he compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals. And if we look at achievements in learning and letters—Ban Gu, Sima Qian, Yang Xiong, Jia Yi, Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, and others—they too were once constrained by demotion and exile. They did not on that account abandon their studies; rather, they cultivated virtue all the more diligently. As an old saying has it, without encountering a tree with gnarled roots and tangled knots, one cannot tell whether a blade is truly sharp. Could that be merely whitewashing one’s own faults to deceive posterity?

Because I was cautious, I brought disaster upon myself; wishing to guard against disaster beforehand, I ended up inviting it instead. How can this fail to be called the work of fate and the turn of the times? An ancient book says that someone was thrown to jackals, and the jackals would not eat him; he was cast toward the north, and the north would not receive him; he was cast toward heaven. Today I have seen this situation with my own eyes—can my heart be entirely without shame? Even if I am suppressed for the moment, that need not mean I cannot be vindicated in later ages.

I am fortunate for now to dwell quietly among mountains, waters, springs, and rocks. Day after day I keep company with grass, trees, mountains, and stone; I associate with woodcutters and herdsmen and differ little from ordinary people of field and hill. Thus I can devote myself fully to studying discourses on life, nature, and virtue. When I look at those who bustle about, rising and falling with the currents of the age—treacherous, shifting, and full of schemes, jostling shoulder to shoulder in the chase—it is like flies swarming or ants hauling food, all for the sake of profit. People band together in talk; what was said in the morning is overturned by evening—what mind lies behind this? Who truly knows how to face advance and retreat, life and death, survival and ruin, and act solely according to the Way? If one no longer cares about life and death, hardship and success, why bow and scrape, run about, and flatter to please?

Moreover, human beings receive their mandate from Heaven; each has a fixed allotment—how could one person’s private will refuse it? This is not a principle the world readily understands, yet it is a worry common to all ages past and present. I have applied myself carefully to what my friends have said and find it very reasonable; but my own learning is still insufficient, and one point remains doubtful for me—the transmission of huohou (fire phases, the timing and intensity of inner practice). Concerning huohou, I have studied and explored it for several decades and have discussed it repeatedly with many recluses devoted to cultivation, yet rarely has anyone been able to explain it in a truly fitting way.

Passages that sound extravagant or improbable should be classed as “empty” (xu): they point beyond literal fact. The ordering of hexagram lines, sundial divisions, and the like are only patterns for the stages of practice—follow them as guides, without clinging to the letter. Passages that sound subtle and dense must be read against the actual methods in detail. Tallies of signs, weights in jin and liang, and similar numbers are concrete rules: hold to them and do not violate them. Seen this way, neither kind of saying can be dismissed as unimportant.

I have heard teaching on Qian and Kun, Kan and Li (symbols of metal and water, yin and yang), on the gold essence and the wood liquid, the fire dragon and the water tiger, gold within water and wood within fire, and the subtle logic of reversal and inversion, with the cauldron, furnace, and “medicines” as figures. What I could never fully grasp were the crux of establishing the foundation in a hundred days, completing the embryo in ten months, shedding the shell and spiritual transformation, and how one first takes hold of the fire talisman—the measure for adjusting the firing in practice. The rise and fall, coming and going without cease, of true yin and true yang within Kan and Li have also been explained.

This is like the Five Phases (Wuxing) gathering into one yin-yang, and yin-yang returning to Taiji (Supreme Ultimate): from Taiji come the four images, from the four images the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), from the Bagua the sixty-four hexagrams, and from those the three hundred and eighty-four lines. Change cycles without end; coming and going are inexhaustible. However vast heaven and earth, however many the ten thousand things, none escape this pattern.

A single breath in and out can align with the way of heaven and earth; therefore a person can also draw on the hidden workings of cosmic motion. On this view, a year has twelve months, a month is reckoned as thirty days, and a day has a hundred ke (quarter-hour divisions); a month totals three thousand ke, and ten months total thirty thousand ke. The practitioner, within these thirty thousand ke, seizes the creative work of thirty thousand years of the Dao of heaven. Each ke of effort carries the seasonal changes of a corresponding year—hence thirty thousand ke can win the efficacy of thirty thousand years.

Twelve months in a year total thirty-six thousand ke; thus every ke within those thirty thousand must be tuned correctly. If even one ke goes wrong, the “medicinal” substance is wasted and the firing misses its mark.

Therefore, across the twelve months of a year—altogether thirty-six thousand time segments (ke)—each segment must be tuned and balanced. If even one segment goes wrong, the inner ingredients are wasted and the fire phase (huohou) falls short. When the fire is too strong, the “medicine” dries out; when water is too abundant, it floods and swells. Both fire-dryness and water-excess must be evenly adjusted.

For this reason, the yearly cycle is broken down into months, and months into days and double-hours (shichen). Among the twelve double-hours, the one that truly matters may be only a single hour. As for the dark of the moon, new moon, first-quarter, last-quarter, and full moon, as well as such seasonal shifts as “bathing,” punitive and virtuous qi, fullness and emptiness, advance and retreat—you must know them all. As one text puts it: “Both the southern and northern lineages trace their roots through the hexagrams; morning and evening fire phases must align with the celestial pivot (tianshu). As days and hours change, so must the measure of the medicine—slight error and the elixir will not form. From antiquity, the stem-branch rules marked by geng and jia must be stated clearly; using hours in place of days is how the wondrous gong is applied.” Fire phases do have recorded methods, so the sages’ saying “transmit the medicine, do not transmit the fire” is by no means empty.

The scripture also says: “The winter solstice need not fall in the zi hour; the great medicine cannot be weighed in jin and liang; true fire has no fixed timing—mao and you hours are only provisional likenesses. Grasp the inner meaning and you need not cling to the hexagrams; chase every line and line-position and you only exhaust your spirit in vain.” Seen in this light, are “talisman correspondences and seasonal markers” (fuhou) mere words? Cultivation must always begin with deliberate, methodical practice (youwei) and only in the end arrive at non-action (wuwei).

Heaven and earth complete one circuit in a year; sun, moon, and stars complete one circuit in a month; the great medicine within the human body completes one circuit in a day and night. Within a single day, yang qi begins to rise from the zi hour and reaches its peak at si; yin qi begins to rise from the wu hour and reaches its peak at hai. Yang starts from the Fu hexagram; yin starts from the Gou hexagram. Within a month, the new moon begins with the Tun and Meng hexagrams, and the month closes with Jiji and Weiji. From Xun through Kun are hexagrams of what has not yet been generated—so one infers that what is to come must be reckoned in reverse order; from Zhen through Qian are hexagrams of what has already been generated—so what is past is counted in forward order. Extended in this way, a year holds twenty-four solar terms and seventy-two climate periods (hou). The saying “one month, one return makes one revolution; one year, nine revolutions make nine returns” matches what the immortal masters have taught.

In one year there are twenty-four solar terms and seventy-two pentads (each solar term is divided into three pentads). When one month completes a single “return,” that counts as one cycle; over a year one passes through nine cycles and nine returns. The immortal masters have spoken of this in detail and with penetrating clarity.

Zhu Xi (style name Kaoting) spoke of the method of fire phases thus: take the three hundred eighty-four lines of the Book of Changes as one heavenly circuit, and assign one line to one day. Because there are many lines and few days, one removes the four hexagrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li—twenty-four lines in all—to correspond to the twenty-four solar terms. When a solar term arrives, one gradually increases the fire. Yet in one day the circuit already runs through the number three hundred sixty; what is added at each solar term equals only one line, so the weight does not match. According to the reckoning of hexagram lines and counting rods, the arrangement is roughly to distribute twelve hexagrams over one month, each hexagram governing two and a half days; each runs the corresponding rod count according to its own hexagram’s lines. The rod counts vary in amount: when Yang qi runs, one concentrates on circulating it; when Yin qi runs, one releases intention and enters a quiet, secluded state. When the twelve hexagrams complete one circuit, that is one month’s work; when twelve months complete one circuit, that is one year’s circulation. Thus one cycles again and again, neither more nor less. Seen this way, is not the subtlety of the Book of Changes precisely in accord with refining the great elixir?

Regulating increase and decrease, advancing and retreating the fire phases by this method will necessarily follow the changes of qi and increase or decrease accordingly. This differs from the one-sided approach of sinking into emptiness and clinging to stillness. What Chan Buddhism calls “the ghost cave beneath the black mountain” refers precisely to sitting in silence in a dark, dead stillness. Such practice is far removed from the aim of our life-destiny school (the Neidan lineage that cultivates both life and nature).

My friend has grayed in pursuit of learning and traveled across lakes and seas; you have surely long grasped these subtleties. I hope you will instruct me so that in my advancing years, if I can still make even a little progress and await achievement in cultivation, I shall not forget this guidance. These words are not for those without long companionship in mountain and forest, who wear coarse clothes, eat plain food, and withdraw from the world; still less are they for those who only wish to show off before the world and chase fame and profit. One must also consider whether the person is suitable; if not, one does not speak of these matters—that is true understanding of when to speak.

Profound writings are carefully withdrawn and held close, awaiting the moment when they might awaken a slower mind, so that one may discuss them together with those who keep their distance from worldly clamor. How could one speak of such things with people who merely parade themselves before the world, bend and flatter for profit, and chase after fame and gain? Still, one must discern whether the listener is fit; when the person is not suitable, one simply does not speak of these matters—perhaps only then does one truly know how to recognize the worth of words. To hold profound writings close and wait for the hour when a dull wit may be stirred—this is indeed a cause for joy, indeed a cause for joy!

End of Volume Four of the Xianquan Ji (Collection from the Spring at Mount Xian).

The original text omitted the character rou (“gentleness” or “yielding”); it has been supplied here according to the sense of the passage.

Volume Five of the Xianquan Ji

Composed by Celestial Master Zhang Yuchu of Mount Qi, Wuwei

Inscriptions, Admonitions, and Exegetical Readings

Preface to the “Inscription of the Study Room” (Shushi Ming)

Before I was twenty, I knew that I loved learning and was resolved to seek knowledge. I had read and memorized the sayings of the Confucian sages, and the texts of the Shi, Shu, and the Six Arts. As I grew older, I felt I had not yet penetrated writing and scholarship deeply enough, so I traveled to visit teachers and elders renowned for learning and conduct, and studied under them. After that I read more and more of the classics, histories, and masters, and works of the Daoist and Buddhist traditions, and gradually came to grasp their aims. Looking back and examining myself honestly, I understood that these principles were originally complete within my own mind.

Regarding the learning of morality and human nature, after Confucius and Mencius there were Zhou Dunyi, Cheng Hao, Cheng Yi, Zhang Zai, Shao Yong, Lü Zulian, and others. Regarding literary writing, after Zuo Qiuming there were Ban Gu, Sima Qian, Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, Ouyang Xiu, Su Shi, and others. To speak of ancient learning while bypassing Zhou Dunyi, the Chengs, and the like is not true learning; to speak of writing while leaving aside the tradition of Ban Gu, Sima Qian, and other Confucian masters is not true writing. Therefore writing that does not bear the Way, however skillful, I do not value. How can what the ancients called “learning for oneself” split self-cultivation and writing into two separate things?

By constantly enriching one’s learning and tracing upward to ancient texts and transmitted classics, one is not far from the source. Without investigating root and tracing stream, how can it be called learning? Is it only to polish language and treat writing as a tool for fame and office? To restrain selfish desire and make mind and body sincere is an important path toward becoming a sage. Inner cultivation necessarily shows in outward conduct. When the heart is broad, heaven and earth each keep their place and the myriad things can grow; in depth one can follow change and penetrate spirit; in clarity one can clarify ritual and music and assist heaven and earth in transformation and nurture. Is this only about assisting rulers and benefiting the people? It is also the great Way of ordering the world.

Yet to seek a principle that transcends the mundane, one must draw on the words of Laozi, Master Yin, Zhuangzi, and Liezi. How can these be lumped together with the name-and-law techniques of Shen Buhai and Han Fei, or the one-sided talk of recluses? As for Buddhist practitioners who stand apart and clarify mind and see nature, that too can aid the pursuit of transcendence. Some heterodox doctrines and unreasonable practices in Buddhism certainly deserve criticism, but how can one dismiss Buddhism wholesale with the label “empty nothingness and stillness”? As for more recent writings on omens, disasters, and auspicious signs, I have not had the leisure to study them in detail.

I am ashamed that my natural endowment is slow and insufficient to carry forward well the aspirations of the former sages. I once set aside a room especially to store these books and wrote an inscription on the wall to admonish myself and leave something for those who come after, urging them not to neglect this resolve. The inscription says:

The text draws on ancient classics to establish the order of human relationships and to open the way of moral principle. Heaven endows human beings with an upright nature; rulers set fitting standards; the mandate of heaven flows without ceasing, and people should align with its pattern. When one is pure, sincere, and clear-sighted, one can recover one’s original nature. If one is driven by the body and swept along by external things, who can preserve inner stillness?

The sages left explicit teachings; people should reflect carefully and practice faithfully, wash away inner defilement, and integrate accumulated learning. Only when the root is established can its function be carried out; whether in movement or in rest, one must hold fast. Repeatedly savor the finest passages in the texts and let them show in one’s words. The mind governs nature and emotion; scattered thoughts can be brought into unity. Broad yet orderly writings hold rich, far-reaching meaning. Seeing through illusion and returning to what is real, probing the subtle and reaching the hidden—then the dust in the heart can be thoroughly cleared, and one does not go against innate nature. Those who gather to examine and discuss learning—do they value rank and power above all? These principles should be cherished for long; take the ancients as friends.

Inscription for a Guqin, with Preface

In his home Su Kuaisheng kept a guqin; some said it was made by the Lei family. He was especially fond of playing and once said to Mangmiaozi: “I was born too late to glimpse the realm of the sages, and I do not expect to make a name by ambition and renown. I live in the hills and only wish to play the sounds of deepest antiquity, answering the wind in the woods and the spring water on the stones. In doing so, is that not a kind of dialogue with the people of Fuxi and Shennong’s age? Though I am no Bo Ya in skill on the strings, you listen well—is that not the ‘high mountains and flowing water’ of Zhong Ziqi’s saying? Therefore I ask you to write an inscription for my qin.”

The inscription reads: “The qin’s substance is warm, clear, and bright, so that I can give voice to what is in my heart; its body is round yet holds squareness within, so that I may remain dignified and upright.”

Inscription for the Gongmo Studio, with Preface

Mangzi, dressed in worn coarse cloth and a tattered fur coat, came to the summit of Fengtai to wander. A guest said to him with a smile: “You study the Zhuangzi line, don’t you? What you understand—is it only the way of deep stillness and silence? Do you also know what we Confucians mean by ‘respectful silence’ (gongmo)?”

Mangmiao stepped aside from the guest, hurried closer, and said: “Why do you worry? Do you really not wish to understand this? Our ruler is wise and cherishes talent; since he settled in this place, talk of morality and humaneness has never failed to reach our ears, and we have kept those teachings in our hearts. So we study diligently and practice steadily, never slackening, and we hang the two characters ‘gongmo’ beside our seats to remind ourselves. Moreover, you and I have met in deep good faith—is there not a single word by which we can exhort each other?”

The guest could not decline further and rose to speak: “The Dao is present in the ten thousand things. Heaven and earth, though vast, and the myriad things, though numerous—through all ages and every day and night—none can be apart from it. Probe its subtlety to the utmost; examine fine and coarse principles thoroughly; see clearly the changes of waning and waxing, bending and straightening; thread together the patterns of coming and going—ultimately none of this violates the slightest true nature within the heart. Relying on this, a person can align with the breadth of heaven and earth and the multitude of things.

The transformations of yin and yang, the movement of stillness and activity, cycle round and round with neither beginning nor end. Though the myriad things differ in countless ways, in root they all issue from one source. Grasp the key and hold it fast, and you will not lose your way between holding on and letting go; you can also penetrate the genuine situation of heaven’s principle as it is. If you are careless in grasping and slack in guarding, then the obscuring of selfish desire is like a burst dike or a runaway horse—in an instant it rushes a thousand li, hard to check.

Then is the work of cultivating and guarding the heart what is meant by ‘gongmo’? ‘Gong’ (respectful reverence) is close to ritual: with sincere faith and reverence one completes virtue; with quiet reverence one keeps one’s post; with restraint and reverence one fulfills integrity. Thus, when reverence fits the demands of ritual, one can handle affairs in peace. ‘Mo’ (silence) is close to the Dao…”

To guard the mind with cautious tranquility, to reflect with reverent composure, and to nurture oneself through profound stillness—only then can one attain the work of cultivating the Way. If one can silently apprehend, calmly contain, and naturally awaken, one may reach this without forced effort. Yet even this state must still be cultivated by a proper path, lest it become excessive or insufficient. Therefore, conduct does not overstep reverence, and silence does not sink into hidden concealment. Reverence means fulfilling in full the respect that ritual propriety demands; silence means letting the heart grow naturally still, not relying on coercion.

Thus, whether in action or stillness, in speech or silence, one holds to a single heart and does not let outward desires disturb the inner mind. If one is slack when reverence is called for, or cannot sustain composure when stillness is required, one has not yet reached the subtle depths. Reverent without slackness, silent without craving—without slackness, the inner mind is unified; without craving, the inner mind is tranquil. Unification is enough to settle disorder; tranquility is enough to govern restlessness. In this way, even for nurturing the heart-mind and preserving one’s innate nature, there is no better method. This state is like returning to the original emptiness and non-action (wuwei); how could it blaze forth like thunder? Is there any difference in the cultivation of quiet depth and silence?

Now the worthy prince holds his fief and ancestral temple. He knows how to examine virtue and seek instruction in learning, devout and reverent, quiet and careful, tirelessly assisting the imperial house as his charge. His path of inquiry has roots and transmission: above, it inherits the sage sovereign on the throne; mutual regard grows daily deeper—truly precious and splendid. I respectfully compose an inscription to record this matter.

The inscription says: The luminous Lord on High bestows a good nature upon the human realm; every fine endowment partakes of this constant innate nature. The worthy prince stands out among others and truly can hold himself fast—unified and never forgetting his root, not daring the slightest neglect. Solemn reverence, day by day advancing in self-cultivation; both reverent and composed—how could he stray from the right path? The lofty study hall is dignified and awe-inspiring; excellent admonitions are lofty and far-reaching. He does not draw near to flashy extravagance; he takes eminent virtue as his support.

Guard it and do not let it be harmed; hold fast to it, and that is enough to let it shine forth. It can further support and shield the state, and further broaden the foundation of virtuous achievement. Generation after generation inherits this excellence; imperial grace shines bright; virtue will long assist for a thousand years, forever proclaiming vast blessing.

Admonition on Hiding and Cultivating

The square-inch heart of a person is master of the root of life. That it can match Heaven and Earth, be one with Heaven and Earth, and stand alongside the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity—what does it rely on? One must take Heavenly principle as sovereign and the utmost Dao as the deep root. Without Heavenly principle, one cannot establish oneself; without the utmost Dao, one cannot be complete. With no footing for self-establishment, the heart cannot be restrained; with virtue incomplete, one cannot align with the Way of Heaven.

Keep learning hidden in the heart and do not display it outward; cultivate the self so that words and conduct have something to follow—then perhaps one will not sink to being an ordinary person. As for the void, bright, and numinous place within, who can be entirely free of obscuration? If Heavenly principle is not established, the utmost Dao cannot be complete; with no footing for self-establishment, the heart cannot be restrained; with virtue incomplete, one cannot align with the Way of Heaven. Keep learning hidden in the heart and do not display it outward; cultivate the self so that words and conduct have something to follow—then perhaps one will not sink to being an ordinary person. As for the void, bright, and numinous place within, who can be entirely free of obscuration?

Therefore, use quiet unity to consolidate the root, use firm strength and yielding softness to open the source, fill the heart with benevolence and righteousness, and enrich cultivation with literary expression. Turn back and examine oneself; when in office, take benefiting the world as one’s charge; when in retirement, guard one’s mysterious Dao. This is called dwelling in seclusion without worry, remaining reverent and holding to the mean. Among ancient seekers of learning, who could go beyond this principle? How dare I cease striving for worthiness? Even so, studying the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi and probing the doctrines of Zhou Dunyi and Shao Yong has always been my way of tempering myself, and can keep me from straying from the right path. Only by earnestly putting these words into practice can one be sincere in heart day and night.

Inscription on an Ancient Inkstone

From youth Su [Kuai] loved reading and collected an ancient inkstone, purple in texture with white veining. Some said it might be a duan or she inkstone of the kind prized for grinding ink. He had an inscription carved on the stone for posterity to see. The inscription reads:

The stone’s substance is moist and lustrous, hence its virtue is stillness; the white veining is pure, hence it is silent and firm. Because it has such form and quality, writing need never be exhausted.

Inscription on the Hall of Nurturing Nature

The nature of the heart is void, bright, and clear, like a deep pool stilled, able to reflect things. With the slightest tilt or stain, it is like wild waves crashing or dust on a mirror—the mind becomes confused and unclear.

The autumn sky holds empty brightness; moonlight on the cold river is crystalline. Who secretly wields clever contrivance? Only in stillness can the heart be settled.

Inscription on the Hall of Obscure Rest

The myriad things alike issue from one source; through it runs the principle of utmost clarity.

The spirit is empty, numinous, clear, and bright—deep, still, and pure, like a polished mirror. Even the finest dust can cloud it; wild surging waves will stain the surface.

The autumn sky holds all things; moonlight on the cold river shines clear and bright. Who holds the subtle pivot of the deep and mysterious? Only when one becomes still can the heart find rest.

Inscription for the Dark-Rest Studio (Huixi Zhai Ming)

All things spring from a single root; the supreme principle is plain to see. With sincere intent, guard the original mind; from the root, straighten yourself and restrain selfish desire.

Once thought grows dim and obscured, vain distractions surge in waves. Whether in movement or in stillness, nurture yourself in turn, returning to reverence and inner stability.

Men of learning, urge yourselves on, taking the sages’ words as your guide. When the sky darkens, rest; let benevolence and virtue be the root of your being.

Reverently dwell in expansive virtue; carefully seek and walk the right path.

Eulogy on the Portrait of Master Mo Yueding

The spirit roams in the Great Beginning (the primordial state before heaven and earth took form); his traces surpass empty silence and distant reaches. Extended outward, he fills the four directions above and below; gathered inward, he would not fill even one hand.

He seemed to play at wildness, as if lost in coarse things; he seemed to bandy old talk deemed useless.

As for his other deeds—sometimes no more than a drop of water, yet holding the numinous; sometimes like thunder racing forth, shaking even the rivers.

Who in the world can see the body beyond his body? How could such a likeness be drawn?

Eulogy on the Portrait of the Gourd and Bamboo Hat

I was born into a family of the Mysterious Gate (Xuanmen, the Daoist tradition); in youth I took the path of study, and as I grew I especially loved the classics and historical records.

If you call him eminent, he never wore splendid tassels or formal robes with official cords. If you call him a recluse, he truly slept by flowing water and rinsed his mouth with stream stones, living the life of mountains and forests.

Does this not mean he was neither bound by poverty nor swayed by success? Indeed.

He stepped beyond worldly affairs, upright as a lone crane crying in clear frost, yet deep and still as a cold, clear, dark pool.

Who could know where his vast learning and powerful memory were lodged? Or did he lodge lofty intent in plain food and daily life, seeking only ease and self-contentment?

Eulogy on the Picture of Confucius Inquiring about Ritual

Confucius and Laozi (surnamed Li) walked different paths, yet the root of the Dao was one source. Ritual is the standard I practice; only by holding a reverent heart can it endure.

The constant patterns of heaven and earth, and the records of the Shang and Zhou eras, are all contained therein. “The greatest sound is hard to hear” (dayin xisheng)—having said this much, I wish to say no more.

Eulogy on Bo Yi and Shu Qi

The Shang declined, the Zhou rose; the mandate of heaven shifted, and rule changed hands. Yet the Dao remained in human relations and proper order; benevolence and righteousness stood firm.

Who, amid the turning of survival and ruin, can discern the reasons? Those who gathered fern left a lofty example still honored a hundred generations later.

Eulogy for the True Lord Wang Chongyang

When the Great Dao appeared, primal Qi rose; as the age turned, the Metal phase waned. At Louguan on Zhongnan Mountain, a lotus-like lineage spread from master to disciple.

Dragon-like in bearing, thunderous in force; with a broad heart he ranged through heaven and earth, and an immortal air passed down through the generations.

Eulogy for the True Person Tang of Joy in Truth

Though mysterious creation is deep and hard to fathom, the radiance of the true lineage could still be revived. His image went beyond outward form; his bearing matched the norm of the Way.

He wielded the power of wind and thunder and inwardly grasped the sovereign’s law. Imperial favor was manifest, yet the true person remained clear and still, beyond measure.

Eulogy for the True Person Xiyi

White clouds on Mount Hua were where he freely dwelt. He kept far from worldly glory and silently guarded the mysterious root.

The perfected person was free of distracting thoughts, as if following the true one’s breath in cultivating body and mind. He rode the immortal carriage; his image is preserved in the Great Easy—the primordial state before heaven and earth divided and forms arose.

Eulogy for the True Lord Wang, Attendant to the Throne

Endowed from birth with spiritual brilliance, his mind in the Dao matched the true transmission. He embraced yin and yang, wind and rain, and transcended the realm before the myriad forms appeared.

His counsel in assisting the sovereign was bright and far-reaching; grace spread widely. His teaching, like leaves on a tree, helped us shake off ignorance.

Eulogy for the True Person Huang of Leiyuan

His capacity was vast, his mind clear; he fused the ten thousand things and penetrated boundless realms.

He mastered subtle scriptures and the supreme Dao; his words were delicate and fit to serve as standard. Surveying past and present, he saw the myriad return to the One.

Eulogy for the True Person Lao of Yansu

His measure was as broad as river and sea; his action as open as mountain and marsh. He deployed mysterious function so that being and non-being could hardly be gauged.

His bearing was like an autumn sky or a breeze in the woods; in a stone chamber he kept the classics and saw into distant depths, wielding the power of wind and thunder at will.

Eulogy for the Pure White Master Zhou

In the great Yuan dynasty, when prominence flourished, virtue and the Way…

The imperial dynasty flourishes in splendor, its achievements fully manifest. Virtue is dignified and upright, and governance is humane, generous, and harmonious.

Within the clan there are outstanding figures whose literary virtue shines forth and whose renown endures. Still as the depths of a lake, steadfast as frost and snow.

Portrait Eulogy for Master Su of Yingyan

His bearing is as bright as clouds, sunlight, and dawn; his character as pure as orchids and iris. Loyal heart and gallant spirit, essays of ten thousand words—his literary brilliance will flow through a hundred generations.

Mount Emei lies vast and dim; the Ying River stretches to the horizon. A thousand years of lingering fragrance still moves one to reverent contemplation, until the mind is clear as the sky after rain.

Portrait Eulogy for the Feather-Robed Daoist of Qishan

Clad in Daoist robes, dwelling in mountain forests; his mind as clear as river and sea, his integrity like frost and snow, his inner warmth like spring sunlight.

Riding a crane, boating on the river, wild geese his companions, a plain zither at his side. Such scenes cannot be captured in a likeness—only the far-reaching, lingering resonance of the Dao remains.

Inscription for the Nine-Radiance Elixir Chamber

Hou Gongmian of Jingkou once studied the Dao on Miji Mountain. Tradition holds that the Most High descended upon this mountain, left horse tracks, and ascended to heaven; Miji Mountain is counted among the blessed lands.

Master Hou was sincere and generous by nature, fond of the arts of Qi and Huang (traditional medicine), and read books to nurture life. In the early years of the Hongwu reign, he was selected and for many years served at the Bamboo Palace (a ritual site); at that time his ritual methods also enjoyed considerable renown. He gave his residence the name “Nine-Radiance Elixir Chamber.”

He wrote to Mount Huangzhu, asking me to compose an inscription for the chamber. The inscription reads:

Heaven and earth were opened like a pivot turning; in the still elixir chamber, the great harmony (Taihe) radiates light, and the golden fluid (Jin ye, the refined essence of internal cultivation) gathers thereby.

The nine-times-turned divine elixir sends forth nine rays of light, revealing the subtlety beyond form; the fire dragon soars and the water tiger races.

Kan and Li (Water and Fire) join and their refined qi coalesce into the Great One (Taiyi, the primordial breath of the Dao). A Daoist with high cap upon his head, pendants chiming as he moves.

The precious scripture sheds its radiance, illuminating stars, sun, and moon; riding wind and clouds, he speeds as if in flight.

End of Volume Five of the Xianquan Ji

Volume Six of the Xianquan Ji

Composed by Celestial Master Zhang Yuchu of Wudang Qishan

Qing Ci Ritual Intentions

Preliminary Qing Ci for the Overnight Opening of a Thanksgiving Ritual, Year Jisi

It is respectfully submitted that: may the Son of Heaven enjoy long life; ministers and people should bow in worship and prayer to repay the grace of the state; the teaching lineage bears the burden of transmission, relying solely upon the vast creative power of the Heavenly Emperor.

Respectfully submitted: With the Son of Heaven’s birthday approaching and the season for court congratulations at hand, we rely on the state’s grace and ought in turn to repay it; the patriarch of the teaching bears a heavy charge and can only depend on the emperor’s vast virtue. We now present this petition, already anxious lest misfortune arise and fearful lest disaster be invited by chance. Long ago we established the altar and prayed, hoping all may end in peace and safety. With clean offerings such as celery and waterweed we express sincere heart, beseeching the sacred perfected ones to bestow great favor. We reverently accept inward vigilance and secretly pour out our loyalty before Heaven.

We respectfully pray that the divine beings discern clearly, that compassion be vast, that past faults be pardoned so all may receive teaching and deliverance; that recent days be granted peace and plenty, and that care and protection be extended in full. May sincere supplication reach Heaven’s hearing, and may the gods’ guardianship work in secret. May the teaching’s blessings continue and flourish daily like all things in spring; may the imperial house receive fortune, yin and yang be in harmony, and the realm be settled in its proper season.

Zhang’s Qingci for Memorial Salvation of Her Deceased Father

Born from Heaven, when feeling moves one to pray, one petitions above; born of the body from one’s father, how could that kindness be forgotten? With sincere heart I beg for extended life [or: for mercy on his fate], and in fear I state faults and wishes. I respectfully recall my late father [name], who lived in prosperous times yet met with misfortune at home. He once set his heart on learning but early bore the grief of losing support; later he walked thorny paths and barely found a place to lodge. His birthday draws near, yet the day of his passing came sooner still. With kin gone, the pain of unfilial failure to serve and nurture remains; my younger brother’s drowning adds further grief. Many times I wished to plead through jiao ritual for memorial salvation, yet worldly duties repeatedly held me back. Now I specially perform this memorial rite, that the deceased may be aided toward release and awakening.

We respectfully pray that Heaven bestow the red writ and erase the deceased’s offenses; that the green register extend mercy. May his original nature be clear and endless stagnation be washed away; may the nine springs also receive discernment and care, so souls once lost and sunken all receive aid. All who possess spirit—may they together obtain deliverance.

Qingci for the Early Audience of a Repayment Jiao

Heaven governs heaven and earth, presiding over human ethics and the order of law. The emperor stands at the center as the axis of all, establishing the liturgies of the Mystic Gate to build a bridge between people’s prayers for averting disaster and the divine realm. Your subject reverently upholds the inherited talismanic mandate, presents this petition with bowed head, states his heart’s wish, and gives thanks with reverence.

Your subject inherited the lineage from youth and, before reaching adulthood, shouldered its duties—a burden truly hard to bear. Calamities have struck again and again, and heirs to the sacred line have several times faced peril. His conduct has indeed fallen short of the pure path of cultivation; he has relied on prayer and ritual to avert harm before finding stability. Through long perseverance he has recited scripture ten thousand times at the Round Treasure Platform; receiving boundless grace, he offers sincere gratitude for heaven’s favor.

Your subject looks up to compassion as vast as heaven and earth, and longs all the more for the transforming power that turns misfortune into blessing. At this solemn morning audience he pledges his faith and sincerity to repay divine virtue. He humbly asks forgiveness for every fault, pity and acceptance among the ranks of immortal officers; the grant of fortune and mandate, that successors may soon flourish like fine trees in spring sunlight; that the Mystic Teaching (Daoism) may thrive the more, bright as sun and moon. May broad blessings spread everywhere, and deep favor moisten all living beings.

Heaven and earth cover and nourish the ten thousand things; in a blink, the day of birth anniversary arrives again. Daoist rites are performed with solemnity, and zhaijiao together fulfill vows made in daily life. Your subject looks up to the descent of the spirits and respectfully offers words of thanks.

Your subject has borne this office for many years, often examining himself, vigilant day and night. Running about in service was not for litigation; fortunately the household has again known peace. He reverently serves the ancestral temple, yet grieves that the matter of succession has still not been fulfilled. Morning and evening he is anxious and earnest, urging himself ever to reflect, reform, and turn toward the good. According to the profound liturgy he holds zhaijiao and prayer, exhausting his sincerity, looking up for the Jade Emperor’s clear sight.

He asks that the imperial Way stand firm as a cauldron, and that the Daoist lineage receive the precious talismanic mandate. May life lengthen and the body be healthy, so elders in the home enjoy springlike longevity; the family be harmonious and secure, and the household prosper for long ages. May the foundation of the Immortal Gate know unbroken blessing, deep grace descend, and young and old alike gain years and peace.

Qing Ci of Grateful Acknowledgment for the Completion Rite (Zhengyi) at the Main Hall of This Palace

A qing ci offering thanks upon holding the formal zhengyi (complete Daoist fasting and ritual) for the completion of this palace’s main hall.

Xiànquan Ji (Collection from Xiàn Spring)

Respectfully following the Great Power (Dazhuang) hexagram in the Book of Changes, which signifies that official halls and palace chambers are raised thereby; and the doubled Li (Clinging/Fire) hexagram, whose image is radiant renewal, rejoicing that halls and courts are at last complete. Relying on Heaven’s shelter and the work of creation, we reverently give thanks.

Your subject, having borne office for many years, examines himself and finds little to show for it. By the emperor’s grace he has received allocated funds; and through the united effort of many, he depends on their joint offerings of goods and wealth. The matter was planned and discussed for long; when construction truly began, difficulties were many. Now that the timbers and rafters stand finished, on the altar of the jiao rite we pledge our hearts in prayer and announcement. Here “jiao” denotes the Taoist rite of establishing an altar and offering supplication.

May the imperial house’s foundation be vast as Heaven, and Taoist teaching flourish like spring sunlight; may the people dwell in peace and share the blessing of long life and health. May this place be pure and tranquil, a root of stability and harmony for the whole mountain; may fortune and celebration continue in the lineage, and deep favor endure firm and long. We invite the hundred numina to guard it, and the five blessings to be complete.

Repentance Qingci for the Ziwei Platform

The Pole Star circles among the stars and presides over the nurturing and growth of all things between Heaven and Earth; the Ziwei Emperor of Heaven dwells at the center of Heaven and governs the celestial realm, holding the scales and judgments of the human world. We now respectfully follow Taoist liturgy (keyi) and declare our intent with reverence.

Your subject, fortunate to inherit the family’s enterprise, receives the emperor’s commission upward. When he traveled a thousand li to court, it coincided with the transition of the state’s succession; he was also charged to devote himself to sacrificing to the Emperor of Heaven and performing the jiao rite, offering merit for ancestors. Only the road’s toil and weariness, and sluggish stars, also caused worry that the journey would be delayed. Therefore he prayed sincerely at the precious platform, and fortunately the rites sought were fully completed. Here he expresses repentance and thanks.

May the light of Ziwei be clear and bright, secretly drawing in the radiance of auspicious stars; may the Yellow Path be open and luminous, so that the fortune of long life extends unbroken. May Taoist teaching shine forth the more, and all kin and dependents be safe and at peace.

Qingci for Morning Audience at the Platform

The supreme Emperor of Heaven on High holds overall the sovereign power over Heaven and Earth. In reverent accord with the way of Heaven, he carefully bears the duty of weighing and judging. May calamity and decline be removed, and all kin and dependents be safe and at peace.

With reverence I say: The Great August Emperor of Heaven holds supreme authority over heaven and earth, reverently fulfilling the charge heaven has entrusted, and solemnly bearing responsibility for judging fortune and calamity. I feared that disaster and decline might be unforeseeable, and so I once prayed in sincerity and performed rites in advance to dispel calamity. Now, in accordance with ritual, all has been duly prepared, and with sincere repentance I offer thanks for pardon.

Reflecting on how, since I inherited the family estate, year after year I have endured many hardships; looking back on my own faults, they have piled up day by day, until one worry has followed another. Heaven’s glory is bright and manifest, and therefore I pray in reverence and set forth my transgressions, that heaven may look down without omission. I respectfully report with utmost sincerity and express gratitude to the azure vault.

May the gracious light of the Great August Emperor shine everywhere and ever watch over us. May household instruction be upright and the family way secure and at peace; may the elders’ years be extended and their lives safe and well; may my mother long enjoy divine favor, with blessings flourishing, and all in the family share in joy. May faults melt away like ice, and good fortune fill the days like spring.

Green Memorial after the Completion of the Universal Deliverance and Thanksgiving Jiao in the Year Jiashen

I respectfully report: The Great August Emperor established the norms of heaven and earth; I have been fortunate to live through three reigns. The Emperor endowed humanity with an upright nature, yet I am ashamed that I have not consistently cultivated virtue. Now I offer thanks in sincerity and state my case, first examining my own faults.

Reflecting on how, in my early years, I inherited the immortal lineage of the Way and repeatedly met with prosperous times, yet because my faults accumulated like a mountain, calamity and hardship befell me; illness grew worse day by day, and I could not be sure my family would remain safe. Twice I prayed in sincerity before I again received tidings of peace. May this prayer accord with the hope of household harmony and the inheritance of blessings. I respectfully give thanks for divine grace and also pray together for the deliverance of our ancestors.

Therefore I have prepared pure offerings such as duckweed and water-chestnut, and pray reverently that heaven may see clearly. May the Emperor’s majesty be manifest and heaven’s hearing be clear. May my name be entered in the red register of immortals, turning misfortune into good fortune; may the jade talisman grant new life, that souls stagnating in the netherworld may be delivered. May household instruction be settled and flourish, and all kin live in peace and comfort.

By the blessings left by my ancestors, I inherited the duties of our lineage at an early age; mindful of the state’s grace, I go to court each year to pray for the sovereign’s long life and health. Reflecting on how difficult it is to attend and respond on the journey, and on crossing wind and waves at sea, I respectfully performed jiao (purification and offering rites) and have now received the Daoist tradition’s favor. I once prayed to be freed from outward entanglements and truly relied on divine protection to remain safe. Later I suddenly met unexpected obstruction, yet in the end returned in peace. I once reverently offered jiao and prostrations to return what I had received; I also give thanks for the aid the spirits granted.

I respectfully pray that the Lord of the Way presides in the upper realm, that the sacred presence descends in majesty, sees the sincerity in my heart, and forgives accumulated faults and defilement. May the imperial house flourish and the teaching’s lineage grow ever brighter; may fortune in our home be mild as spring and the lineage’s customs be renewed. May the household long know peace and all find ease.

Annual Household Prayer Text for Jiao

The year draws to a close, and we have been spared through the four seasons; having received the Daoist tradition’s grace, we should repay it with sincere hearts. Moreover, in word and deed we have often fallen short, and in cultivation we have lacked vigilance and diligence. The hardships we meet include not only damage to buildings and structures, but also disputes among people and worry over illness. Each time we have reverently sought refuge in prayer, we have often been preserved. Therefore, following the year-end rite of seeing off the spirits, we respectfully offer this sincere heart and with it express our gratitude.

Reflecting that I rely on my ancestors’ blessings and the state’s grace, yet have not been able to serve my parents morning and evening as I should; and thinking of their toil through cold and heat—if we do not rely on repentance to clear wrongdoing, how can we dispel calamity? I respectfully pray that sincere hearts reach Heaven, and that health and peace be granted without cease. May the sacred realm be harmonious as spring and the Daoist teaching be spread abroad; may the root of fortune open into prosperity and auspicious signs be fulfilled in the family. For all future blessings we seek, we look to the spirits’ merciful fulfillment. May life be long and flourishing as daylily; may honor and prosperity succeed one another as kerria blooms.

Prayer Text for Thanksgiving Jiao at the Round Platform

In the twenty-fifth year of Hongwu, I was charged to receive incense bestowed at Huagai Mountain.

The Emperor in his grace commanded me to come and pray for blessings upon the heir apparent; I myself am gravely ill and in distress, and rely on my devoted mother to pray for my safety. Moreover, my office was not obtained without cause or honor, and a long journey over perilous routes brings worry of storms at sea. Reflecting on myself, I should always hold reverence in my heart; hoping for divine favor, I must offer prayers to dispel calamity. With the spirits’ hidden protection, I respectfully perform the jiao offering in accordance with our sworn covenant (the rite of setting up an altar to invoke the gods).

I humbly pray that Heaven bestow vast blessings, and that sun, moon, and stars shine with auspicious light. May joy in our household long increase, and our family share benevolence and long life; may the foundation of the state be ever stable and flourishing, and the Emperor’s designs be widely fulfilled. May my mother’s life be as enduring as the daylily (symbol of a mother’s longevity), may my brothers be harmonious as the crabapple and pear (emblems of fraternal concord), and may our virtue be as fragrant as orchids.

Intention for the Circular Altar Thanksgiving Jiao

In the twenty-fifth year of the Hongwu reign, I was commanded to present incense at Mount Huagai.

The Emperor in his grace commanded me to come and pray for blessings upon the heir apparent; I myself am gravely ill and in distress, and rely on my devoted mother to pray for my safety. Moreover, my post did not come from false accusation or wrongful trouble, yet travel over distant and dangerous routes still fills me with fear of wind and waves. Reflecting on myself, I should always hold reverence in my heart; hoping for grace, I must offer prayers to dispel calamity. With the spirits’ hidden protection, I respectfully perform the jiao offering. I humbly pray that Heaven bestow vast blessings, so that sun, moon, and stars show auspicious radiance. May joy in our household long increase, and our family share benevolence and long life; may the foundation of the state be ever stable and flourishing, and the Emperor’s designs be widely fulfilled. May my mother’s life be as enduring as the daylily, may my brothers be harmonious as the crabapple and pear, and may our virtue be as fragrant as orchids.

Intention for Establishing the Universal Salvation Rite

I reflect that in my early years I inherited the Daoist lineage of the immortals and have repeatedly received the Emperor’s grace. The merit of my ancestors—I am ashamed that I have not repaid the vows I once made; faults in my own words and conduct—I regret that I have not made them up even with the smallest good deed. Relatives and friends have passed away one after another, and whether their souls have ascended or sunk into suffering, I cannot know. Now, to fulfill the sincerity of my vows, I remember all the more their service and toil; therefore I establish a fasting rite to memorialise and uplift them (shezhai jianba: a rite of abstinence and offering for the dead), and at the same time dispel calamities. I humbly pray that the Great Virtue cherish all life, and that the southern realm of fire accept refinement and salvation (liandu). May jade talismans and golden registers open the gates of light in the hidden realm; may the cinnabar realm of Zhuling (a Daoist locus of refining and saving the dead) illuminate the Nine Depths (the farthest reaches of the dark underworld). May grace extend to all living beings, and blessings continue without end.

Green Liturgy for Morning Audience: Universal Salvation and Memorial Uplift

Heaven and earth are vast and profound; only grace and benevolence are hardest to forget. Sun and moon succeed one another, and in a blink antiquity and the present have changed. With sincere intent I petition for favor and exhaust my heart in stating my plea. Reflecting that I, your subject, inherit rank and title, I feel ashamed within; examining myself, I regret my faults. Near and far, debts of kindness deserve repayment, so mourning and remembrance run deeper still; thinking how grace transcends life and death and reaches the hidden realm, how could repayment lag behind? I only fear my faults are too many to investigate one by one, and therefore beg through repentance to wash away transgressions, so that offenses may be cleared together. Thus on a pure morning I hold the rite of abstinence and offer my full sincerity. I earnestly ask that the karmic burdens of beings in the nine yin depths be lifted, that they be freed from the five sufferings. May they preserve life and vitality unbroken, and all attain the fruit of ease and freedom; may they ascend to the realm of immortal perfection and joy, and again receive the spring warmth by which heaven and earth nurture the myriad things. May teaching and law flourish and reach everywhere, family bonds harmonize, and auspicious fortune follow.

Sincere Intention for the Universal Salvation Repayment Jiao of the Jiashen Year

Reflecting that I bear the transmission of the immortal lineage and am also fortunate to serve the sacred court, I am truly ashamed that my karmic burden is heavy and my faults have not been fully washed away. Recalling how illness long afflicted me and unsettled the household, I twice stated my wish with sincerity, and fortunately the spirits responded. Reverently I set out this modest jiao rite to repay heaven’s grace. I earnestly ask that the sage’s favor shine everywhere and that the emperor’s heart look down in care. May regret and fault be released, hardship and pestilence turn to smooth fortune; may the hidden realm be enlightened, and through compassion souls leave confusion and gain awakening. May teaching and custom be firm, domestic blessing flourish; all who receive the nurturing of heaven and earth, I pray they receive the care that gives and preserves life.

Sincere Intention for Establishing the Jiao on the Round Platform

The sun and moon shine upon all—each is the movement of heaven’s way and the clarity of heaven’s intent; may the emperor’s heart look down in care. May regret and fault be released, hardship and pestilence turn to smooth fortune; may the hidden realm be enlightened, and through compassion souls leave confusion and gain awakening. May teaching and custom be firm, domestic blessing flourish; all who receive the nurturing of heaven and earth, I pray they receive the care that gives and preserves life.

The movements of the sun and moon are governed by the workings of Yin-Yang and the creative power of nature. As yang wanes and yin grows, one fears that troubles may follow one after another. Looking up to heaven, one hopes misfortune may quietly turn aside, and so one reverently addresses Heaven and asks for divine regard. If rites and prayer lag with the turning of the seasons, it is enough that the first sincere heart reaches the spirits. If thanks for divine favor is delayed, one still waits upon Heaven’s mandate and chooses the right time to repay it.

One reverently prays: May the Heavenly Emperor’s discernment be clear and his compassionate grace spread far and wide. May the Daoist teaching endure like mountains and rivers, with the five blessings arriving together; may the lineage flourish all the more, with every kind of auspicious sign following in succession. May disasters melt like ice, and may good fortune and blessing run deep and long.

Raising-the-Beam Text for the Three Pure Ones Hall (Sanqing): A prayer composed for the beam-raising rite of the Three Pure Ones Hall. Raising the beam is a major step in building a hall, when the main roof beam is set in place, and is often accompanied by blessing and invocation.

The divine realm of the Three Realms and the immortal abodes rise above utter emptiness; on the blessed lands of the five sacred peaks, the ritual altar of the Dragon-and-Tiger mountain lineage has been established. Through the changes of the ages, eyes now turn again toward magnificent new halls. Imperial grace extends without limit, and the teaching of the Dao knows no bounds.

We respectfully praise His Majesty the Emperor: your mind embraces heaven and earth, your radiance matches sun and moon. You govern the realm so that policies are unified and the four seas are brought into one order. Your achievements are abundant and your virtue profound, laying the foundation for kingly rule; sage descendants will extend the imperial enterprise and long sustain the fortune of the state. The court honors the Dao, and the halls of the abbey now shine anew.

We revere the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the lords of the three celestial realms, and the God of Utmost Truth in the void. The supreme deities stand at the head of the three realms and rule all heavens. The great Dao of Mystery, Origin, and Beginning takes form; pure, luminous qi gathers, deep and inexhaustible. Purple edicts and vermilion scriptures expound the Daoist canon in the utmost domains of the ten directions and within the nine heavens; golden precepts and jade statutes spread the wondrous chapters of the Daoist lineage. Dragon script and phoenix seal appear; tiger guards and phoenix chariots assemble. The abbey towers like halls of shell and jade, drawing upward gaze; terraces for wandering immortals and herb gardens likewise appear in grandeur. The work was soon completed, and the spectacle is especially magnificent.

We speak further of the immortal officer of the Divine Joy Abbey and its resident abbot, Supervisory Priest Fu, whose bearing is like that of an immortal and whose appearance is refined and clear. With measured steps he presides over the music of Daoist rites and liturgy. Many eminent patrons took part in planning and building; he is truly a pillar of mountain and forest abbeys.

We speak also of the chief supervisory priest of the Daoist Registry, Left Expounder of the Law, Master Cao, who by literary learning administers Daoist affairs and holds a key post in the order’s discipline; he can summon wind and rain and holds the essentials of profound arts. Often favored with imperial gifts, he has devoted his full mind to counsel and planning.

There is also Resident Mountain Supervisor Master Li, whose virtue shines like fine jade and whose talent is deep and rich though modestly kept. He probes the mysteries within the vast Dao, assisting the affairs of the Clear Capital—the Daoist paradise or the abbey itself. The many talents who shared in overall management, and the various benefactors who gave money, also deserve praise. Their renown is outstanding; in this age of peace and clarity they leave a fair name; together, by reputation and virtue, they make the world’s customs more pure and bright.

The Dao establishes its teaching to guide people by the way of spirits, so that the qi of wind and thunder appears in the world. The new hall’s painted pillars and carved ridge glitter brilliantly, soaring into the sky; painted beams and elegant doors and windows are imposing, as if wrapped in cloud and swept by clear wind. The hall is broad and bright, reflecting the Azure Beginning Heaven (the blue heaven in Daoist cosmology); empty and profound, it merges with the Great Red Heaven (the red heaven in Daoist thought). Strange peaks and spirit mountains seem to gather soaring dragons and phoenixes; tier upon tier of canopies and lofty ritual banners and streamers show a glow like rosy clouds and rising vapor. Myriad spirits surround and guard this abbey—a work truly fit to endure for a thousand years.

Then the ridge-raising ceremony was held, and auspicious verses were respectfully offered.

To the east of the ridgepole, thick five-colored auspicious clouds fill the sky, and sunlight shines upon the palace walls. Golden and silver halls and mountain peaks reflect one another in solemn grandeur, emblems of longevity that may endure ten thousand years.

To the south, a thousand peaks and myriad ridges rise like stacked jade. Rainbow-colored banners and feathered ritual regalia descend from the heavens; a point of light, small as a grain of millet, hangs high above, while the assembled immortals bow toward the north.

To the west, jade groves and immortal herbs meet the white clouds, and layers of spirit cliffs stand beyond Mount Qingcheng. The elixir light that survives ten thousand kalpas without perishing reaches straight through to Taiwei—the celestial rampart of stars, also the realm of immortals.

To the north, Xianglu Mountain rises round and high, joining the sky. The Han Altar and Jade Bureau are spirit precincts held in reverence; their blessing extends to the imperial house, and the myriad nations under heaven come to pay homage.

Above the ridgepole, clouds surge like marching ranks, and chariots in rosy light are escorted by phoenix birds and swans. The Jade Capital of the immortal realm appears faint and far; Taiqing—one of the Three Pure Ones heavens in Daoism—is the tranquil paradise where divine beings dwell. That deep, subtle domain of spirit is not utterly without form.

Below the ridgepole, cave oral formulas and spirit scriptures follow mysterious transformation. On the Altar of the Void Emperor the moon shines bright; numinous presences from the four directions cluster around the immortals’ carriage.

After the ridgepole is raised, may the imperial foundation grow ever broader and Daoist teaching flourish ever more. May the four quarters and the eight wild regions bathe in grace, and the people be nourished by the wind of pure stillness. May the domain of the Dao be boundless and the immortal lineage endure without end.

In the days when the Han dynasty flourished and Daoism was on the rise, Longhu Mountain became the seat where immortals received their appointments. Descendants of Zhang Liang (styled Zifang, the early Han strategist) inherited the Dao lineage, and the ceremonial jade tablet became a ritual object passed down through generations. People had long revered the celestial palace; even through calamity and change, their faith did not waver. After long planning and with the emperor’s support, the undertaking was finally renewed.

Respectfully stated: His Majesty the Emperor has ascended the throne, inherited the legitimate succession, and opened a new era. His grand strategy and exceptional wisdom have established the norms of rulership and governed the realm through the way of centrality and rectitude; with abundant virtue and achievement he has ordered the bureaucracy and fixed the calendar. The foundations laid by Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou are thus further revived, and the brilliant governance of Han and Tang is carried forward. The court recalls the tradition of governance since Yu the Great and gathers the refined spirit of Emperor Shun’s Shaoyue music to shape ritual and institutions. The heir apparent is the worthy successor whom all look to; the princes likewise uphold the stability of the state and its altars. Therefore the people of Huaxia and the four directions should share in peace, and the Daoist community above all receives imperial grace. The court’s designs grow ever more far-reaching, and pillars of the state arise in turn.

Respectfully stated: the Founding Master, the True Lord of Orthodox Unity, Penetrating Mystery, Divine Transformation, Tranquil Responsiveness, Manifest Aid, and Blessing (the patriarch venerated in the Zhengyi lineage), whose Dao is lofty and who shines in the realm of mystery and spreads the teaching in the Pure Capital. His divine authority is like wind and thunder; his honored rank stands first among the Three Mountains; crown pins, sword, and ritual regalia mark a lineage long in descent and transmission. The Master repeatedly gathered blessings for the state and the people and planted fortune for posterity. Now, through the court’s generous favor, the scale of the sacred halls has suddenly expanded, all the more majestic. A great dharma transmitted for a thousand years, in a single moment displays a scene of full splendor.

Again, worthy ministers and generals, outstanding figures of Fujian, and persons of deep virtue from all quarters have together added luster to this age. The Dao lineage is thereby made manifest; the numinous power of the gods is vast and cannot be fixed by form. Heaven and earth and the four quarters each have their order: within the six directions, heaven like warp and earth like weft; the five walled cities of the immortal realm seem circled by sunlight, and cloud vapors gather in their train.

They once dispatched dragon officers to haul massive timbers and presented edicts borne by immortal cranes, seeking the azure tiles needed for the roof. Strange woods came from the Moon Palace; precious metals in succession reached the clouded courtyard. The twelve heavens of the Purple Bureau seemed to become the gates of Penglai; the thirty thousand households of the jade capital were as if moved here from the isles of immortals at sea. The halls were like shell gates and cinnabar terraces; the herb garden steps and jade halls were broad and magnificent.

Islands such as Fenglin Zhou seemed to bloom with spring before one’s eyes; banners of luan birds and swans descended with music from the nine heavens. The procession rode rainbows and mist, blazing like lightning into the clouds. If mountains and rivers were not grand enough, they could not show the honor due the patriarch and his supporters; the site of the abbey, high and clear, was enough to make both the human realm and the celestial realm look up in reverence. Thus divine protectors encircled and guarded, and wind and thunder long accompanied the immortal capital; pearls and jade were displayed in bright array, as if the River of Heaven ran straight to the abode of the Supreme Emperor.

The jade registers and immortal writs here can stand comparison with the transmissions of Xu Xun and Ge Xuan; jade lotus and golden pillars can be likened to the immortal realm of Mao Ying, Mao Gu, and the other Mao immortals of Mount Mao. Now the Dao pulse of forty-three generations is continued, and a foundation is laid that may be passed down for one thousand five hundred generations. This achievement owes both to divine aid and to the excellent geomantic spirit of this place. Work began in accord with the timely moment and was soon completed. The six ridge ornaments were reverently set in place, and the paired main beams were raised in turn.

On the eastern beam, radiance illumines the mountains, and the Dao Ancestor (the patriarch revered in Daoism) appears like a dragon. Spring returns to the season marked in the calendar and stars; at dawn the hills shine clear, and all things grow in the gentle spring wind. These signs gather the auspicious qi of countless ages. There is both the response of divine transformation and the completion of this place’s numinous energy; built in accord with the time, it is soon finished. With reverence the six celestial cords (symbols of the ordered movement of heaven and earth) are set out, and the two beam-timbers are raised together.

On the western beam, immortal terraces and crags rise into the clouds; jade pools and jade trees lie beyond mist and rosy light, and from time to time celestial writs (documents bearing heaven’s mandate) arrive sealed with purple clay.

On the southern beam, lofty lakes and peaks compare with Mount Hua and Mount Heng. Banners of cloud and standards of mist array themselves in the sky; emerald fills the heavens, and the sun guards the white jade casket in which the Way of long life is preserved.

On the northern beam, the Dao Ancestor soars in spirit, deep and unfathomable. Clad in deep red and wearing a crown shaped like a fish tail, he stands in solemn dignity in the high clouds. Since the Han dynasty this has been a holy ground where immortals dwell.

Above the beam, emperors of successive ages dwell in the vast and distant heaven; numinous and noble deities pay homage without cease and roam in the Great Clarity (Taiqing, one of the highest heavens in Daoism). The transmission of the pivot of jade offices (heavenly bureaus that keep records and govern affairs) is held in every generation.

Below the beam, tiger guards and dragon spirits gallop in ranks, escorting the phoenix carriage. The light of jade scriptures shines among five-colored auspicious clouds; through myriads of kalpas the realm of empty clarity transcends day and night.

With reverent prayer: after the beams are raised, may the sage ruler enjoy long life and the state flourish; may those who assist the heir apparent win far-reaching renown and the realm know peace. May merit and fame match Han ministers such as Xiao He and Cao Can, and households prosper like those of Yang Jian and Guo Ziyi. May grace reach rivers and seas, and the subtle wind of the Dao revive within this great foundation; may virtue show like jade, and the teaching’s lineage flourish in the east. May the altar of the lineage long endure in peace, and Daoist transformation spread to the four quarters.

Raising the Beams at the Three Gates

The famed mountain of dragon and tiger is a blessed land of purity and stillness; the separate isle of phoenix and qilin opens wide the gates of the Way. Not long ago this place suffered a fire; now it has been built anew. The norms of the Daoist teaching are thereby displayed, and the transforming instruction of the spirits made manifest.

We revere the high lords of the three realms and the arrayed sages of the ten directions, together with the Patriarch, the True Lord of Zhengyi who penetrates the mystery, transforms through spirit, responds in stillness, manifests protection and blessing. The Patriarch opened the lineage style of the Zhengyi school and unfolded the subtle teaching of the Way of the Mysterious Origin. This place leans on mountains and faces water in a graceful setting; the regulations observed here align with the warp and woof of Heaven and Earth. Precious secret methods and scriptures carry on a thousand five hundred years of immortal transmission; the pearl offices and complete palaces display the divine merit of the twenty-four administrations. The gates of the abbey seem to turn like sun and moon; the doors symbolize the opening and closing of Heaven and Earth. The newly raised halls are splendid and fair, and the spirits descend to this ground.

Again, regarding the immortal officer and abbot of the Divine Joy Abbey, Superintendent Fu: returning from the Northern Gate, he took up the seat that once directed this abbey; resting at ease on the eastern hill, he received exceptional grace. The newly granted honorable title shines with glory—truly a model for the Mysterious Gate.

Again, regarding the venerable master who holds the mountain as chief sponsor: dignified in bearing and clear in speech, he gained audience for an imperial decree; in conduct like bright pearl and fine jade, he presided with gravity in the Crane Office. He assisted in completing the abbey’s great work, planning for the long term and offering sound counsel.

Again, regarding the Daoist registry superintendent and Left Ritual Master of the Teaching: outstanding in literary talent and learning, lofty in presence. Entrusted with the golden key, and favored to honor the treasured pavilion, they especially labored for the mountain forest abbey and jointly achieved its rebuilding.

As for officers such as those of the Divine Treasure office, and skilled craftsmen, their merit was outstanding and they should assist affairs of the Mysterious Gate; their fine reputation likewise deserves selection to honored posts.

All things under Heaven each have their measure, yet the spirits have no fixed form and can be present everywhere. Splendid towers and carved pillars stand in bold array, as if parting the clouds; suddenly the sacred pivot is ringed with inscriptions and painted walls, and lightning seems to flash aloft. Immortals ride carriages adorned with langgan jade, with rainbow-like banners accompanying them; spirits descend between the halls, attendants bearing feathered regalia. Among jade peaks and wondrous trees, dragon-like and leopard-like divine forms appear in glimpses; amid cloud pendants and rosy robes, immortals stand like cranes and move like phoenixes. These images signify the hundred numina circling in guard, and provide something for the myriad people to revere and rely upon. At last a grand rite was held, and the six celestial parallels were specially arranged in offering.

To the east of the ridge beam, the sun rides high; its light washes the coastal mounds in red. The spirit altar stands solemn and still, as though wind and thunder stand guard. Purple-dark cloud-qi gathers between the passes and blends into the morning glow.

To the south of the ridge beam, cinnabar chariots and crimson ceremonial regalia descend, with phoenix-carriages in train. From the radiant palace court, heavenly incense is granted from afar; edicts from the celestial emperor’s halls gleam upon their precious seals.

To the west of the ridge beam, cool, clear qi fills the jade groves and veils the mountain mist. At night the jade altar’s candles burn bright; cinnabar light shines through. Spirit springs flow from the golden well, as if in communion with the Purple Forbidden (Ziwei, the celestial palace).

Below the beam, feather-adorned attendants bow in homage and gather in the courtyard. From heaven’s court, incense is bestowed from afar; imperial decrees from the celestial gates shine upon their sealed missives.

To the west of the ridge beam, cool, clear qi fills the jade groves and veils the mountain mist. Night candles on the jade altar cast a cinnabar glow; spirit springs in the golden well seem linked to the Purple Forbidden.

Below the beam, feather-adorned attendants bow in homage, as if arriving together in the same carriage. The subtle current of the Dao spreads to the four seas, so the people may look up in reverence; all voices join in praise, wishing to share in the sage clarity of the teaching.

With reverence we pray that, once the beam is raised, the dynasty’s foundation may endure broad and long, and that mysterious De (Virtue/Power) may shine like spring sunlight. May every blessing and every auspice receive the nurturing grace of heaven and earth; may wind and rain come in season, and all things find shelter and care. May the Daoist teaching shine forth in full, and the quiet, plain way flourish anew.

Here ends juan six of the Xianquan ji (Collection from Xian Spring).

Xianquan ji, juan seven

Composed by Celestial Master (Tianshi) Zhang Yuchu of Mount Qi, Wuwei

General preaching

General preaching on the transmission of ordination at the Three Primes (Sanyuan)

The Great Void is vast, silent, and empty; the law of the Dao is unfathomably subtle—at its utmost it cannot be put into words, and its marvels defy reckoning. Then there was neither sound nor scent, neither form nor name; it rested in the realm of Great Brahma, boundless and still, wrapped in deep obscurity. Writing had not yet appeared; everything lay beyond thought and beyond measure.

From the kalpa of Chiming, heaven and earth were opened; once heaven and earth existed, the myriad things came into being. Layer upon layer of Dao-qi condensed into cloud-seal script (Yunzhuan), manifesting as numinous writing. Thereafter the various laws unfolded step by step, and the Five Sections of scripture were handed down to sustain the kalpas and endure with heaven.

True sages transmitted the teaching in succession; what they passed on was one in origin. Yuanshi Tianzun (Primordial Celestial Worthy) expounded the dharma amid the vision of millet-grain pearls suspended in the void; the assembled perfected ones oversaw and protected the teaching and passed it to Yuchen Daojun, and thus the norms of the Great Dao began to appear broadly. After the Kaihuang era, the Great Vehicle of Lingbao and the Ten Sections of the Purple Subtlety Flying Heaven were also transmitted. These scriptures are the Yuanshi Dongxuan Lingbao Red Writing and Jade Chapters—the spontaneous numinous text of the Grand Void of Primordial Chaos.

Yuanshi Tianzun refined these numinous writings at the Hall of Cave Yang and forged them into form in the Court of Flowing Fire. They are the mysterious root of Yuanshi Lingbao, the true writing of the empty void and spontaneous nature; they can generate heaven and earth, establish order, awaken the spirits, guard the Five Sacred Peaks, stabilize the realm, and protect the people. Therefore the Most High proclaimed the Dao at the Jade Bureau, and the numinous writings spread far and wide.

The Han Ancestral Celestial Master (Tianshi)—Zhang Daoling—descended in response to the times. Tradition holds that on the fifteenth day of the first month in the first year of Shanghuang, the fifteenth of the seventh month in the first year of Wuji, and the fifteenth of the tenth month in the second year of Wuji, the Supreme Lord Lao separately revised and annotated the Eight Administrations in upper, middle, and lower parts. On the night of the fifteenth of the first month in the second year of Han’an, the Celestial Master Zhang, having sensed the Golden Gate, received from the Later Sage of the Mysterious Origin (Housheng Xuanyuan Daojun) at Heming Mountain in western Shu the Zhengyi Mengwei Dugong Zhenxiu Yansheng Feihua Milu and the secret formulas kept at the elbow.

In the seventh month of that year, twenty western jurisdictions (local Zhengyi dioceses) were established and entrusted to the successor who held the master’s line. On the fifteenth day of the tenth month, four more jurisdictions were set up to correspond to the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions (the twenty-eight star regions of traditional astronomy). Thus the twenty-four jurisdictions matched the Twenty-Four Solar Terms; under each term there were twenty-four kinds of official duties. Male and female officers each had twenty-four posts, and male and female roles each had twenty-four spheres of responsibility. Once appointed, they governed and instructed the households under their charge according to liturgical (Keyi) rules.

All who loved the Dao and devoted themselves to the Way could thereby dispel calamities and extend life, gather in wayward influences and return to the correct path, remove harm and demonic affliction, and aid the living while delivering the dead. Going further, they could fly in spirit and tread the light (shenyou yuanxing, zhuisui riying—traveling in spirit and following the sun’s trace), leave the mundane behind, attain realization and become perfected, and keep the “Three-Five” teaching (the Zhengyi lineage of Dao transmission) alive so that the wind of Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) would not die out. Therefore those who transmitted the registers (Fulu) had to report to the spirits in the jurisdiction, and divide and confer talismanic credentials at the altar, so the solemnity of the covenant was clear.

The Dao Lord (the revered deity who transmits the Dao) is said to have declared: “Long ago I descended upon the Shu capital. There the twenty-four jurisdictions originally corresponded to the dark prisons of the Twenty-Eight Mansions—the office of the yin realm’s shadowy registers (the agency that kept the dark ledgers of the underworld). Later I opened the Inner Hall of Zhengyi in the Jade Chamber of the Southern Palace of Purple Yang and transmitted the secret register of Zhengyi Covenant Authority and Merit, and thus obtained from that record the way of ‘covenant with Qian and treading the Dipper’ and the essentials of the ‘three steps and nine traces’ (the liturgical keys to pacing the ritual steps beneath the Dipper stars).

“I once told the founding patriarch and true lord: the Way of Zhengyi arose from the single breath of primordial chaos at the very beginning; heaven and earth were not yet divided, dark and yellow not yet distinguished, and the pure undivided qi still hung condensed and unbroken. When the Great Simplicity was about to dissipate and thin floating winds daily seeped in, I feared that the people of the Dao would be disturbed by heterodox methods, their vital energy (Qi) mixed and confused, ghosts and demons entangled, and disasters frequent; they would fail to obtain the Dao, preserve truth, and fulfill their natural years, and instead suffer injury.

“I sent down the various tokens of covenant authority (mengwei zhuchou—the pledge objects used in transmission and oath), using the covenant to bind outer deviance and guard the inner orthodox unity of vital breath; hence the name ‘Zhengyi’ (Orthodox Unity). Those who understood and followed it would not lose the Dao that returns all to the One. My method is the gateway among all methods, and also the ten transformations and nine transmutations of Shangqing and Lingbao, as well as the hidden writings of Great Scarlet and the plain words of the Three-Nine.”

The Patron Saint (Zushi Zhenjun) also once taught Wang Zhenren: Primordial Qi—the original vital energy before heaven and earth were divided—was originally one; one split into two, and two gave rise to three. This is called the “Three Primes” (Sanyuan). Three further produced four, and four produced five. This is the Five Phases (Wuxing). The Three Primes and the Five Phases govern heaven and earth, drive change, and bring forth transformation in the ten thousand things. Thus the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) method arises from primordial qi and works through change within the Five Phases; for this reason it is called the “Three-Five Method.”

Those who practice the Zhengyi method can keep the Three Primes each in their proper place and the Five Phases each in their proper order, so that sun and moon move in due sequence, Yin-Yang stay clear and bright, and thunder acts at the right times. Wind and clouds do not stir without cause; the ten thousand things receive nourishment and moisture; the realm is spared from war, and the people are spared from plague. These are the great effects that practice of the Zhengyi method can bring about.

At first the Zhenjun lived on Mount Songyang; later he traveled the famous mountains and great rivers of Jiangdong, followed streams through deep valleys, and entered Shu to subdue demons and vanquish evil. He divided the netherworld into twenty-four blessing courts (fortified abodes where spirits govern) and subdued demon commanders to serve as twenty-four yin officials (officers who manage affairs of the underworld). Later the Zhenjun met the Xuanyuan Daojun, received anew the Zhengyi Covenant-Awesome Way (Mengwei zhi Dao), along with the arts of the Three-Eight Flying Immortal Life-Extension (feixian yansheng). The Xuanyuan Daojun enfeoffed him as Realized Person of the Taixuan Capital Zhengyi, deputized him to the post of Sage Successor of Xuanyuan, appointed him Grand Master within the Mystery, and conferred on him the title Lord of the Taixuan Capital Zhengyi Pacification Palace.

From then on, the demons of the Six Heavens were pacified and calamity ceased. When the Zhenjun’s cultivation was complete, a command descended from the Three Heavens, and he ascended in broad daylight, taking his place among the Nine Pure Immortal Realms. Therefore the purpose of transmitting the twenty-four grades of secret registers (Fulu)—one kind of Daoist ritual register—is to gather in evil influences and return them to the correct path, to spread divine teaching, and to bless the people. Practitioners must also summon and descend the qi of the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions, apply governance through the twenty-four qi, wear ritual registers and talisman seals (Fulu), and command the generals and officers under their authority. When merit is complete, the Three Officials (the deities who oversee heaven, earth, and water) recommend them, and their names are inscribed in the jade register; even after undergoing corpse liberation (shijie), they can rank among Realized Persons and enable seven generations of ancestors and their parents to ascend to the hall of blessing.

From this, the transmission of scriptures in the Three Caverns and Four Supplements (the classification system of Daoist canonical texts) is vast and profound, able to save beings universally without end. Above, it can protect the state in lasting peace and endure with Heaven; below, it brings blessing to the living and the dead so that all under Heaven rejoice together. The Yuchen Zhengyi secret canon transmitted from the Ziyang Inner Palace can clarify principles that are subtle and abstruse—and there is good reason for that.

It has now been handed down through forty-three generations, under the grace of the sovereign, and the classics circulate widely at the lineage altar (the place where Daoist transmission and rituals are performed). Now it is the festival of Shangyuan, the day when the Officer of Heaven reviews registers. A chief disciple of the altar offers gold and silk in reverent faith, praying for the descent of mysterious grace. Practitioners from the ten directions who bear the Dao gather at the altar. Therefore worthy persons of the tradition and pure listeners assemble at the teaching seat, purify body and mind, and wish to hear the ultimate Dao.

The scriptures say: emptiness and naturalness are the root from which the Dao arises; true oneness (the pure, undivided essence) admits no duality, and its nature is clear, still, and pure. Complete and luminous, it is inherently sufficient; it does not fall into partial views or worldly defilement. In study one should learn without clinging; in cultivation one should practice without clinging—then understanding arises naturally within. Neither clinging to departure nor clinging to remaining; transcending the distinction of life and death—this is true awakening. Are these words not both deep and clear?

Inward cultivation is the way of the golden fluid returning the three-five (the inner-alchemical method of restoring essence, qi, and spirit to their origin); outward practice is the mystery of the Lingbao ten returns to true oneness. When this is unfolded, there are texts such as the Purple Pivot Flying Sanskrit and records such as the Red Book Spirit Diagram—scriptures and talismanic registers for universal salvation of humans and celestials, with immeasurable merit. The transmission of Taishang scriptures and registers all flows from this root principle; the responsive, penetrating, and opportune teaching that follows is thereby fully established.

Know this: whoever grasps the principle of creation and transformation can teach the people. As when Heaven sends rain and Earth receives it, sun and moon run their courses, and thunder moves—all following natural law, so that without many words the myriad things benefit and drought is relieved. From this we know that human nature is neither increased by cleverness nor diminished by dullness; the key is to turn inward and seek within oneself, so that the good inherent in one constantly returns to simplicity and maintains pure oneness. Then, embracing the mystery and guarding truth alone, restoring simplicity and preserving Heaven’s nature—the way of fulfilling nature and establishing life is complete.

Therefore, although the myriad things differ in countless ways, they all spring from one and the same root; they turn with heaven and earth and do not clash with one another. To be empty and still, free of craving, plain and at ease, silent and practicing wuwei (non-action)—this is the ground of the Dao we hold to. Apply that teaching to refining the person and ordering the household, to governing the realm, and to what passes between heaven and humanity, and nowhere will it sit ill.

The scripture speaks of answering two questions because, in Daoist teaching, the zhenwen lingji—the numinous, efficacious characters of authentic scripture—truly can shift ill fortune toward blessing and dispel calamity; that power is not without cause. What follows from that is not benefit for the living and the dead alone. To receive the deep kindness of Taishang (the Supreme Venerable, the highest deity in Daoism) is a debt without end.

Tonight I take this fazu, the seat from which the rite of preaching is performed, and call the Lord on High and the celestial gaozhen, the exalted perfected ones, to witness the covenant, so that liu fan si sheng—all beings in the six paths and the four ranks of sages, a Buddhist formula for the full range of sentient and holy beings—may hear. I set out the meaning in brief, wishing each of you a far-reaching awakening. May every faithful layperson and every sentient being know benevolence and long life; may those without number who linger in the dark and in bondage cross together to liberation’s further shore. Hold yourselves in care for long.

From the Pushuo on Universal Lingbao Lian Du (the Lingbao school’s general exposition on refining and delivering the dead).

It is respectfully heard that the Dongzhen Miaojie (Marvellous Precepts of the Dongzhen Division) and the Lingbao Yuwen (Jade Scriptures of Lingbao) possess immeasurably profound power: above, they can safeguard the state in lasting peace; below, they can deliver departed souls from boundless calamity. Their prohibitions are solemn and weighty, and their numinous efficacy is beyond measure. For souls who ought to be saved, if through past violation of the true Way they willingly endure cyclic rebirth, one should first expound the Dao widely, as if nourishing beings with the milk of the Dharma, so that they understand their original nature, awaken swiftly, and leave the dark path of the underworld without delay.

Tracing the origin of heaven and earth, before Wuji (the Limitless) and Taichu (the Grand Beginning), when all was still without sign and without form or trace, the primordial chaos later began to differentiate and Yin-Yang separated. Heaven took shape and order was established; the myriad things began to grow and transform. Heaven, earth, and humanity—the three powers—stood together, with humanity in their midst. Yang transformed and Yin intermingled; the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) condensed into form, and the two qi of Yin and Yang pervaded and circulated everywhere. The myriad things arose together with heaven and earth, each endowed with the same primordial qi and thus given a body. Once the body exists, original nature appears—this is the working of destiny.

Sun, moon, and stars shine together; the five sacred peaks each stand aloft. Thunder displays marvellous function; rain and dew nourish the myriad things. Great and small alike, nothing lacks the complete spirituality with which it is born; nothing is without the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental order of the cosmos. That the spirits and sages borrow teaching to guide and save the world has its root precisely here. Thus the fundamental principle by which heaven and earth operate, when applied to the myriad things, is not twofold. Confucius and Mencius called it benevolence and righteousness; Shakyamuni called it perfect enlightenment; Zhuangzi and Liezi called it emptiness and non-being; Xunzi and Yang Xiong called it weighing and measure; Ban Gu and Sima Qian embodied it in literary elegance. It also unfolded into the various crafts and skills, yet none departed from the human heart. The paths differ, but the destination is the same; the ten thousand divergences still share one root.

Yet heaven and earth and the myriad things all have form and breath; they are subject to birth and death, gathering and dispersing, flourishing and withering, completion and decay—and humanity is the same. From the moment one is born, conscious activity begins. Between day and night thoughts tangle and disturb one another without a moment’s rest. What the ears hear, the eyes see, the mouth tastes, and the mind ponders are often clouded by desire and entangled by emotion, further pulled by outer circumstances and objects. Thus original nature turns into emotion; emotion flares and gives rise to thoughts; thoughts accumulate into worry; prolonged worry hardens into fixed views.

The seven emotions, the six desires, the five aggregates, and the three poisons (greed, hatred, and delusion) intertwine. Craving, anger, aversion, attachment, and joy, resentment, strife, and rebellion follow one after another, binding tighter and deeper. People sink into the roots and dust—the senses and the world they contact—and are fettered by fixation. They even form enmity through familial love, desire, and disputes over gain, mistaking enemies for kin so that friend and foe tangle and retaliate against each other.

Outer situations appear along with the activity of body and mind; situations in turn arise from the inner mind. Every encounter of favour or opposition, liking or disliking, once it stirs a thought, becomes an obstacle. The appearance of the form of any thing also begins from a single arising thought. Following vain passion and confused ideas through hundreds of thousands of kalpas, one still turns unceasingly in rebirth—rising and falling in birth and death, coming and going again and again. Even wood and stone, though without knowing mind, can be moved by influence; all of this stems from a deviation in a single thought, until one finally bears suffering through countless lifetimes, the spirit dull and adrift, scattered and inverted, with no knowing when release may come.

At first one may infer by reasoning that form, feeling, perception, formations, and consciousness are empty, yet still not know that the retributions of heaven and hell truly exist. Yet one also fails to understand that earth, water, fire, wind…