《岘泉集》Vol. 5
About this page. The original text of 《岘泉集》 Vol. 5 (Taixuan 太玄部, 5 volumes) is shown in Classical Chinese as transmitted in the Godners/DaoZang edition. An English interpretation of the 45 passages on this page accompanies it: select a passage or press “Interpretation” to show it. All texts in English
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Source textInterpretation
On the stone steps of the mountain path, mist among the pines is damp, and the pool has risen with the rain. Lush trees look even finer, and the winding trail leads one away from the dust of the world.
Purple valleys reach deep dragon pools; among blue-green peaks it seems phoenixes might fly. Who would have thought to meet recluses like Zhi and Hao (the Four Elders of Mount Shang)? The scene before me is like the dwelling places of Chi Songzi and Wang Ziqiao (legendary immortals).
In every direction one can seek traces of the numinous; for a thousand years people have still followed and admired these lofty realms. Holding to the right path, what is sought is not eternal life but knowing how to nourish body and mind and keep to one’s place.
So, with the leisure of one who wears a rain hat, one casts off the bonds of the worldly cage. Some ask the angler’s words; others inquire about the woodcutter’s mountain song.
The mountains and forests each give their own sound; for now I lodge among them and leave my echo behind.
On a Painting of Summer Mountains After Rain
Evening rain sweeps past cold trees; flowing clouds rise from layer upon layer of peaks. The bridge across the stream is hidden by creeping plants and green shade; leaning on my staff I come to the bridge—just the place to stop and look.
Weariness and toil are all washed away, as if far from the world, and one’s trace grows remote. Is Mount Zhong really at the edge of heaven? Already in my ears comes the sound of clear, rushing water.
On the Studio of Tranquil Flavor
The pure, harmonious qi of heaven and earth exists in the simple beginning; true meaning lies in what is distant and plain. Fuxi and King Wen traced the origin of heaven and earth in their hexagrams; Confucius spoke of stillness and clarity.
The path of cultivation is indeed not far—it depends on holding to the right way and practicing it day and night. In the woods lives a quiet, at-ease recluse who has left the world’s tracks and is no longer tied down.
Beyond the clouds rises Mao Peak; the hermit gathers fungus and the flowers that grow on stone. Pine waves sound like snow filling the eaves; orchid fragrance drifts past the railing on the wind.
When the inner self is firm, the spirit is whole; one sighs at the world chasing show and drowning in feasts. Drunk on brewed wine, one abandons the plain flavor of wuwei (non-action); racing after outer beauty, one scorns refined appreciation.
Even with white hair, one can still merge with all things; the mind is still and plain, like the vast sky at peace, and within it one nurtures body and heart.
On the Scroll of Zunmusheng
Zhuangzi grasped the equality of all things and saw the ten thousand things like ten thousand openings sounding together—each appearing and returning to nature. All grasses and trees share one root and one body; such strange talk, the more it is said, the more extravagant it sounds.
Huizi did not know how to use the principle of “greatness”; faced with boundless vastness, he could not finally grasp it. Without the gift of seeming useless like the oak and thus being preserved, how could Zhi Li Shu have long kept himself whole?
In Huaiyang there was an outstanding figure who long served as a military commander. He admired a life beyond the dust of the world and aspired to soar like the great peng bird.
He prized shouzhuo (guarding simplicity) to preserve himself and entrusted his heart to heaven and earth, day and moon in daily communion. His steps already followed worthies such as Li Lian; why should his fame shine any less than those of Ye and Zheng?
I have always loved the gravel community and am willing to be useless timber, yet also to receive watering and cultivation. Even across a thousand years, kindred spirits may meet; dwelling in the world of dust, one need not fear that hardship will follow.
The wooden frames used for sacrificial victims, once they become ritual vessels, invite the disaster of being cut down; coated with lacquer and grease, they draw pity precisely because they stand out. I wish to roam with those who gather truth (caizhen), and in a single breath rise into boundless heaven and earth.
If we can speak of shared karmic affinity and affection, we may ride the wind swiftly and ascend straight to the clouds.
Xianquan ji, juan 9, end
Xianquan ji, juan 10
Composed by Zhang Yuchu, Celestial Master (Tianshi) of Qishan Wuwei
Regulated Verse in Five Characters per Line
New Year’s Day
At the year’s beginning one may read whether the harvest will be abundant; morning sunlight makes one feel the seasons turning. Under the eaves, morning water flows like a waterfall; among cold trees, mist along the stream is hazy.
Human affairs drift like duckweed and broken stems; half my life floats like water and clouds. Waxing and waning have their fixed measure—why care how much one hears?
Delight at Clear Weather
At the beginning of summer the sky has just cleared, and my idle mood briefly opens. Deep in the woods, rain makes grass and trees more lush; as the stream falls, travelers along the bank are few.
The setting sun slants across bamboo; petals fall beside books in the garden. In recent years I have felt only lazy and dull—and yet that suits a secluded dwelling well.
Sitting in the Stele Pavilion of the Performance of the Dharma and Contemplation
On all sides of the wild pavilion, woods meet marsh and hill; on the moss-covered path, desolation and cold. Human feeling is thin, yet the Dao-flavor of the empty mountains is long.
Cliffs rise steep as if carved from the void, their color red; green trees shut out the sunlight. I lean down and finish reading the broken stele; my spirit at once drifts far, dazed and vacant.
Lan She
At dawn I ride through mist-shrouded waters; Lingyan leads toward Hetai. Spring water floods the wild islet, blurring the way; daytime rain wets the mossy stone bridge and makes it slick.
Dwellings in the woods lie in faint haze; the man in coir cloak is far at the ancient ford. I sit and watch scenery like Mount Penglai fade toward evening; a single leaf-boat seems to wash away worldly trouble.
Sitting at Night at Xianquan
Borrowing mist and cloud to hide, I have made a life of reclusion and shouzhuo; the divine peak is truly serene, like a celestial capital above. One stream joins two mountain ravines; a thousandfold peaks seem to mirror and cross into one another.
Dao Shan and Xiao Shi made an appointment to wander together and saw a reclusive eminent person in a spiritually refined mountain hollow. From then on they set aside worldly affairs and enjoyed ease and freedom; the various disturbances of the floating world they let be, present or absent, no longer weighing on the heart.
Returning to Xianquan in Late Spring
In late spring I sought quiet in the stream valley, leaning on an elegant staff as I crossed a field bridge. The mountains wound in jade-green folds; trees caught moist cyan light like spiraled shells. Two streams mirrored each other, and a thousand peaks seemed to shift and change before my eyes.
Dao Shan and Xiao Shi had agreed to roam together and glimpsed a reclusive worthy in a graceful mountain dell. They released themselves from worldly business and took up unhurried ease; the clamor of the floating world they left to come or go, no longer a care.
In late spring I went seeking seclusion in the ravine, staff in hand over a rustic bridge. Hills bent in emerald curves; woods wore damp green like kingfisher shell. Willows reached toward the bank where yellow orioles roost; a small boat lay still on waters a white crane had skimmed. A life spent in hurry and labor I for now entrusted to these hills and waters—how could such quiet joy be told in full?
A Winter Night in the Hermitage
Spring’s turn had already begun quietly in the twelfth month; at year’s end I lay abiding in the mountains. Bamboo in the courtyard blocked the path in the cold wind; plum by the pond opened late, light on my scrolls. I resented the spring’s voice startling the dogs’ barking, yet heard spring stirrings rouse fish in the depths. The ten thousand things live on without ceasing—within them is vitality itself; when the mind is empty and still, endless delight rises from within.
Inscription on “Autumn Colors of the Qiong Forest”
The immortal terrace rises high, its structure numinous and fine; jade trees ring it straight into the blue sky. Autumn rain falls between half-drawn curtains; pine surf rolls with the wind along the forest path. A mood like drifting cloud hides and shows in pavilion and hall; brook murmur weaves with the sound of the zither. I urge myself to follow the steps of the ancients and unfold this picture of a secluded dwelling amid the scenery of Mount Hua and Mount Song.
Inscription on “Fanghu’s Autumn Mountains and Secluded Retreat”
The Northern Yuan painter’s intent is inexhaustible; autumn mountain views are all gathered before the eyes. A short bridge leads to the post road; beside an old house, maples wear frost. After rain, cold seeps into the dusk; remnant clouds close quietly in the sky. By chance one comes to a place fit for withdrawal, and traces of the dusty world seldom tie the heart again.
How I Love Dwelling in the Mountains
My Picture of Secluded Living
The Northern Yuan painter’s intent is inexhaustible; autumn mountain scenery fills the view. A short bridge to the courier’s road; an old dwelling, maples touched with frost. Rain’s chill enters the twilight; broken clouds fold quietly in heaven. Happening upon a site made for reclusion, one’s heart is rarely bound by worldly tracks.
How I Love Dwelling in the Mountains
I love life in the mountains because, without many desires, it is enough to nourish what is genuinely mine. In the seventh and eighth months I hear the voice of autumn; among the colors of the hills there are only two or three companions. A hidden path does not mean a dim mind; plain living does not mean an empty Way in the heart. Facing vast twilight, I watch the ten thousand things of heaven and earth change; turning back toward the world of dust, I still feel I owe something to the red dust.
I love dwelling in the mountains: though the years are long and quiet, in stillness I can grasp the breadth of the great Dao; in leisure I notice how much busyness still clings to body and mind.
Summer rain makes the clouds especially white; autumn wind gradually yellows the chrysanthemums. Rather than rushing about like this, it is better to draw in one’s feet and sit at ease—then how could the troubles of the dusty world come to disturb you?
I love life in the mountains, for I have gradually understood that the ten thousand things and the self were originally one and connected. Wind and clouds seem like the tracks of passing carriages and horses; heaven and earth all lie within a single circle.
The pattern of growth and transformation has no end; the subtleties of round and square cannot be told to the full. The ten thousand things shift in bending and stretching, in exhalation and inhalation—one need only follow nature and let them come and go.
I love life in the mountains, for it is leisurely and free, with little social obligation. Whether noisy or quiet, from the standpoint of true principle it all seems like trifles in an anthill; when people gather and scramble in rivalry, it is no more than spiders weaving their webs.
Emotional knowing and discrimination create the distinction between self and other; whether one enters the world or leaves it, right and wrong appear from that. Who can truly hear the words of Zhuangzi? Only this heart, tasting alone what is hidden and fine within them.
I love life in the mountains, mending the brushwood gate with creeping vines. The peaks naturally divide host and guest; the distant torrent sounds like strings being plucked.
At evening the village is still and the dogs fall silent; deep in the mountains mist and rain spread wide. In the depth of night all things cease their motion—only a clear, ringing tone still lingers in the ear, inviting one to chant alone.
I love life in the mountains, sitting out the years in quiet. I watch the steadfast nodes standing against wind and frost, holding to a pure, cold integrity before ice and snow.
When one “nourishes the fire” in the Three Palaces (the Daoist Neidan practice of harmonizing Jing, Qi, and Shen in the body’s energy centers), mind and spirit grow serene and every worry melts away. So long as one does not fix on the realm of shedding the shell like a cicada, to be broad and at ease is xiaoyao (carefree wandering).
I love life in the mountains, gathering back thoughts that had drifted through ten thousand ages. Though adrift in surging, rushing waves, one can still be clear and steady, showing a heart like refined gold.
The world looks only at what is constant and what changes; human feeling reveals what is shallow and what is deep. Life on Mount Kongtong holds no special flavor—I am content to end my days in the forested hills.
I love life in the mountains, and do not keep account of shifts between cold and warm. Old dreams of rivers and lakes have faded; in my dealings I seldom meet new friends.
To take office or withdraw I leave to my own lot; whether my conduct fits the world I leave to others’ doubts. The bamboo slips are filled with wide-ranging parables—what more could I ask of them?
Inscribed on Wang Yuan’s “Eight Chants”
On the stone glen, clouds coil as if building a minor heaven (a Daoist fairy realm within the world). Chill from the grassy pool enters one’s dreams; mountain rain at night startles one from sleep.
Where the village road bends, a neighbor’s trees come into view; petals follow the spring water out from the stone mouth. To study immortality is not to play the proud hermit—I simply love this place and stay on, year after year.
The above is “Spring Clouds at the Eastern Glen.”
Seeking immortals and perfected beings among mountains, forests, lakes, and marshes, one sets up a platform for expounding the scriptures on bare stone whenever the classics are opened. Evening mist rises from ancient trees; spring crows perch on withered plum branches.
Immortals in feather robes and jade ornaments pass through the clouds; spirit boats return again from the sea. Looking down on the boundless heaven and earth—where is there no dust of the mundane world?
Inscription on the right: North Ridge Stone Platform.
The southern ridge is fair; blue-green hues fill the seat beside one. The place seems fit for watching swords and drinking wine, yet better still for carrying scriptures and shouldering a hoe—a life of plowing and reading.
Autumn chills; yellow leaves fall in showers. In the deep stream one may ask after the white fish. Why not leave half an acre of field and withdraw with me to dwell in quiet cultivation?
Inscription on the right: Southern Hills in Splendid Color.
The moon first rises; night cold is like ice; both banks of the stream are clear and bright. Starlight slants across the eaves; wind, dew, and spring water sound weave together.
A lone boat drifts by the sandbar; in deep autumn hills an old city faintly shows. A fisher’s song carries wild flavor; the roads around Shuzhi wind and turn.
Inscription on the right: Autumn Moon over the Western Stream.
The thatched hut stands by fields and vegetable plots; most flowers and trees around the courtyard were planted by hand. Though there is no wine of one who has resigned office and gone home, there are poems to sing—the pleasures of life in a thatched roof.
After snow, one goes out at dusk to chant; in deep autumn one nourishes body with food and drink. Long one has pursued furnace and elixir—how goes life in retirement now?
Inscription on the right: Thatched Hall, Pine and Chrysanthemum.
Vegetables are planted; lingzhi and fungi are cultivated too—day after day of tilling. Mulberry and hemp grow everywhere; shade is thick in the hamlets.
Rain is ample; woods and ponds are fresh and moist; in spring cold the earth between field ridges still feels deep and firm. Evening talk holds no idle words; as years grow, each feels the other more kindred in heart.
Inscription on the right: Old Garden, Mulberry and Hemp.
Elsewhere wells may be cool and sweet, water tinkling—surely they have a source. Candlelight on things is like a bright mirror; the well bottom has stone for its root, unfathomably deep.
Tea boiled in a tripod often turns jade-green; water drawn with a elixir ladle still feels warm on the tongue. How can that compare with treating Qi waters and sea water as ordinary? Better to keep this spring so descendants may long enjoy health and years.
Inscription on the right: Jade Well, Clear Spring.
Stone is cut and a new pond opened—ten acres square, green and limpid. Rain on the surface stirs ripples like crucian carp; mountain vapor rises as if carrying dragon breath.
The winding channel sometimes gives a snow-like cry; flowing beads at evening reflect starlight. From this one tastes the true flavor and early grasps the subtle doctrine of the Classic of the Great Mystery.
Inscription on the right: Stone Pool, Deep Emerald.
This poem was composed to the rhyme scheme of Master Ge Weizhen’s thank-you poem for a painting.
The Du Qu region often stirs poetic inspiration; a quiet dwelling outshines any thatched pavilion. I devote myself to cultivation, probing the Five Tai (the initial cosmic stages in Daoist cosmology), nurturing my nature and grasping the Three Ling (the numinous potency of Heaven, Earth, and humanity). In feather robes I walk through mountain woods and stream valleys; an immortal air settles over gate and courtyard. Many venerable elders have passed away, yet I rejoice to open and tend this secluded retreat.
I am heir to the Nanyang literary line; when the mood strikes, I write beside the Ink Pool. This place has seen the phoenix; cranes too return to Parrot Isle. Mist slants across distant hills, damp in the valleys; clouds drift among tall trees. At dusk I recall fishing on the Wei—like Lord Jiang I let down the hook without bait, waiting for a worthy ruler to come.
Screening My Tracks
Withdrawal from the world has become my habit; I watch emptiness in stillness and shut out outer noise. The pool lies dark where spring water enters the cave; the path avoids human tread and moss marks its grain. Spring rain clamors in the stony brook; at dusk purple gates close under cloud. I have always loved the woodcutter and herdsman’s ease and truly wish to leave the world’s turmoil behind.
Five-Character Regulated Verse: Visiting Bilu Cave Heaven
Bilu Cave Heaven is the abode of true immortals; dawn is the right hour to visit. Our elegant gathering falls before the Double Ninth; the distant excursion is set for autumn. Immortal companions bloom like flowers; peers with fine hairpins are all of noble bearing. We split into small boats by the stream and follow the wooded shore past hill after hill.
Near the village we pause to drink; mountain folk warmly keep us until evening. Cliffs hang high like piled iron; the thick woods ring with clear sounds. Mist draws long curtains; starlight drops into a deep, jeweled well. Spring water fills the stone mortar like frost-white pulp; stone houses embrace dew-wet fields.
By moonlight we dine on leopard meat from nearby hills; kitchen smoke rises where dogs and monkeys mingle. Morning smoke urges us to roll our sleeves; wild greens and mountain delicacies are laid out in turn. Tree shadows in sunlight seem to frost into flowers; sleeping among clouds, the body feels wrapped in white silk. On perilous paths we cast off Xie Lingyun’s wooden clogs; in remote places we abandon Tao Yuanming’s boat of retreat.
Shoulder to shoulder we enter the cave gate and explore side by side among the rocks. Climbing, we hear the sound of precious bamboo; pointing and guiding, we keep close company. In the dark valley stone steps spiral upward and wind circles; on the sunny ridge the day’s clouds seem washed clean. The high terrace is cool—fit for Double Ninth, hat cast off; thick mist congeals—as if one should add a fur coat against the cold.
Visiting Qian Spring Together with Wu Yanzhi
Legend says Han-dynasty traces lie hidden here, guarded as if by tigers; when the Qin performed the feng and shan rites on Mount Tai, a rainbow light once shone above the trees. The Lord of Lu posted armored men in tight guard, while Taiyi (the exalted deity revered in Daoism) quietly searched the secrets of the netherworld.
On precious Baoji peak (or in its spirit grotto), responsive edicts appeared; jade tablets used by immortals were also recorded in the Daoist priest’s book. Following a path like strung fish, they explored steep and wondrous places; stopping in turn where crows roosted, they found little trace of distant frontier dress or exotic ways.
Legend says Han-dynasty traces lie hidden here, guarded as if by tigers; when the Qin performed the feng and shan rites on Mount Tai, a rainbow light once once shone above the trees. The Lord of Lu posted armored men in tight guard, while Taiyi quietly searched the secrets of the netherworld.
On Baoji, responsive edicts appeared; jade tablets used by immortals were also recorded in the Daoist priest’s book. Following a path like strung fish, they explored steep and wondrous places; stopping in turn where crows roosted, they found little trace of distant frontier dress or exotic ways.
Su Dan’s orange trees were lovely to behold; wine brewed by a jade maiden was cool and refreshing. The old road recalled Zhang Qian (styled Bowang, the Han envoy to the Western Regions); wandering the valleys, one thought again of Chaofu and Xu You (legendary recluses who shunned the world).
Branches steadied startled magpies; my body was light and nimble, yet I felt I could not match the carefree gulls. On perilous paths we could only rely on divine protection; voices from the air came again and again, clamorous and unceasing.
We followed earlier footsteps and inherited their fine example; we admired sincere covenants and the vastness of the Dao. We moved as steadily as a great turtle, advancing along water channels through cavernous hollows; bowing low, we drew near the hook-shaped bends of the hills.
I was fortunate to inherit a line blessed by the spirits, yet regretted that my learning fell short of the quiet, plain cultivation of those who tread the path. The imperial court praised this place for its seclusion and peace, and so I was able to wander at ease in Xuanpu (the garden where immortals dwell).
On the return we passed where cranes had rested; I grasped how to preserve one’s inborn nature, like Cook Ding carving an ox along the natural grain. I inscribed fleeting names on sheer cliffs, and for long looked toward lofty rest and final return to stillness.
A garden and field are indeed fit for retirement—and here, moreover, a lineage of immortals still lingers. Weichuan was about to move and build a new house; I happened to cast lots in a dish and chose Xuanpu as our dwelling.
Moonlight like golden waves lit the moon pool; jade-colored mist poured down from Lotus Peak. Seclusion and nurture should follow one’s innate endowment; the building of this retreat seemed almost the work of heaven and earth themselves.
I had once withdrawn alone to a hidden valley; now I came again to view the majesty of the capital. I emulated the reclusive spirit of Pang Degong and his son Pang Tong; in quiet searching I also remembered Kong Rong.
On broken lotus leaves dew beaded; a winding stream joined the spring. Water over stone seemed to ring with empty jade pendants; before the wicker gate no pond bank had yet been built.
Footsteps startled a hidden leopard; a gleam seemed to wake a sleeping dragon. The scripture hall gathered clear white qi; in the book grove red leaves fell in silence.
Seeking marvels, I knew I had a companion; parting sorrow matched that of old friends. A crane-song voice suited travelers to hear, yet a crane’s gait made me ashamed before the high lord.
For our visit the appointed companion was the hermit in cypress cap—I hardly dare claim the manner of the Lu-pi Old Man (a legendary recluse). As a junior by marriage I entrusted myself to a friend like humble reeds, yet feared I might fail the courtesy of serving tea and fruit.
On the return journey, making inquiries and paying visits, one might glimpse green bamboo; when conversation clicks, it feels almost like sharing a hermit’s retreat among pine woods. Literary grace and warm feeling make old friends meeting again feel like kin of long standing. The host leads off with responsive verse—just the thing for a guest come to roam; yet as I walk among them, I feel unworthy before officials of high rank and virtue.
The day set for visiting the traces of immortals happened to fall when Jinguanzi (a hermit figure who wears the cuckoo crown) was present; how could I dare to take up the mantle of Lupi Weng, the legendary recluse in deerskin? As a junior by marriage, I lodge among these reeds and rushes, and I also fear imposing on the host, who goes to the trouble of preparing tea and fruit for our welcome.
On the return journey, making inquiries and paying visits, one might glimpse green bamboo; when talk goes well, it is as if we were dwelling together in a pine forest. Affection runs deep, firm as glue and lacquer; in poetry our talents answer each other like pitch and bell in harmony.
Continuing the outing together, our mood surely grows keener; the host’s kindness is deep—he treats me as an honored guest and bids me take the seat of honor. Illustrious achievement makes the ancestors’ virtue shine brighter; can family tradition ever be lightly bound?
Fifteenth Day of the Fifth Month: An Outing to Xianyan
Xianyan is a famed ground where immortal spirits truly meet; I gladly accompany everyone to view it. Its literary renown is prized by the world; in this age of peace, many look up to the great master of Confucian learning.
Your talent stands out, lovely as the Hua River; this excursion feels almost like a far voyage toward Ruoshui, the mythic distant waters. We pole the boat out from the market landing and moor by a fisherman’s shed to drink tea.
Rapids among water and stone throw up white waves bright as a clear day; the stream ripples and swells as evening wind passes. White egrets rest lightly on a lonely sandbar; cranes stand still on the islet, all around empty and still.
The cave mouth is narrow—the boat can barely slip in; the banks press close, the oars almost have no room to work. Blue-gray cliffs seem to split the boundary left by Yu the Great’s flood control; among emerald trees one almost sees traces of the Qin dynasty’s mountain-sealing rites.
The hills are woven like brocade, refined as if shaped by heaven’s craft; the lake gleams blue, massive as if it upheld the earth. The rock is deep and dark, as if cut along with the cliff paths—who, after all, is the spirit of creation that formed this scene?
Peaks rise crisscross, with the bearing of Yu Liang; eaves and lattice windows show dimly through. Crows nesting startle the birds; ape caves hide in shadow.
Hebo, lord of the river, seems to hide in the deep water palace; Fengyi, the river spirit of legend, dwells in a secret hall. Lofty manner may be matched with Guo Tai; elegant air is uniquely Wang Gong’s.
Cups are raised and wine tallies pass round the table; the urge to inscribe the cliff arises with them. Pines and cypress at the Han-era shrine are old and stern; between water-light and cloud-shadow, bright jade pendants seem to flash.
Twilight green draws forth temple bells; fallen blossoms cover the mats. A distant cinnabar glow flickers like lightning; sword-like peaks rise as if a rainbow were lifting.
In dark thickets tiger and leopard seem to lurk; in deep water a dragon may truly coil. We peer at bamboo like fine jade; tender spring grass is like new down on fairy herb.
Our talents and virtue shine side by side, like fine jade set among clouds; like pearls hung in moonlight and dew. Mountain wine cannot match the finest brew; the deep pool before us recalls the Yunmeng marsh of old.
The host asks me to stay the night—moss dampens my shoes; from the tower I lean out and the ravine’s sound pours like a zither of paulownia. Heaven and earth wheel vast; years stretch long—all things still hold the boundless breath of primordial chaos.
Sanskrit chant echoes among the trees, as if woven together with the sounds of nature; a secluded rendezvous is entrusted to the cassia groves. Xie An and Cheng Miao were absorbed in perilous and unusual pursuits, while Zhuang Zhou’s words rang like a thunderclap in deaf ears, awakening those still in darkness.
Before the sacrificial vessels, the heart fills with reverence, fearing one cannot bear such grace; admonitions and precepts constantly warn the self. Literary thought surges like rivers and seas, while the Dao lineage is admired as lofty as Mount Heng and Mount Song. The ruler’s virtue is praised as fine, the worthy as deep and loyal; ministers too long to find refuge among the cassia thickets. Xie An and Cheng Miao were lost in strange and dangerous byways; Zhuang Zhou’s teaching could rouse the benighted.
Facing the altar vessels, one holds awe in the heart; exhortations and rules keep one alert at every moment. Thought pours forth like the sea; the transmission of the Dao rises as high as Heng and Song. The king commends the worthy’s solid virtue; ministers likewise hope to serve with loyal hearts. Qingcheng Mountain still receives the ancestors’ favor; sacrifices in Lu truly manifest divine merit. The Milky Way is clear, the sky still; worldly turbidity is washed away. The nine essentials of practice are tempered; the three kinds of benefit stir gratitude and further refinement.
Parting weighs especially heavy; the principles in scholarly essays are supreme. Fair renown may reach Jia Yi and Sima Xiangru; pure fame will be recorded on Fangzhang and Penglai. Radiance like fine jade shines on past and present; this ritual order will pass down through a thousand autumns.
The sacred peak holds the model of true cultivation; the profound discipline opens the gate of reverent devotion. The aged worthy returns to the realm of the Heavenly Emperor; in nether rites one bonds with immortals. Torches blaze beside the rivers; cloudborne offerings carry sincere intent. When the liturgy is expounded, the altar ground is solemn; the rites follow the canon with careful arrangement.
Green registers reach the vermilion halls; jade-tablet elegance is presented at the Jade Capital. The feathered bureau links with immortals such as Du and Lu; family-transmitted Dao methods continue the subtle lineage. Dragon swords flash with light; phoenix banners blaze bright; five-zhu tokens cross in color, and harmonious sounds spread to the eight directions.
The imperial carriage is guarded by many officers; followers from afar drive the Six Ding. By Kan and Li—water and fire—one washes and refines, so impurity returns to purity, as if reverting to the infant’s true self. The purple gate gathers emptiness and stillness; the yellow earth shows interwoven light. Rain extinguishes the Cold Food Festival fires; myriad flowers gather in the clear days of late spring.
One lightly passes through three thousand rites; the jade casket records names beyond counting. The power of ascent and transformation pushes growth, so the ten thousand things feel flourishing life. On the hot pavilion, pearl-like visions appear; nether documents list the names of the Fire City. The sincerity of incense and sacrifice is shown in dreams; offerings and regalia are complete, the scene grand and full.
I pity the poor and grieve for their plight; when cries of alarm are heard, even runners and common people are shaken. The sound of fear spreads through markets and countryside, while an auspicious air already shows itself as tender shoots appear.
Under the spring, tier upon tier of halls seem to open; cold moonlight fills the nine heavens. The subtle workings of yin and yang come into view, and heaven and earth rely on measure and balance to bring all things to completion.
The Dao acts through spirit and numinosity; if people forget years and rank and favor, what is there to fear? The pivot of teaching honors elders of deep virtue and standing; leaders are judged by their bearing and example.
I am ashamed that my talent and virtue are thin, like sodden duckweed; yet I gladly receive your kindness and auspicious blessing. From now on, may the state be secure and at peace, and the fair names of the ancients continue to be honored.
Congratulations on Brother Yanheng’s New Residence
The foundation of the realm is vast and firm; the buildings of the immortal capital rise high and grand. Mountains wrap the solid earth; springs gather as if rushing toward the sky.
Rivers and peaks hoard spiritual beauty; the numinous displays the dignity of its lineage. You are upright in nature, strict in conduct, fond of learning, and skilled in cultivating character.
The sage’s grace flows from a distant source; subtle law inspires reverence. Tao Qian was noted for outstanding virtue, Wei Zhen for a pure and fine heart. You look up to the Son of Heaven’s words and await appointment at court; you honor a loving mother and respectfully assist the worthy.
The Lu clan’s writings fear they cannot match phoenix-like brilliance; the Jiang family’s ways foretell the birth of talent. Grand design suits brocade-like ornament; great undertakings will surely flourish. Splendor shines like lightning; pillar timber stands bold as a rainbow. Pavilions link in rows; adornment is solid and rich; curtains and railings are made new.
This dwelling is not merely the immortal towers of Fangying alone—its air surpasses even the legendary Banpu. Jade-like groves lead to embroidered halls; precious trees join treasured galleries.
The eastern sun colors the clouds; auspicious qi from the south surges with it. The Jin and Zhang clans are famed for their renown; Pan Yue and Xie Lingyun are praised for literary grace. Gazing from afar, one forgets the dust of the world; surveying mountains and rivers, the mind holds the loftiness of Mount Hua and Mount Song.
A bond of a hundred years awaits Yanheng’s regard; speaking of the four virtues, I am ashamed to fall short of Wang Rong. The Han clan’s talent and virtue shine together; feasts to wash away dust and music are played again and again. Beams and rafters are trimmed in order; guests’ caps and carriages gather; jade-like visitors are awaited.
Swallows and sparrows delight in the warmth of this deep house; gardens and ponds are lush and fine. Blessings accumulated by ancestors stretch far back; later generations continue their predecessors’ work and make the family name more illustrious. Past virtue brings prosperity; good plans are settled by common counsel. I regret being held back and unable to congratulate you in time; I rejoice that the new house is complete and the household will thrive from this day on.
Under the shade of trees, descendants find shelter—a reminder of the blessings ancestors left behind. To promote letters and learning is to hope for scholarship like Ma Rong’s. Good days pass one after another; auspicious signs flourish, green and full.
I often feel ashamed of my age and weariness, yet I still hope to accomplish something. In quiet hours I read books and classics, play silk and bamboo, and write in the spirit of those who came before.
The merit ancestors left stands firm as mountains. Kin, though long in years, remain at ease; their faces stay ruddy as a child’s. Wise counsel and virtue pass from generation to generation; their renown shines without end.
Here ends juan ten of the Xian Quan Ji.
Xian Quan Ji, juan eleven
Composed by Celestial Master Zhang Yuchu of Qishan in the Wuwei lineage
Regulated verse in seven-character lines
Banquet at Ningtian Hall on the Emperor’s Birthday
In clear autumn, the court celebrates the emperor’s long life. Officials hurry forward in reverence; their hearts are full of gratitude for his grace.
Honor guards escort the carriage through mist and cloud; brocade robes catch the sun and light the steps and colonnades.
Rites are complete; palace-written felicitations, fragrant, are brought near; court music rises and the festive air grows brighter.
This solemn, generous ceremony will be remembered for ages. I wear rustic dress yet share this honor—how unworthy I feel.
On the twenty-first day of the ninth month, guiyou year: while on duty at Yening I was summoned and granted leave to return to the mountain; this poem records the emperor’s virtue
Auspicious vapor rises at the new pavilion of the Xuan Garden. I was ordered to ride in haste to court and bow before the throne.
The edict came from the palace gates like warm, clear sunlight; the imperial guard reached the hall and made the autumn day still more solemn.
I was allowed to keep country dress and return to the hills among pine and chrysanthemum; how could I, by rank alone, stand with the worthies of the court?
His favor runs deep; I have no gift to repay it. With reverence and longing I look up to his vast virtue.
Hearing His Majesty relate the wonder of Immortal Zhou presenting elixir—deemed helpful to moral transformation—I wrote this poem in joy
The sage emperor grasps the Great Dao and spreads its subtle law; the famous immortal of Mount Lu thus opened the way to extend life.
In the time of Emperor Wu, Dongfang Shuo did not alone hold the art of transcendence; Guangchengzi waited for the Yellow Emperor to come and ask, and taught the Great Dao.
The crane stands for long life; cinnabar’s power knows no limit; above the ninefold palace, the dragon visage shines with jade-bright splendor.
The imperial edict, delivered with calm grace, praised profound virtue; this humble minister leaped with joy, and the voice of praise rang out all the louder.
Early Court on the Beginning of Spring
At dawn I hastened before the imperial procession to pay New Year homage; with delight I saw spring return to the land—a sign that the sovereign’s virtue had been made new.
By chance cattle pastured in the wind stood facing the breeze; within the palace precincts, crane-like ranks of ceremonial guards lined both sides. The colored sacrificial ox, dew upon it, was led up before the hall.
Officials with seals and sashes raised a chorus of joy; tens of thousands of guards raised banners—solemn, ordered, and grand.
From this time forth, all under Heaven would be harmonious and governance clear; even hermits in mountain woods would look up to the edicts issued from court.
Accompanying the Year-End Sacrifice at the Grand Ancestral Temple
The palace shone bright; the temple hall was grave and still. Before the jade steps the guard of honor stood dense, glorious in the sunlight.
The Son of Heaven came before the ritual vessels to preside; sunlight gleamed upon the imperial carriage and ceremonial robes.
Hosts of guards encircled the palace pavilions in formation; officials bore ceremonial insignia, arrayed as evenly as a flock of cranes.
I, a lowly subject risen from the wilds, was granted the fortune to behold the rite; henceforth may the heir to the throne follow the rites and receive every kind of auspicious blessing.
New Year’s Morning Court in the Jisi Year
At the fifth watch the morning bell sounded and the palace gates opened. Looking up, morning clouds gathered above the celestial gate-tower.
Officials, jade pendants chiming and incense about them, proceeded toward the north side of the palace; west of the palace halls horses neighed and colored banners and guards moved in train.
Distant snow lit the palace gates; spring seemed quietly to seep into the earth beside the brocade saddles.
May the emperor’s grace fall like sweet rain upon all the realm, adding long life to mountains and rivers; your subject, mindful of imperial favor, is as one gazing up at the auspicious phoenix banner.
Attending Morning Court and the Banquet at the Winter Solstice
The winter solstice came; the sun slowly climbed again, and spring warmth returned. The imperial guard appeared; ritual and music were complete.
The wheels of the imperial carriage gleamed in the morning light; silver candles lit the dawn. Officials’ ornaments caught the snow’s glow; brocade saddles seemed made new.
Within the palace, flowers and trees shone clear; edicts sounded from beyond the green-latticed gate. Willow branches brushed court robes as ministers waited before the Hall of Purple Brightness.
I was granted the undeserved place among the ranks like paired mandarin ducks and egrets, deeply ashamed; all rejoiced together in the sovereign’s deep virtue and merciful grace, spread far and wide.
On the Double Ninth, Jisi Year: Banquet by Imperial Command in the Hall of the Canopy of Heaven
At dawn, wind and rain blurred the city. On the festive day a banquet was set; ministers bowed in thanks for imperial grace.
In the mystic hall (Xuan Guan) the clouds were damp; the path to the grotto-heaven lay hidden in mist. By the official river, sparse willows framed the outskirts of the capital.
Palace wine-jars brimmed with chrysanthemum wine; dew drifted from flowers and grass in the courtyard, and the garden trees stood open and clear.
Nourished by ancestral merit and the emperor’s grace, I wore court robes patterned with cranes—yet felt all the more how slight my own talent and virtue were.
Double Ninth Day: Robes Bestowed by Imperial Command
Twice I received the sovereign’s favor—court robes sent from within the palace. An edict came from the Lin Guan (the jeweled hall of the Daoist monastery); granted such grace, I was deeply ashamed.
At the palace’s behest, officials from the Shangyi Bureau (which oversaw the sovereign’s garments) added feather ornaments and accessories to my attire; the inner halls again showed favor, and I was entrusted with a mission abroad—a signal honor.
Fragrant silk robes gleamed in the sunlight, as if drifting with azure cloud.
Twice I received the emperor’s grace and robes from the court. When the palace sent garments by decree, I accepted the bounty with shame, feeling it far beyond my desert. On my journey the Shangyi Bureau again supplied feather ornaments; further favor from the palace made the honor weigh heavier still. The fragrant silk caught the sun; a breath like blue clouds seemed to rise; a gentle breeze stirred waves of green. I must repay the realm with utmost loyalty and can only look up daily to imperial kindness.
On the Ninth Day of the Tenth Month, Again Honored with an Imperial Gift
Once more singled out for special grace, I went forth in the gifted robes; the hills, woods, terraces, and pavilions of my homeland seemed suddenly brighter. My name reached the forbidden precincts; attendants such as the Changshi heard of me; an edict issued from the Huangmen (the office that conveyed imperial commands) and appointed me Lang in the Secretariat. Wine thick as rosy clouds, mutton white as falling snow—all banquet fare from the court. I am ashamed to wear plain country dress and not know what I can do for the throne; I only hope to see the people relieved and no longer suffer hunger and cold.
On the Twenty-Seventh Day of the Eleventh Month, Guiwei Year, Honored with Ritual Vestments
Palace messengers galloped with decrees; from within the palace came medicine and ritual vestments. Clad in splendid robes I bowed and received the grace, my heart full of gratitude. Incense curled as if the stars mirrored heaven and earth; with ceremonial escort and wind and cloud at my side I was granted audience with the Son of Heaven. Imperial favor fell like rain over the land; the emperor’s way was vast enough to compare with Yao’s governance of the realm. My talent is thin; I truly have nothing with which to repay it—how dare I hope to cultivate immortality like Master Red Pine?
Fasting at Chaotian Palace: For Master Wang Dongbai, Refiner
While keeping ritual abstinence and lodging at Chaotian Palace (a Daoist temple), I presented this poem to Master Wang Dongbai, the refiner. The place lies near the immortal altar; autumn air is high and clear. A guest from the mountains, I am ashamed to compose verse before my elders. Long vines loop market lanes like linked jade hooks; thick bamboo rises above passersby, leaves flashing like golden blades. Morning rain suits only leaning on a desk with books; evening cold makes me ashamed to think of my ritual robe. Fortunately Master Huayangzi is near—deep in the night a lone crane still cries in the wild hills.
Inscribed on Fang Hu’s “Myriad Valleys, Cloud and Mist”
Immortal Fang Hu transcends the common world; his mind holds seas and peaks. He is used to gathering the breath of heaven and earth and merging with boundless cloud seas. Peak upon peak shows through the mist; haze clings to the water’s edge and distant waterfall sounds carry. I would imitate the ancients and seek Goulou on the spirit peak (where Ge Hong is said to have refined elixirs); who can cross the kalpa of the dusty world and speak of the immortal Ming’s tale? The clear wind of the lofty recluse on Mount Song stirs longing and sighs; legend tells of King Mu of Zhou driving eight steeds across the realm—how can that match the surge of blood-sweating horses?
Mid-Autumn at Zhanbi Pavilion with Zhou Zhenbai
At mid-autumn Zhou Zhenbai and I drank wine at Zhanbi Pavilion.
When autumn reached its midpoint, the moon was full. We were glad to meet at a fine banquet and talk at leisure.
The delicate designs on ding and yi vessels follow the calligraphic line of Qin’s Li Si; ancient tadpole script comes down from Han pictographic writing.
Dew seemed to spill from flowers and grass; fragrant wine gathered into a clear, bright glow. Buds and thick “jade” trees set each other off, and deep green shade made the moonlight especially fine.
There are not many highly respected elders left around Fan Lake now; happily Zhou Zhenbai’s refined name is still remembered—a joy that lets us enjoy good days in peace.
On Viewing the Spirit Bi Your Servant Keeps from Old Days
A peak like dark jade holds spirit and grace; at night clouds from the nine heavens still rise among the hills.
In dwellings at Yanshan, spring water runs like immortal pearls; by Wu’s waters, mist and waves roll wide as river and sea together.
Crane-clear tones often grace the study couch; dragon light now and then nears the inkstone pool and makes its water bright.
The man of the mountains pictured this scene on purpose, wishing it long as Kongtong; standing quiet at the root of heaven and earth, he returns to nature with refined spirit.
Inscription on Fang Hu’s “Autumn Thoughts in Cloud Mountains”
Peak on peak stands like jade, green and slightly cold at dawn—best seen quietly from the east pavilion.
Frost-touched woods bathe in wind and dew and look moist and bright; autumn water mirrors hibiscus, wide as white silk laid out.
I mean to put on clogs and stroll abroad—yet who would lean alone on a long rod and fish like the Duke of Zhou?
It is as if one could catch the mood in scenery as quiet as Beiyuan’s, and as if one were fated to live hidden among cloud mountains.
Inscription on Fang Hu’s “Vast Sea and Mountain Peaks”
Around Haiyue Hermitage the view is like Iron Urn City; the immortal Fang Hu’s bearing seems to reach straight into the blue sky.
At night great waves surge; the Xujiang tide is all white. Autumn hills stand clear; turtle-backed peaks are as green as Sword Gate.
I wait to meet Qin Gao and ride a fish in wanderings; I almost see a lofty man like Ji Kang, spirit subtle and far above the dust.
Hou Ying lives on islets where rainbow light falls; in the courtyard one often sees the gleam of ice and jade.
Visiting Zhaozhen Palace: For Ritual Master Zhu Dongtian
Like Laozi, one who has attained the Way comes playing the plain zither and dwells in a stone chamber next to the spirits.
Peaks washed by rain—in the gloaming I go in wooden clogs; beyond the valley the clouds break and the sky clears, and I put my scrolls in order.
Light flares in the elixir furnace; at this hour the tiger roars. Thunder bursts forth and wind gathers; the dragon often breathes out its qi.
Yesterday I went in search of the True Person and had just sobered from wine. Whether waking or sleeping I keep you in mind, and my heart stays always at ease.
Touring South Mountain Lake
With orchid-wood oars and cassia-wood sculls, I follow the lake into its hidden depths. Time stretched like a minor kalpa; true wandering lasted until evening.
Cloud-mist escorts the soaring crane; a lotus-leaf boat floats on the water. Waves sway Dragon Isle, where giant rocks tower into the clouds.
Distant strange peaks hold a gold-and-silver glow; a subtle wind-sound drifts by now and then, as if carrying purple and green in its tone.
Blessed to join this gathering beyond the dust, I savor mountains and water; the lingering mood of the hills is entrusted to jade-like verse.
Inscription on a Sanmao Mountain Scroll
Since antiquity Jurong Mountain—the old name for Maoshan—has held an immortal altar. Lord Mao’s towers rise between its three peaks.
Scriptures of immortals carved in stone rival the ancient intent of Qin inscriptions; secret texts passed down through generations were treasured like Han imperial favor.
When guests take their seats, jade pendants faintly chime in spring; lodging in the hills, one’s robes seem steeped in sword-qi and mountain clarity.
I have envied records of ascended ones’ flowing sleeves, and would dwell long like a certain pine on Huayang Mountain.
On Qingbai Pavilion
The Qingbai family’s integrity passes down through generations, worthy of its honored name. The lofty pavilion looks out on green peaks as if embracing mountain spirit.
Azure-mineral ornaments at the girdle recall the pause of horses; jade-green curtains unfold like a painted screen.
Spring fills the scrolls; cloud-breath seems to reach the mat. At evening, wine and verse; moon-shadow slowly crosses the court.
Since old times, loyal, filial, and gentle household ways have been highly prized. In plain dress I still harbor the wish to gaze toward the Star of Health.
On a Painting of the Fanghu Thatched Study
A waterside thatched dwelling ringed by mountains and streams—clear light captured in a green, crystalline scene.
Where Yan Guang fished in retirement, cloud and rosy light were his home; where Wei Yingwu read, rock and hill were his neighbors.
Tree-shade brings chill; at dusk the peaks draw in. A waterfall falls, moistening the valley as if keeping spring there.
The immortal in the gourd has tasted the deep stream’s charm—how many share such lofty, remote grace?
On White Cloud Pavilion
A guesthouse of the great stands west of five-colored auspicious clouds; woods and ravines are hushed, fit for cranes to roost.
Moonlight fills the tower; willows hang heavy with shade. Wind wheels back; fallen blossoms drift lightly down.
Robes white as snow await tide-sound and magpie shadows. Peaks clear in spring await the dawn cock’s call.
Such refined delight is no ordinary pleasure of facing mountains and water—the radiance of an immortal scene meets the edge of sky.
On Pine and Bamboo Pavilion
On the Pine and Bamboo Pavilion
Nobles of high rank lean on lavish screens, yet they also cherish pine and bamboo as guardians of evergreen life. Companions like immortals in the clouds surround the loft; the scenery of Mt. Mao is fair and bright. White snow at the gate seems to freeze the stream that would flow past. Vermilion doors and green tassels catch the evening glow; saddles in brocade and silver candles shine under the spring night stars. The mood of quiet dwelling—how could it be matched by the taste of folk in the hills? Brushing frost from the stone, the mountain brook sounds clear and cold.
On the Ningqing Pavilion
In a great house, tall parasol trees and green trees meet autumn; refined fragrance drifts until all the land seems grand. Mist among the flowers gathers as if pendants linked in air; river wind brings the breath of waves, moonlight filling the tower. At dusk in the office one writes Parrot Rhapsody; in spring the jade terrace is warm, and the feeling in the lines cannot be told. Good name and joy spread far and make one shine; I in coarse mountain cloth yearn in spirit, yet shame myself as if I could not reach one near the great Peng.
Banquet at Jingzhai in Nanyouyuan
The immortal loft and Fangzhu (the legendary vessel that catches celestial dew) reflect a scene truly worth the heart—how could vermilion brush and painted scroll capture it? Embroidered halls meet the wind; hibiscus leaves and waterweeds sway. Painted hall pillars lie in mist as if carrying the scent of rushes. By day the feast steams with rosy light until the valley seems dyed; from the high terrace one looks on autumn water, moon on the ripples like pearls strung. Only I am ashamed not to serve my parents as one in bright robes would; with reverence in the heart, must one always yield and step back?
A Mountaineer Presents Two Purple Lingzhi
In a lofty grove, lingzhi show wondrous form like jade from the immortals’ realm; an old man of the hills goes deep into secluded paths and brings them as tribute. Dark vapor lifts the branches as if jade had turned to fine stone; clean white cloud like a canopy hangs down, the fungus formed as if from jade fat. The Taoist by the clear stream loses himself in mountain delight; Lord Jiaoli of Horn Ridge (the hermit of Shangshan in late Qin) lets the world suspect what it will. May we grow old together in frost and wind among hills and ravines; such auspice need not feel lesser than the finest verse.
Visiting the Water Curtain Cave
The deep mouth of the cave opens layer on layer into dim distance; in a forest like jade groves, travelers pass before and behind. The cascade falls from tiered cliffs like pearls dropping, like a curtain drawn up; screens of peaks unfold, corridor pillars in ranks like brocade. Striking the rock, one still waits for Xiaofu (the legendary immortal); clutching vines to find the way, one means to welcome Qiusheng (the legendary immortal).
Stone cliffs lean against mountain woods; as dusk falls, mist thickens among the trees. The music of the qin has fully expressed the feeling of leaving the world behind.
In the woods one picks peaches like jade. Peach trees were planted by immortals; they especially love these branches beside the blue sea. Nongyu washes the mica screen; Feiqiong straightens her robes and comes before the steps where water immortals dwell. A fierce wind rises yet stirs no dust; dew gathers lightly as if skin were coated in white snow. One breaks a branch and comes to the mountain window; all around is silence and long wakefulness, as though one faintly heard a sheng and a crane descend beside the book curtain.
On Drinking at Zhanbi Pavilion: An Ode to a Stalactite Cup
Wine in a cup carved from stalactite seems to gather the essence of herbs; what delights most is that it is like sweet rain sent down from immortal realms. The cup mirrors one’s robes, white as bleached silk in the light before the window; the wine’s color touches the cheek with a scarlet flush like dawn glow. I sigh that after wine my wit falls short of Yu Gun’s; this piece might yet be entrusted to Zhang Hua. A faded face may still borrow some strength from nourishment—when Double Ninth comes, why ask again whether wine can be had on credit?
Inscription on a Painting of the Red Cliff
Are Su Shi’s bold writings merely better than Zhuangzi’s and Qu Yuan’s? His lofty, far-reaching spirit has been admired for a thousand years. On a moonlit night he passed Xia Kou in a small boat; in autumn wind he leaned at his hut by Linggao. The traces Zhou Yu left are now lonely as a lone crane; Zhuge Liang’s loyalty still surges like great waves. One imagines Su in the Snow Hall with his two guests; this painting still waits for a rare hand to complete it.
Inscription on a Painting of Meng Haoran Treading Snow
Meng Haoran retired to Mount Lumen; his integrity was pure as ice and snow, and treading snow to compose poetry carried his thought far. His poetic impulse ought to surpass Bao Zhao and Xie Lingyun; his fame was not only of a piece with Wang Wei and Zhang Jiuling. By the cold torrent at a wild bridge he still wore his veiled hat; wind among the mountain trees startled and shook his blue satchel. The painting still holds the timeless feeling Meng left at Meng Pavilion—only the ink is sparse and the scene half-seen.
A Mountain Recluse Presents a Stone
A hermit from the hills brings a strange stone; the stone seems moved from cloud and mist in a purple grotto heaven. When the hermit takes leave, the brocade pattern on his hemp satchel seems to leave a trace. The earth’s vital breath congealed into stone like spring rain falling; foam became colored light gathering and scattering in the day’s warmth. Before the rush-mat window a long wind blows, as if a magpie had transformed and come; in the warm room where lingzhi grows one dreams of stars laid out in order. The mountain dweller picks stones from the stream—would he use them only to boil water? I know well that I love what is refined, and understand how they wash away grime and care.
Paper-Bark Curtain
White paper packed in a bamboo basket, the writing on it pure white as silk; square curtains sewn layer upon layer, like a couch among the clouds. Spring ice slowly melts and warms, as if heaven and earth themselves have opened wide; frost-bright moonlight floods every side, and the water in the clepsydra seems to drip especially slowly.
Beyond Mount Hua (Huashan), the divine dragon rests at ease; Zhuang Zhou, who in Zhuangzi’s “Discussion on Making All Things Equal” becomes a butterfly, lets his spirit drift freely. Within and without, a person should naturally stay pure and bright; even when roots lie deep in midwinter’s cold, breath can still fill the four directions.
The Hearth Charcoal
Firewood is piled high; fire rises from the hearth and flames shoot upward. In the bitter frost and heavy snow of deep winter, everyone gathers round the hearth for warmth. What fire has tempered grows naturally firm—not because its nature is dark; when struck, the sound dies away, yet the inside shines all the brighter. Pure whiteness within and without: even when roots lie deep in winter’s cold, breath can still fill the four directions.
Metal and Wood join in sign and image, showing the fire phases of elixir work; Li and Kan (Fire and Water in the Eight Trigrams) turn through the circuit of heaven, as if seizing heaven and earth’s creative power. Do not let stirring winds disturb you and make you discard what matters; heaven’s subtle mechanism turns without end in the void of the four directions.
Inscription on the “Dongxuanzi” Scroll
From early on I have admired the way of mystery, emptiness, and stillness, and studied the arts of nurturing life; for many years I hurried through court service, dwelling in the divine capital. The Great Void is originally one undivided whole; in hollow silence lies wordless, subtle truth. Cloud and mist often depart with rosy light; pine shade long guards the quiet stone chamber. The purport of the five thousand words of the Daode Jing must be fully absorbed and made one; I wish to sit in service, assisting the realm’s governance, to repay our sage sovereign.
Visiting Master Ruyu of Pengshan at the Yuyuan Authentic Hermitage
In the evening light among the elms, the upper hall has newly been finished; a lone bridge spans twin ravines, and walking there the autumn air is crisp. Wild vines twine the fence, casting shadows of faded blossoms; trees and a pond ring the gate, and after rain comes a pattering sound. A tree-planted garden opens onto a path strewn with yellow leaves; the one who gathers lingzhi has grown old, shoulders as if draped in white clouds. I have often arranged to visit the master of Pengshan; for now let us step into the thatched hut and talk a while at leisure.
Inscription on Bai Chongyi’s Thatched Hut Painting
At the Imperial Academy I lectured on the classics, favored by the sovereign; in heart I love mountains and forests and delight in refined, quiet scenery. Below the low eaves white clouds rise; the library hides in mist and cloud. In the old garden chill gathers; bamboo screens the gate. One who wears court insignia and serves at court need not necessarily leave the palace gates; if one wishes to retire to hills and woods, why must one seek anew the waterside where anglers fish? The world of letters has poems of returning to the fields; I would borrow a beam of splendid light to shine on this careless, untidy robe.
No English interpretation of this passage is available yet. The Chinese source text is shown above; a translation will be added later.
谒留侯庙 连壶娇从招鹤，天尽岷峨已断鳖。 老屋静依村晚霭，长林远带雨萧骚。 江南遗墨今逢少，转忆方干独世豪。 谒留侯庙 昔从列国有封疆，黄石三期授素章。 韩隙岂论车中复，楚兵已定斗分降。 言回雍齿非仇士，说夺淮阴易假王。 晚嗣叨光怀祖烈，每经祠下意傍惶。 游雷坛 虎踞颠崖耸石坛，风雷四望起林端。 红尘下视浑埃炉，赤日行空欲羽轮。 芳树岩姻犹路霭，琳官天阙正高寒。 坐令顿叱苍精剑，长蹑姻霞响鹄鸾。 游灵芝岩 披雾朝寻虎豹踪，行空欲羽轮。 芳树岩姻犹路霭，琳官天阙正高寒。 坐令顿叱苍精剑，长蹑姻霞响鹄鸾。 游灵芝岩 披雾朝寻虎豹踪，倚崖盘石独嵌空。 紫芝姻暖灵根长，翠壁云深野路通。 古木千龄忘换劫，落梅几树漫飘风。 涧阿藓磴犹陈迹，隔世清游岂偶日。 题湖光山色亭 江左湖山百郡雄，近椎贤守足高风。 官亭水泛天光裹，芝角岚深月色中。 皂盖新枢闻德政，玉堂遗泽见清忠。 春帆曾系逢姻雨，尚拟云涛绝赏同。 题圣井山天瑞白云图 金仙昔住龙漱顶，万顷白云如海涛。 夜行石涧虎长肃，昼坐雪堂风怒号。 太虚一息渺蜗角，浊世万拟云涛绝赏同。 题圣井山天瑞白云图 金仙昔住龙漱顶，万顷白云如海涛。 夜行石涧虎长肃，昼坐雪堂风怒号。 太虚一息渺蜗角，浊世万有轻鸿毛。Visiting the Temple of the Marquis of Liu
In former times, the feudal lords of the Warring States each held their own domains and borders. After Huang Shigong tested Zhang Liang three times, he handed him The Grand Duke’s Art of War. When Han was in peril, Zhang Liang once tried to assassinate the First Emperor from a carriage; later, when the tide of Chu had turned and the realm was about to pass to Han, he persuaded Liu Bang to pardon Yong Chi, showing that Yong was no true enemy, and urged him to seize Han Xin’s troops and strip him of his kingship. Now I, a later generation, have received the grace of the ancients and cherish their achievements; whenever I pass this shrine, I cannot help feeling awe and reverence.
Visiting Lei Altar
Lei Altar stands at the cliff’s summit, the stone platform rising majestically; wind, clouds, thunder, and lightning seem to surge from the trees all around. Looking down on the human world, the red dust is like ash in a furnace; the sun hangs high in the sky, as if about to ride a feathered chariot and fly away. Fragrant trees on the crags are wrapped in mist, and the abbey towers cold and clear like a palace in heaven. Here one seems able at once to shout down azure dragon spirits and brandish a sword, and for long to follow the clouds and hear the cries of cranes and phoenixes.
Visiting Lingzhi Rock
At dawn I part the mist to seek the tracks of tigers and leopards; leaning on the cliff, I sit alone on the jutting empty rock. Purple lingzhi grows in the warm vapors; green cliffs hide deep in cloud, and a wild path winds through. Ancient trees have stood a thousand years, as if forgetting the turning of seasons; a few plum trees scatter blossoms, letting the mountain wind carry them. Mossy steps in the deep valley still bear old traces; a secluded visit from another age—meeting it today was no accident.
Inscription on the Lake and Mountain Scenery Pavilion
The lakes and mountains of Jiangnan stand above the other commanderies; recently an enlightened prefect has governed here, his conduct and bearing worthy of respect. The official pavilion faces the water, the surface mirroring sky-light; lingzhi-like peaks hide deep in mist and moonlight. The prefect’s carriage brings word of his virtuous rule; the favor he left while serving at court also shows integrity and loyalty. I once moored my boat here in spring rain and mist; I still wish to return and enjoy the cloud-waves and mountain colors with friends.
Inscription on “Heavenly Auspicious White Clouds” at Shengjing Mountain
Long ago the Golden Immortal dwelt at Longshu Peak; before one’s eyes ten thousand acres of white cloud surge like a sea. Walking at night in the stony stream, tiger cries make the mountains solemn; sitting by day in the snow hall, mountain winds howl. One breath in the vast void is as tiny as a snail’s horn; the myriad things of the turbid world are as light as a wild goose feather.
A seeker of the Way from the west wore a bamboo hat and carried a gourd and bowl as he sought the Great Dao; his refined brushwork seemed to rise above the weariness of the mundane world.
On Fanghu’s Rain-Bamboo
Fanghu—the Daoist sage—had a spirit vast and unbound, roaming at ease; the ink he left behind still flows alone, mirroring a thousand autumns.
The rock crouches like a tiger; thunder seems to roll the stones beneath it; bamboo shadows pour down like surging waves, and a phoenix-like form rests on the hill.
Sweet rain falls and nourishes the ten thousand things, as if turning back the turns of calamity; subtle scrolls are kept on high, secreted in Xuanzhou—the fabled isle of immortals.
Surely this was affinity fixed long ago, enough to surpass those who came before; even now the ink runs wet, as if the green of bamboo still flows through it.
Visiting the Divine Turtle Realm at Nanfeng
Mountains rise in dragon-and-phoenix folds into ridges and peaks; traces of the jade palace’s spirits remain at Wusa Altar.
The green, sheer Jun Peak faces north; the azure Turtle Ridge winds eastward in one continuous line.
Spring hides in the wooded valleys; the sky’s light is clear and bright; one’s sleeves seem to hold wind and thunder, and the sword’s qi carries a chill.
I was fortunate enough to receive the true transmission from the jade casket of scriptures, yet I feel unworthy; in reverence I seek the spirit’s traces and climb once more to visit.
Reply to Fellow Travelers at Huangtang Abbey
Riding a crane through the woods, crossing a plank bridge; a immortal maiden binds her hair with a spirit ribbon and wears robes woven of fragrant thatch.
The sky’s canopy hangs over the four quarters; clouds seem like a pair of wooden clogs; in spring, fine rain falls from the air and the ground is damp—half the nest seems soaked by the rain.
Green bamboo rings the curtain screen, so one half suspects a tiger outside the curtain; purple scripture cases pile high, as if luring a hidden dragon to chase after them.
Which household alone enjoys the splendor of the western hills? Lend me a bundle of bamboo—let me break off a few shoots and take them away.
Finding an Excellent Site in the Hills at Jianquan
This grove is deep and still, as if it belonged to the Clear Capital where immortals dwell; I ventured to claim a dwelling among the trees—surely that too was ordained affinity.
The mountains slowly show the green of the dragon’s gully; in the sound of the spring, one almost waits for a message from the goose court.
A whistle like that of Sumen seems to pass by; cinnabar of Judou Mountain is said to nourish the qi of empty stillness.
This is a mountain home of white clouds granted by heaven—how could I fail it? I am willing to carry gourd, bowl, and bamboo hat and lodge here, passing my days in peace.
Inscribed on “Mountain Glory, Sea Moisture”
A noble house of Guanxi carries on the ancestral line; a hall among stream and forest stands in the east of Chu.
Ten mu of spring cloud wrap green peaks; one courtyard of autumn water mirrors an emerald screen.
Pan Yue was famed for the refined mood of retiring to field and garden; as one turns the pages, one thinks again of the elegant bearing Ma Rong left behind.
The polychrome murals unfold a vast panorama, as if every famous mountain and great river had been painted into them; people still cherish the kindness of their ancestors and carry on the customs they left behind. Here, for generations, the old lineage of a distinguished family has continued, and the Lin clan hall by the stream stands in the eastern part of Chu.
Ten acres of fields seem wrapped in verdant spring clouds; a courtyard full of autumn water reflects against a screen of green hills.
Pan Yue’s taste for reclusion is held up as the model of elegant pleasure in garden and countryside; turning the pages of the classics, one is reminded again of Ma Rong’s refined bearing.
The polychrome murals unfold a vast panorama, as if every famous mountain and great river had been painted into them; people still cherish the kindness of their ancestors and carry on the customs they left behind.
Autumn Banquet at the Smelting City
The sage ruler opened a new age and halted his carriage; the mountains of Yecheng rise steeply, coiling around the sky.
Crane pavilions stand side by side among clouds and rosy light; the road where the phoenix carriage passes divides between pines, cypresses, and parasol trees, with a clear breeze drifting through.
Frost gathers on jade-white trees, and the chill seems to stain one’s sleeves; freshly poured jade cups flush the drinkers’ faces red.
After wine, composing poetry lately belongs to the “Immortal Duke of the Capital”; all together they give thanks for the special favor of this feast held at the Medicine Palace.
Longing for Xian Spring
A solitary peak and flat rock record the days of quiet living; the mountain path tread when parting, though weathered by wind and dust, is never broken in dreams of the old promise.
Opened fields lie beside a thatched hut facing the evening pond; hoeing weeds on the stone steps, the cold day’s last light shines on the hills.
Half the grove is showered with falling blossoms, spring clouds thin in the shade; mist like spirit fungus coils in the mountain hollow, and the path to the stone track shows faintly.
Before long, autumn sky will show withered plants again; I still seem able, on a clear night, to sit on the moss-covered rock ledge.
Daolu Du Cao
With joy one sees another full cycle of sixty years; dwelling in the upper capital to nurture true nature is indeed fitting.
Before spring arrives, peach fruit is ripe and rosy light seems draped on one’s robe; at the winter solstice plum blossoms open and dew fills the cup.
The ruler once questioned him on state affairs, and his replies could match Yan Si (a Han figure famed for longevity); in discourse on Buddhist scriptures he won renown throughout the Chu hills.
Since parting recently, it soon feels as distant as the far Milky Way; may he be blessed with long life, reaching eight thousand years.
Viewing the Spring at the Zhiyun Temple
Long nested in White Cloud Valley, he loves the mountain spring; its clear simplicity seems to nourish body and mind.
The dwelling is small, the eaves of the courtyard slightly low; mountains and rivers of heaven and earth all seem gathered into this little courtyard.
Good fields stretch to the outskirts, enough to compare with Zhuge Liang’s farmstead; fresh fungus grows in the vegetable beds, as if inheriting Lu Tong’s way.
Purple fungus on the cloud’s edge can be gathered at any time—there is no need to seek a hermit’s life among ordinary folk.
Snow Banquet for Daolu Miao
At Xuandu (a Daoist abbey), a splendid feast was spread in the western clarity; by day, heavy snow fell, and the auspicious whiteness shone bright.
After the banquet, returning home, one still feels the lingering warmth of wine; the snow scene outside the window seems to share the joy of the gathering.
The host’s kindness deepens with each cup; guests’ hearts are moved by the rare snow and the rare company together.
In this winter scene, poetry and wine flow freely; may this meeting long be remembered amid the flying flakes.
Immortal wine has already been brewed, green as spring clouds; plum blossoms in the cave bloom before the twelfth month, petals drifting like jade dust in the mist.
Clear, lofty scenery shines on phoenix ornaments around the palace offices; guests visiting the bamboo grove, hairpins aglitter, sit in a row beside the white-crane railing.
I am ashamed to be only one who hides in mountains and forests, yet fortunate to join this elegant gathering; may you live long in health and enjoy favor and glory for years to come.
Clear, lofty scenery shines on phoenix ornaments around the palace offices; guests visiting the bamboo grove, hairpins aglitter, sit in a row beside the white-crane railing.
I am ashamed to be only one who hides in mountains and forests, yet fortunate toChecking the translation file and delivering one complete, non-duplicated English version.
The immortal brew is already finished, green as spring clouds; plum in the grotto opens before the twelfth month, petals like jade dust drifting through the mist.
On Immortal Fang’s “Mist Like Jade Before the Cold Month”
Clear, lofty scenery shines on phoenix ornaments around the palace offices; guests with jeweled hairpins visit the bamboo grove and sit beside the white-crane railing.
I am ashamed to be only one who hides in the hills, yet fortunate to join this elegant gathering; may you live long in health and long enjoy favor and honor.
On Immortal Fang’s “Thatched Hut in the Autumn Wind”
Who knows whose broad stone lies beside this little fishing cove; the woodland scene is plain and quiet—the painter plays with ink to sketch it.
Pure sounds of nature echo in the damp air and draw distant cranes; under flowery shade he slows his step and strolls at ease with gulls.
The autumn wind over the old roof recalls Yang Xiong’s Han-era dwelling; water wraps the simple wicker gate like the landscape in Xie Tiao’s verse.
I long to live where bamboo is cold-green and sandbars emerald; seeing this painting, my dreaming soul flies back to those hills.
On the Fourth Day of the First Month, Ordered to Return to the Mountains—A Poem Bidding Farewell to Attendant Fu
For months on end I was permitted to serve at the Bamboo Palace (a Daoist abbey); the emperor’s grace runs deep—a decree sends me back to the mountains.
Starlight shines beyond the clouds; good news from the immortal hall arrives with moonlight and clear dew.
After snow, fine weather—mist like spring rain drifts from the wild bridge; warm clouds return and evening tide surges with the spring wind.
Raising the cup at parting, affection grows deeper still; may we both grow white-haired and long-lived, healthy as crane and spirit-turtle.
Parting from Attendant Ci
Snow stops, sky clears—you come by carriage, laughter unceasing; in spring the jade terrace and jade hall gleam like fairyland.
The Qinhuai River swells with the spring tide; Wu woods shed their mist and night rain grows sparse.
In the immortal officers’ hall, purple sable spreads like clouds; river sails and black-capped travelers merge in the haze.
Half a year apart, hills and springs between us; I hope when elixir is refined we may again seek the Jinji Shu (a Daoist text).
Winter Days in the Mountains
Warm sun, mild daylight on the body; empty hills—the little gate by the pool stays shut tight.
Cloud-white mats are warm, woodcutters share the space; one returns from the purple grotto, the house dog waits for its master.
Snow water for tea—the brew surges like waves, the spring at first runs thin; pine branches for wine and cooking—guests cannot be many.
Leisure urges the plum to open early; enter the valley and all the hills are jade-green.
On Mountain Dwelling at the Upper Si Festival
Living in the world, I often feel ashamed of my own conduct; now that I dwell in the mountains, I sit in quiet all day long, listening to the clear wind among the pines. Spring water pours into the dragon well, and rising vapor rolls like clouds; the forest looks down on surging waves, and mist veils the sky. Water plants sway in the pool, and beside the fishing hook a band of nearby green is reflected; flowers on the cliff cling to one’s shoes, and each step leaves traces of faded red.
I smile to see people in the world scramble after showy splendor, as if bound by invisible ropes; to drink at ease and lift the heart—how could that compare with ordinary worldly life?
Seeking the Old Site of Hunlun Hermitage on a Clear Winter Day
Leaning on my staff, I enter a deep valley and wander at will to secluded places; the mountain path along Pipa Stream runs far into silence. Fields and open country lead into depth, and ruins among wild grass follow a rugged trail. Sun-facing slopes are warm, yet frost coats the narrow path; on the stone steps, cold wind carries clouds, and in the woods it seems tigers and leopards may appear.
Who can grasp the meaning across ages that Hunlun Hermitage once held? Now only pines and parasol trees remain here, silently witnessing the passing years.
Inscribed on “Returning to the Dwelling” in the Fanghu Style
Traces left from Fanghu—the legendary immortal isle—blend into hazy emptiness; by chance, continuous rooftops take shape, as if appearing together with the turns of cosmic calamity and change. Once one sees through form and the transformations of Qi (vital energy) beyond heaven and earth, one may view mountains and rivers from between being and non-being.
In frost-touched woods, leopard-like cloud shadows keep company with the evening sounds of autumn; sandbars and deep pools meet at the water’s edge, as if the scene opened onto sea and sky. Between the Yangtze and the Han, where exactly should one seek it? To hide in a secluded valley and rest in Fangzhang and Penglai-like immortal mountains is no disgrace to such quiet.
Gazing from Behind Dì Yǔ at the Ruins of Jinye Hermitage and Tianrui Hermitage
The marvelous halls of Jinye Hermitage once rose as high as Kunlun; Tianrui Hermitage too once let one glimpse the writings associated with Liezi (Lie Yukou). The breath of mountains mingles with spring light and often turns into drifting mist; sky-light on piled snow makes even daytime seem dim.
Sword-light flies across distant lands, plum dust rises, as if long kalpas had passed; elixir pills are guarded by the dragon in the deep abyss, their power beyond compare. For a thousand years, pavilion wind and moon have kept each other company; facing the spirit spring, one ladle of water—who hears the Dao (the Way) within it?
Returning to Xian Spring in the Snow
Snow covers the mountains, and the stream banks are white as well; on the way back I seek the old path, and no travelers are to be seen. Jade-tree branches break and lean slanting to the ground; on the frozen river, flows like white silk seem to join the water’s course.
Wind stirs the crane’s nest, and cloud-color darkens first; ice and snow fall on cliff-side pines, and in the valley spring seems easy to lose. In bitter cold I return to the high pavilion where I lie at rest—why go into the floating world to seek things rare and unreal?
Reclusion
For long I have yearned to leave the world and enjoy secluded quiet; through past and present, has floating fame ever been real, or does it always end in emptiness?
On Seclusion
For long I have yearned for a life of seclusion, far from the dust of the world. Through the ages, worldly fame has been hard to tell real from empty—and not worth clinging to.
Now and then I lift my eyes to the shifting clouds and wind; now and then I quiet my heart and watch heaven and earth. By chance I come to a lotus valley, and it is as if spring itself awakens there.
I would invite the paired swallows left by Bao Jing for company, and I am weary of trailing Wang Qiao on distant wanderings, time and again. Whenever I grasp the vast scene beyond body and outward signs, in the stillness the true sovereign shows itself—the mysterious pearl of the deep.
Inscribed at the Hall of Mysterious Contemplation
Between the hills stands a lofty hall, as if it were a world apart. Wash away the turbidity and grime of the mundane, and you can taste what is dark, deep, and subtle.
From the “yellow center” you discern the subtle; then you know that emptiness and stillness are the utmost. Hold to the way of the undifferentiated white, and you grasp the origin before things have taken form.
Crane chicks in the nest rise on the wind; reed-pipe tones drift with the moonlight. River gulls by the bank wheel like snow; oars cut the clear spring.
The elder master was always a guest of the golden gate, long heir to the family’s renown, ranked among the immortals.
Staying Overnight at Xuandu Abbey
The traces of twenty years in the world are still vivid in memory. Returning here, I see the ash of the immortal altar after the calamity of fire, and cannot but sigh.
Deep in the night, the crane returned from Liaodong wakes first to the dew; as spring warms, fish in the deep water already feel the thunder approaching.
The stream still sounds like peach-blossom time; moonlight still fills the bamboo-leaf cup.
I am fortunate to inherit the Way left by our forebears—all this is ancestral grace. The abbey’s rise and fall moves one only to lament; now there is nothing but tangled wormwood.
On Flower Morning, Lodging at the Eastern Peak Palace
The Eastern Peak traveling palace is the hall where the Wood Sovereign is honored. On this fine day I ascend to pay reverence, glad that spring warmth fills the air.
Flowers blaze bright; hills and plain are fair. The place rings a sacred domain; the land reads as bold and steep.
The Shrine of the Silver Maiden is near—one marvels at the filial tale told there. The Green Bird mound is close by, recording the deeds of those before.
Generation after generation, those in power preside over auspicious rites. Try, under the night moon, to watch this wheeling light.
Visiting the Stone Immortal Abbey
Deep into the flower source, a hundred acres of spring spread before the eyes. Red cliffs and green stone walls are patterned like dragon scales.
The mountain form seems to return to formlessness—not fixed like metal or stone. Here subtle qi towers high, piercing the clouds.
The slanting Dipper’s starlight shines on the fire in the cinnabar cave; overhanging cliffs shelter damp moss veins.
Joy to come by carriage with fellow travelers, to share this view and together wash away the world’s turbidity at the immortal’s home.
The Divine Turtle Hill at Miaoling Temple
The immortal terrace rests on the hill, overlooking the river. Following the winding path into the secluded springs, one is glad to come here again.
The crane has flown far, as if toward a path into the clouds; the spirit turtle remains, as if dwelling on Phoenix-and-Qilin Isle (a legendary immortal realm).
The Five Cities (legendary immortal citadels) have passed through kalpas, yet their cinnabar light still shines; the Three Isles (legendary immortal mountains in the sea) are warm with spring, and jade-like spiritual qi fills the air.
From now on the Mysterious Platform (the Daoist altar or immortal terrace) grows ever more fair and flourishing; its lofty spirit is handed down through generations, spreading the true Dao.
Visiting Magu Mountain
Climbing the steep stone steps, winding and long, the path stretches far; the high pavilion stands against the mountain, as if reaching straight into the clouds.
The flying waterfall pours from the sky like the Milky Way; deep bamboo on both sides is green and misty, drifting like fog.
The world below seems small and dim; the immortal realm before one’s eyes seems to join the river of heaven—glad to greet the morning.
In twenty years one has visited many times and forgotten old affairs; why must one seek the Perfected to see that empty, distant immortal realm?
The Magu immortal (a legendary transcendent) appears in extraordinary grace, descending to the Five Cities; along the winding path of the jade altar (the altar adorned with fine jade), one enters the high azure sky.
In gossamer robes light as a coin, coming with the moonlight, is Wang Yuan from afar; with medicine staff, arriving through the air, is the immortal who awaits Cai Jing. Wang Yuan and Cai Jing are figures from Daoist legend.
Between the dragon well and the accumulated snow, the sound of jade pendants seems still to linger; the light between pavilion and hall seems to stir the stars on the Magpie Bridge.
The lofty traces endure a thousand years undimmed; a clear fame is handed down. The mountains and rivers here are fine and truly suited to guarding many spirits.
Visiting the Cinnabar Cloud Grotto-Heaven
The Cinnabar Cloud Grotto-Heaven (a grotto-heaven in Daoist tradition) lies hidden in the mountains, like a lesser heaven (a legendary immortal realm); the traces of past visits stir thoughts of passing time.
The mountain turns and coils like a crow’s flight through the clouds; the dragon pool (deep pool) encircles the hills, and stone springs flow from the rocks.
Broken steles are covered with green moss, mottled in the setting sun; sparse woods and carved pavilions look down on cold mist.
One lingers long, as if immortals were dining on clouds (in Daoist legend, feeding on cloud and mist to cultivate) and dew; yet no sound of jade flute comes to the mat.
Viewing Mount Lu’s Snow from the Boat
From the little boat on the river one often enjoys the moonlight; after spring rain clears, Mount Lu (Kuanglu) stands high and fair.
On Incense Burner Peak the clouds spread like a thousand acres; at Xingzi Bay, snow covers several slopes.
Wind stirs the dark places and the clear sound of Tiger Brook rises; in mist and haze the water palace where dragons dwell seems to feel the night tide pass.
After birds return to their nests, one can no longer tell which peak wears white snow; one only wishes to leave this snowscape with the spring’s sound for those in the stone chamber to savor.
Clear Weather at the Shangqing Palace Zhaijiao on the Lantern Festival
In the first month spring rain pours down as the secret rite (Daoist zhaijiao liturgy) is held; suddenly the sky clears and the Lantern Festival moon is full again.
At Kongtong Mountain (a legendary immortal mountain) the feast feels spring-like, as if cranes brought the hills into bloom; on the Ao Pole (the giant turtle that supports heaven and earth) the wind is clear and the feast in the Azure Realm (the clear sky of Daoist cosmology) seems bright and open.
Note: The middle section labeled “Visiting” repeats the same four lines about Wang Yuan, Cai Jing, the dragon well, jade pendants, Magpie Bridge stars, and the Magu traces—likely a duplicate stanza in the source. I translated it once in the Magu section; the repeated block is the same content.
On the Lantern Festival, Shangqing Palace held a liturgical rite to celebrate the clearing of the sky.
When rain was pouring down, a Zhaijiao (purification ritual) was performed according to secret transmitted Keyi (liturgy); suddenly the sky cleared, and on the night of the Lantern Festival the moon was full again.
Spring on Crane Mountain filled the banquet at Kongtong; on the great turtle that supports heaven and earth, a clear breeze blew, and the feast in the azure heavens seemed bright and serene.
Lotus-shaped lamps poured out light, round as golden cuju balls; heavenly flowers shone in splendid colors, pure and lovely as a jade dish.
The sovereign’s grace was vast, displaying lofty De (Virtue/Power); teaching flourished day by day, auguring a year of abundance for the realm.
On the successful completion of the liturgy—thanks to Ge Weizhen
Old tales say the Ge family was once summoned by the emperor; now the splendid scenes in the jade tower appear even more refined and complete.
From afar one hears immortal music from the grotto-heaven liturgy, and cannot help recalling the lavish banquet on the immortal terrace.
The qilin tree beside the pillow gleams with light; jade peaks outside the window show graceful, unbroken lines.
Ge Hong (Eastern Jin Daoist famed for alchemy) carefully tasted elixir brewed from cinnabar; as a plain, awkward man, I too am suited to take joy in long life in peace.
Harmonizing with Master Shen’s poem
On Jurong Mountain’s immortal terrace, emerald peaches grow everywhere; to reach the Jade Capital of the celestial realm, one would not shrink from a long journey on foot.
Together we drew radiance from the dragon pool in the clouds; even the finest hare-hair brush should feel ashamed before the immortal’s brush-hair in the moon.
Shen Yue’s (Southern Dynasties man of letters) poetic spirit was prized in its time; one thinks of Qin Gao (legendary immortal) who once traveled the shores of the vast sea.
Our heads are white—after parting, who knows when we shall meet again? May we still climb together without refusing the long road.
Together we drew radiance from the dragon pool in the clouds; even the finest hare-hair brush should feel ashamed before the immortal’s brush-hair in the moon.
Shen Yue’s poetic spirit was prized in its time; one thinks of Qin Gao who once traveled the shores of the vast sea.
Our heads are white—after parting, who knows when we shall meet again? May we drink brewed medicinal wine to extend life and rejoice in many years.
To Registrar Cao
I inherit my ancestors’ grace and look up to past and present; my talent is thin and my strength small—I feel ashamed before the age.
Glittering fame and success fit what Zhuangzi taught; yet who can truly see into Zhongzi’s (Warring States figure who lived in poverty and refused unrighteous stipends) heart?
Before the parrot cup, springlike dreams grow few; by the partridge nest I still seek the leisure of field and garden.
On the road of office, I am fortunate to have a friend who values me; at home in retirement, I still hope you will often send good news.
On a day with Geng, touring Yanfa Guan and going to pay a visit
The pavilion of the abbey towers into the clouds, jade-like qi (vital energy) drifting; leaning on colored clouds, it seems to stand beside the ancient elixir hill of legend.
The frost bell sounds from far off through pine and creeper in the moonlight; in autumn we walk hand in hand along the stony stream to seek out old traces.
Do not wonder that at the swept gate there is no Wei Bao (early Han figure famed for honoring scholars); what delights most is writing a fine line alone, like Yang Xiu (Eastern Han wit of quick talent).
We drank lightly by the lamp and our hearts matched especially well; at dawn we would still visit Lingyan and wished to stay a little longer.
Visiting Wanshou Peak
In mist and rain we climbed the steep mountain; winding stone steps among the clouds seemed to lead up to the vault of heaven.
At the winding flower-source ferry crossing, silvery white waves surge in magnificent display; the waterfall hanging from the high cliff rises like a majestic white silk ribbon.
The crane nest at heaven’s edge seems to beckon Xu Mai (an Eastern Jin Daoist); climbing perilous heights, one hopes to obtain the Hongbao (a legendary Daoist text) and seek out Mao Meng (a legendary immortal).
It is said that someone in a courtyard received teachings like wind and thunder; one ought to ascend the lofty mountain peak and cultivate the subtle Dao.
Beside the sheer cliff hangs a scene like a pearl, and the small pavilion is spacious. At night mist and clouds swirl as if lingering forever above the eaves.
The forest lies hidden in thick fog, as though one hears a leopard’s cry; the mountain stream rushes with fierce wind, as if to dash the phoenix from its perch.
The orchid-draped canopy gleams and dispels the day’s warmth; orchid-scented lamp oil accompanies the murmuring water and makes the spring chill feel keener still.
Some say Xu Shi (the Qin-dynasty adept Xu Fu) once glimpsed the immortal isle of Yingzhou; why then did he seek the art of feather-transformation and ascension at the Jade Terrace (legendary abode of immortals)?
On Xiao Shi’s Phoenix Terrace
A terrace a hundred feet high pierces the clouds; a multicolored phoenix flies through the air as jade pipes play lingering music.
The bond between Xiao Shi and Nong Yu (legendary immortal lovers) was no ordinary worldly marriage; Nong Yu’s immortal grace truly surpassed the common run.
Five-colored clouds enfold the tower as if joining the sky itself; banners fly over the Three Isles (legendary mountains in the sea), wrapped in mist and dew.
The immortal precinct is serene enough for leisurely admiration; music left behind in the autumn sky seems still audible when one sits in quiet.
On Flying Immortals
The immortals’ traces are faint and hard to find, yet the colors and brushwork in the painting are exquisitely fine. Vast empty clouds—the immortal form seems to soar into the high blue sky.
The jade maiden flies adorned with jade; the peaches in the peach tray are ripe. The Golden Mother (Queen Mother of the West) pauses in the poplar grove; dew among the bamboo is cool.
On the light boat someone seems to inscribe a poem, entrusting the crow messenger (legendary bearer of letters) to deliver it; the scented envelope holds no words, borne far on the phoenix’s flight.
Immortals have their own immortal affinity, in harmony with cloud and dawn; traces left by the adepts remain, awaiting the immortal’s descent to the courtyard.
On Fanghu: Cloud Emerging from the Mountain Waist
The brush of the Fanghu immortal (legendary isle) surpasses paintings by the hermits of Mount Shang; he often loses himself in deep, endless woodland views.
Broken clouds along the mountain’s midriff congeal into morning indigo; newly risen water at the stream’s edge reflects sunlit haze on the hills.
Soaring aloft one almost hears the long cry of the phoenix; sweeping the courtyard path one hears only quiet conversation.
Joy to have immortal companions in full regalia; gazing beyond the hills, emerald green seems to tint one’s robes with spring.
On Viewing the Sea
Ten thousand acres of blue sea stretch boundless; heaven and earth are as small as a single horse—who can see where it ends?
Remote mountains are ideal for climbing high and taking in the view, opening the heart; assisting the court in state affairs is enough to bring the realm to stability.
After rain the sky clears, and islands beyond the sea seem to float at the edge of heaven and earth; the moon rises, and mist-wreathed trees stretch on as if linking to the Three Han (the ancient Korean regions).
Feeling so refined—how could brush and ink ever capture it all? Smiling, I cast my line toward the great ao (the legendary giant turtle).
On a Painting of the Three Gorges
A key frontier command relies on the Yangtze’s natural defenses; brocade-colored waters flow west in boundless flood.
I recall the strategic traces Du Yu and Zhuge Liang left at this pass; I admire magistrates like Gong Sui and Huang Ba who knew how to settle and nurture the people.
Moonlight on Emei shines on distant rope bridges; clouds in the Wu Gorge link to the long reach of Sword Pass.
When may we together pay homage to our forebears’ grace? I would go deep among the flowers to seek autumn fragrance.
Grand Sacrifice
At the founding of a great destiny, the four seas flourish like spring. The emperor performs the suburban rite to Heaven, solemn and reverent.
On the star path, processions arrive with golden tally and insignia; at the heavenly gate, chariots and banners seem to descend from the jade court of the Most High.
Jade tablets and bi disks glow like rosy clouds, displaying the weight of Zhou ritual; pendants and ceremonial arrays mass like clouds, in fresh splendor like Han court order.
Ashamed to stand in plain dark robes, I respectfully present my offering; looking up to the sovereign alone, I feel the auspicious blessing of his virtue.
Ascending Great Mao Peak
The lofty peaks of Mt. Juqu (Mt. Mao) pierce the nine heavens. At dawn I climb the summit wrapped in cloud and light, joy rising in me.
Looking down, colored banners seem to show through the wild expanse; looking up, mist in the high sky hangs like a canopy.
Already I come with heart set on the three Mao perfected ones—Mao Ying, Mao Gu, and Mao Zhong—riding a feathered carriage; still I hope Wang Yuan and Xu Sun will come to welcome the immortal chariot.
Gladly I see the new hall tower into the clouds. From this, the true wind (the quiet, authentic way of Daoist cultivation) will pass down for a hundred generations.
Second Mao Peak
In a small valley of the immortal isle, the path winds; among the peaks the main summit rises like an imperial dwelling.
The Eight Pure spiritual texts are entered in the jade register; wonders of the five temporal stars are recorded in precious jade books.
Sweet dew falls and heavenly flowers blaze; auspicious clouds encircle, and the breath of mountains and rivers opens as if the world’s own voice stirs with them.
I would seek the perfected and probe the secrets handed down; golden peaks and bedrock are enough to lean on for treading the void.
Third Peak
Cliffs stand sheer, piercing the blue sky; Tengzi Peak curves around as if guarding five immortal cities.
Traces of Lu and Ma still carry the breath of the sword; the lofty deeds of Tao and Liu are told in the surge of pines.
Starlight falls on jade-like trees, lighting a thousand valleys; rocks like jade flowers stand around the surrounding halls.
Tonight the moon is full at the jade altar (the Daoist rite platform); I mean to follow flute and crane and ride the wind.
To Master Shen of White Cloud
I recall our meeting long ago in the capital; even now I cherish the bond since we parted. By chance you came from Jurong (the Maoshan region) to visit this adept who cultivates the elixir path.
In the dense forest one seems to meet Master Red Pine of legend; on Mount Kongtong, Master White Stone is not hard to find. From a lone steep ridge clouds rise and suddenly a tiger roars; on Fungus Mountain the wind is sharp and turning back one hears a deer call.
Shen Yue of the Southern Dynasties was always rich in poetic gift. At night we talked in clear tones; the abbey was bright and still, and our companion seemed a child’s face with hair white as a crane’s.
Staying at Maoshan on the Lantern Festival
Many times I wished to seek quiet ground and pay respects to those on the Dao; on the Lantern Festival we gathered for a feast on Mount Kongtong.
Mist wreathed the sunny grove; courtyards and towers caught the moon; deep in the Maoshan grotto clouds filled the air, and wind moved among cypress and parasol trees.
Drums and song brought old friends to mind; the great lantern mountain of the festival stirred memories of days past. Cranes stepped the stone steps, letting the scene in rosy light shift before our eyes.
The affairs of the dusty world always stir reflection; climbing high to gaze on heaven and earth, one sees them lightly in a single smile.
Visiting the Grotto Heaven of Mount Huayang
Jade Pillar Peak coils eastward, its slopes clear and sharp as piled snow; the stone chamber set in the cliff is so deep one can barely glimpse it.
Within, it seems only the subtle sound of spirit-wind rings clear and far; empty light enters and shows a scene beyond the ordinary.
Clouds encircle as if leading to Xuedou; wind wails like drums beside the Heavenly Pool.
I would seek the moon’s cavern and summon the yellow crane; the traces left by Wang Ziqiao, Xu You, and others of legend are surely worth the search.
Inscribed on the Spring Radiance Tower
Spring Radiance Tower looks down on ten thousand homes in spring; the clear morning sun brightens the palace halls.
Northern hall daylily stands for a mother’s peace, far from ice and bitter cold; the eastern pavilion’s views are fresh as a painted scroll.
Above the nine heavens cranes draw the carriage through the gate; from the eight extremes phoenixes arrive in splendid chariots.
The screen that guards the realm upholds the imperial teaching through filial piety. One waits for the court to honor supreme devotion with edict and praise.
Lodging at a Separate Peak on Mount Wudang
One night at the high abbey on a separate peak of Wudang, I climbed the winding stone steps as if my hand could touch the distant sky.
Peaks galloped like ten thousand horses; a jade rainbow stretched between the ridges; islets in the hills seemed to float with grains of golden light.
The Black Warrior’s banners hung high on the northern yellow path; halls of the Purple Forbidden appeared within green immortal mist.
Immortal bearing and grace—how joyfully one meets the old master with tiger-like brows; under the moon we keep our tryst, summoning the clear wind that rides the crane.
On Cloud, Forest, Spring, and Stone
Along the clear stream lies the old seat of a noble house; gazing west, cloud and forest stretch in ridges like Sword Gate.
Layer upon layer of green pierces the sky, as if the trenches of ages past rise again; empty blue washed by dew shows a boundless waterside.
Finely probing hidden peaks, dwelling at ease in the valley; with Daoist arts assisting subtle design, holding fast in the capital.
One might give up thirty-six fair peaks and still fail to pledge this spring and stone in lasting bond.
On Master Zhou’s Prayer-for-Rain Scroll
Master Zhou was once the crane-riding immortal of Sutai (Suzhou region); now he walks the human realm, lifting drought from the land and presiding over Juntian (heavenly music and the celestial court).
Lady Axiang (legendary driver of the thunder chariot) sets the chariot in motion and veins of water like dark crystal surge; the Weaver Maid turns her loom as if the Great Liquid Pool (palace pond) were churning.
Withered grass and trees revive at once—credit the sovereign’s grace; rich harvests follow one after another—credit the spirit’s wondrous method.
All in the literary world who see this work praise it in competition; they rejoice in the full year and wish the realm a great harvest.
On My Own Portrait
What talent has Xuanyou (a Daoist title or identity) to lift a name for later ages? In youth I followed teachers and learned when to advance, retreat, show, or hide.
Two reigns’ favor reached me at the green lattice gate; eight memorials of solemn rite, green seals held high.
Among pines and chrysanthemums in cloud I chant night snow; at the valley mouth with crane and ape I lie in autumn frost.
Since form is illusion, why paint the face in ink? After the great kalpa, one at last faces the vast wild.
Mid-Autumn
I recall clear night air in the lin palace (immortal hall or abbey); again autumn color finds me still under grace and honor.
Friends’ deep affection keeps letters crossing; after leaving the capital I miss home and even wine grows dull.
Again and again I am summoned to bear weight before the throne; once robes were granted—thinking of such favor I still feel ashamed.
Deeply favored, yet with nothing fit to repay; sleepless nights, hearing only the curfew drum within the palace bounds.
Congratulating Master Zhou on Answered Prayer for Snow
The palace drafts an edict for a close minister; the emperor’s heart is with the people, longing for snow.
Six-petaled flakes seem creation itself; melting snow on a thousand trees; eightfold vistas in memorial reach heaven, turning the great force between sky and earth.
Silver candlelight meets jade-dew scenery; from the jade terrace (immortal pavilion) sound rings and azure light flashes.
The literary world praises this work above Mei Cheng and Sima Xiangru; all rejoice that Master Zhou again receives favor from Xuandu (the Daoist celestial capital).
Visiting the Junior Preceptor at Duan’an
In spring the weather turns mild and warm, and the days grow longer; more than ten days have passed. I followed the winding paths south of the city to visit the monastery.
The lotus-shaped water clock seemed to reveal the true suchness of reality; the lamp that carries the transmission of Buddhist scriptures holds the heart of the ancient buddhas. The shadow of the tower where crows roost lay mirrored between the halls; the arched, rainbow-like pool embraced the deep shade of cypress and pine. Master Huiyuan long enjoyed great kindness; the pledge of our poetry society now allows me to meet with you again.
In Reply to the Rhyme of Master Duan’an, Junior Preceptor
I rowed a small boat in haste, light as a crane in flight; how glad I was to meet the Chan master in the capital. The wisdom of the Five Lamps was like a sword, as if mountain spirits guarded it; the thousand Buddha images, solemn as beads of clay, were so awe-inspiring that even the treasury of the sea seemed to tremble. With the renewal of spring, the crows’ nests seemed due for clearing; after the fine rain lifted, the sound of the monastery bell reached us as we sat together on the ground. The taste of tea and fruit far surpassed the plain offerings of mountain retreats; a letter in verse was enough to soothe my leisurely mood.
I returned carrying my pair of sandals, my body as light as a cloud; long favored, I remained in the capital. Preaching fell like rain, and the hidden tiger seemed to roar along; when we discussed the sutras, flowers bloomed, and even the reclining dragon was stirred. My literary force far exceeded Pei Di and Bai Juyi; my knowledge of history and letters could stand comparison with the eminent men of Jingzhou. A companion outside the world of dust, I was blessed to live in an enlightened age; the sharpness and flavor of the Chan gate could fully wash away idle cares.
In Reply to Master Ge the Refiner’s Rhyme on Congratulations for Granted Robes
From the first month of spring the year was reckoned anew; at dawn I waited for audience, as if I were soon to become an immortal of the grotto heavens. At the rite I heard the protective sound of the ninefold performance, and the eight movements of Cloud Harmony, like the vast music of heaven in the celestial palace. Taking the yin month as the start of the civil year, the precious chart was thereby established; using the jiazi cycle, the Zhou calendar and its offices were handed down. A man of the wilds, I repeatedly received favor beyond measure; I ought to recall the life of Yuanshan and Qi Li, dwelling among bamboo groves and parasol trees.
My talent has always been thin, and I often felt ashamed before Gao and Cen; who would have thought a floating name could move the sovereign? Again and again I was granted the palace’s fine wine, rich as a feast from bell and tripod; again I was granted robes, and still found the water-chestnut and lotus patterns on the cloth especially pure and elegant. I pondered the principles of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi, composing subtle rhapsodies; governance and teaching were clear and harmonious, and I sang as the people did in the age of Yao, beating the earth in joy. Back among mountains, springs, and stones, I will tell these things to my elder friends; even now, in dreams I am still wrapped in the refined scenes of the Phoenix Pool.
The stars of the Taijie constellation in heaven are arrayed in order, and court officials likewise stand in ranks by precedence; the newly promulgated palace regulations embody the sovereign’s ritual and ceremonial system. Beneath crown and cap, talent may be compared with Guan Zhong and Yue Yi; the literary grace of edicts and proclamations surpasses that of Sima Xiangru and Yang Xiong. Officials wait outside the Golden Gate to enter court, gazing up toward where the Son of Heaven resides; they receive and carry out the ruler’s stratagems and commands, attending at his side. Your ancestors once received, as reclusive worthies, the honor of summons to the Xuan Chamber (the hall where Han emperors received worthy men); with your ability, you ought surely to be employed—you need not, like Feng Tang, wait long without appointment.
Second Poem in Reply to Master Dong’s Congratulatory Verse
The breeze through the window lattice brings ease; from ancient times long life has been counted joy. Having ascended Yingzhou (the legendary isle of immortals), how dare one claim to rank among the immortals? Waiting for court outside the Duan Gate, one goes to the Secretariat; awaiting summons in the Secret Archive, one quietly awaits appointment to the Hanlin Academy. Tiger guards stand in ranks at the palace gates; the towers rise into the clouds. The imperial edict shines like the sun; when it is delivered, its authority is manifest.
As an outer minister, how could I add to the imperial house’s good fortune? Yet the emperor’s mandate came again, and favor descended upon those at the sovereign’s side. The mountains and rivers of the divine land are more beautiful than Banfeng Ridge; the season turns warm, fitting the sage’s heart. At Jianzhang Palace the snow melts; the sky clears toward evening—a cause for joy. After rain over Taiye Pool, spring feels all the deeper. I am ashamed to have been lost in reclusion, writing pieces like the Hechun fu; now I wish to follow worthy ministers in chanting Cricket poems, showing loyalty and diligence. Master Dong ought to wonder: why I soon withdrew to quiet retirement, failing to live up to everyone’s recommendation and praise.
I have often accompanied the emperor on his progresses, ranked among thousands in the guard of honor; I have also taken part in sacrifices with sincere reverence, worshipping together with the Nine Sovereigns (the deities revered in Daoism). My learning is insufficient—yet I bear an empty name, which shames me; my talent falls short of what public opinion expects, which also weighs on me. By day the emperor bestowed an official robe, so that I might take my place at court; within the palace precincts I often received grace. After retiring, I delight in gathering with the aged and honored, praising one another in verse; I hope among mountains, forests, springs, and rocks to share together a life of peace such as in the days of Yu and Yao.
Three Poems in Reply to Master Wang, Using the Previous Rhyme
The nation’s fortune flourishes; a bountiful year has come. In the court assembly one sometimes sees immortals in feathered robes. Spring warmth fills the shell-adorned palace, bright and open between high walls; after snow, the sky clears and the jade steps reflect the four quarters. The emperor’s orders are conveyed with solemnity; great ministers of the inner court carry them out; from the Shiqu Pavilion documents and policies arrive from time to time. Sage teaching spreads to the borderlands—there is no need to mobilize with bronze tally or hurry frontier alerts.
Long I have lodged among the peaks of Mount Yu, living like woodcutter and fisherman; the sage ruler has calmly discerned my true heart. Again and again the emperor has granted great favor, commanding me to attend with jade in hand; special grace has come in succession, and I feel ever more awed. The rites and music of Yu’s court connect with the moral transformation shown in the Guanju; Han court dress and ritual recall the Liangfu Yin. I am unrestrained and unskilled in worldly affairs—I only regret that I have not served the court in the least; yet I still cherish the wish to temper my conduct and keep virtue pure.
At the fifth watch, crows line up before the old altar; as yang qi rises again, the turning of the seasons in all things foretells the omen of “Shuhuang.” In the hall, robes and caps are in order, and the Liangfu Yin (an ancient yuefu ballad) is recited.
By nature I am wild and unrestrained, and I am ashamed that I have contributed nothing; yet I still keep a heart set on tempering myself, hoping that in time I may win a fair name.
At the fifth watch, crows line up before the old altar; as yang qi rises again, the turning of the seasons in all things foretells the omen of “Shuhuang.” Sincere devotion reaches the seas and mountains; only after examination and divination does one know that one’s station, though next in rank to the most honored ritual vessels, still falls short of any real achievement worth speaking of.
Mei Cheng and Sima Xiangru (Western Han fu masters) follow one another in fame, attending the imperial carriage; Xiao He and Cao Can (early Han ministers) carry on their work in turn, assisting the court. Long have I yearned for the mountains where Wang Qiao dwelt in seclusion, and I often cherish the ambition of regulated verse, hoping to surpass two poets of the Tang.
Inscribed on a Painting of Mount Longhu
From antiquity Mount Longhu has been a famed abode of immortals; among the rivers and peaks east of the Yangtze, tiger crouches and dragon soars through ten thousand ravines of grandeur. Purple-green summits seem to rise above the three isles beyond the sea; towers of gold and silver hide among clouds of five colors.
The sky hangs low, as if Lord Yellowstone (Huang Shigong, a legendary immortal) were descending with crimson banners; on the earth it is as if Master Red Pine (Chisongzi, an ancient immortal of tradition) awaited with jade insignia. Oars are stilled and the boat moored, that one may climb and gaze to the full; the scroll is unrolled—why must one truly go in search of Fangzhang or Penglai on the ocean?
The domain of Xuandu (the Daoist paradise) has been renowned for its immortal mountains since ancient times; azure water and cinnabar cliffs surround it on every side. Countless openings in the mountain catch the wind and give forth the great voice of earth; above the nine heavens, immortals fly with jade pendants, going to pay homage at the Gate of Heaven.
By night, cinnabar light illumines the deep abyss, as if a black dragon leaped forth; on a clear day sword-qi pierces the sky, following the crane homeward. I rejoice at the chance to transmit subtle Daoist teaching and to visit the Cave of Yu (where Yu the Great was said to have left traces); above the court I would speak for others the most recondite doctrine.
Inscribed on Sun Kang’s “Reading by Snowlight”
Cold clouds mass; snowflakes fall from the Jade Terrace; the four storehouses of books hang curtains, and even by day the doors stay closed. The earth is spread like polished jade, light leaking through the gaps; halfway up the sky, tree branches like jade are bright and clean, untouched by dust.
On the Shanyin road, wax-soled clogs seem to hinder a visit to the bamboo grove; before the latticed window of the official hall, the scene again resembles plum blossom in view. Sun Kang’s lofty example of reading by reflected snow has been admired for a thousand years; the influence of study in the snow still today gives joy at the flourishing of talent.
Climbing Mount Hua Again
Many times I have paid homage to lofty immortals and ascended peaks of ten thousand ren; winding and turning a hundred bends, I have at last reached the summit high above the world. The stars hang low, as if resting on the canopy at the edge of the blue sky; heaven joins the vast, dim region of the Gouchén asterism (an ancient constellation).
Nearby it is as if Meifu and Yue Guang came with feather ornaments; from afar Yang Xiong and Xu You are summoned, treading the clear wind. The true strategy and teaching of the Daoist school have shared the age with the mountains; the mysterious grace…
Inscribed on the Dongxiao Palace
(The text breaks off here.)
The Heavenly Pillar Pearl Palace is as vast as the sea; one imagines reaching it by another route from Yuhang. Music as pure as plum blossom rises, feather adornments and jade pendants at one’s side; from afar they beckon the two immortals Yang and Xu, who arrive on the clear wind.
Since ancient times, true Daoist arts and counsel have endured like mountains; wondrous grace…
On the Palace of the Hidden Sky
The Heavenly Pillar Pearl Palace is as wide as the sea; I think of climbing by another path out of Yuhang. White Fern Cave hides in the clouds, as if a tiger lurks within; the green peaks stand empty and still, as if a phoenix flies beneath the moon.
In the cup ripples emerald water spanning a thousand qing; in the gourd is drawn spring water cold and clear as the nine heavens. Gazing at the painted scenes, one almost feels ready to soar aloft; I would lay aside my official hat and rest there, washing away the heat and dust of the world.
Ascending the Immortal Altar of the River Chart
The old palace where immortals dwelt on the divine hill is gone; only the traces of the River Chart (Hetu) guard the clustered peaks. Facing the southern seas and mountains, I recall autumn’s jade-pendant stillness; looking toward the northern gate, I remember wind and cloud in the halls and the morning bells.
Under the moon at night, the crane’s shadow returns along the ornamental column (huabiao); in the morning clouds, the dragon of Ge Marsh seems to stir. The turns of worldly feeling are like a dream from long ago; through kalpas past, the Spirit Platform is far away and hard to seek.
Song of Miyuezi
Great Void (Tai Xu) is boundless, turning and changing without rest—who brings Yin-Yang to light and opens heaven and earth? The great True Lord (Zhenzai) holds the hub of creation, driving the ten thousand things as if blowing upon the hidden pivot.
All things have shared one source since antiquity. The jade register and jade codex hide the essentials of cultivation. The Sacred Ancestor of the Mysterious Origin (Xuanyuan Shengzu, Laozi) opened the subtle pattern and, with vast words, pointed to the far reaches of the Dao.
Before heaven and earth had taken form, all was empty and dark; without names or shapes, the ten thousand things followed their own course. Gold refined a hundred times became true fluid; the emblems of dragon and tiger, raven and hare—Yin and Yang—wove together.
Since old times, those who truly possessed the Dao have rarely met such a chance; perfected persons treasured it in secret, passing it down through countless kalpas. A descendant of Zhu Rong gained this wondrous method; feet grimy, clad in hemp, he went to the Thunder Cave to pay his visit.
He claimed that even if the gods of wind and rain were shut away, he could still drive thunderbolts and lash the lightning to rouse them. In youth he had entered the Golden Horse Gate; many aged nobles and great ministers befriended him.
He resolutely cast off official caps and ornaments and the bonds of the world, riding wind and thunder as he ranged between Wu and Yue. At that time gold, jade, and treasures gathered; heroes and champions flocked together—who could have guessed that the dust of events would suddenly bring unbearable sorrow?
The fair years before his eyes seemed in a flash to turn to ash; he looked down with proud detachment and freely discussed all he had seen and heard. On returning, he went to pay his respects to the true master, lingering between Xianyan and Guigu.
He swept fallen blossoms, drank clear spring water, and gave a great cry; not a trace of worldly care clung to him.
Those who once saw through the affairs of the world no longer needed to weigh gain and loss in advance or retreat. Ascending my stone steps, he washed his ears and listened to the murmuring flow.
In yesterday’s conversation, he suddenly thought of home: the Tianguan Altar had lain in ruin for many years. Carving ornate ridge-beasts and painting hall and shrine had cost much effort; after a year, the old plan at last made it stand tall again.
Cliffs rose sheer into the clouds; the imperial palace loomed high; between stone chambers and clouded groves, thunder and rain seemed stored. I too sought mountains and built a thatched hut; the peaks of Pipa were as fair as jade.
They say that refining the “great elixir” (dàyào—the name in Daoist internal alchemy for an important pill or the fruit of practice) should be begun early; once complete, the elixir’s light can shine through the sky. The waters of Dongting and Poyang (Pengli) surge vast; once the yellow crane flies away, whither will it fly again?
The inverted use of mercury and lead is a matter of utmost importance in cultivation. Please dissect for me the subtle mysteries between Heaven and Earth. Who says the Grotto Heaven holds a separate secret book? Within the grotto heaven, in the end, there is only emptiness.
This is neither writing by the Huangren, vast in size and more than a zhang in extent, nor scripture spoken by Yuanshi Tianzun, suspended like pearls in the void.
I beg you to beat the drum and inquire whether things are true or false, and dissect for me the subtle mysteries between Heaven and Earth. Who says the Grotto Heaven holds a separate secret book? Within the grotto heaven, in the end, there is only emptiness.
This is neither writing by the Huangren, vast in size and more than a zhang in extent, nor scripture spoken by Yuanshi Tianzun, suspended like pearls in the void.
I beg you to beat the drum and verify whether things are so, then gather the obscure and hard-to-grasp principles and return to the root source of all things under Heaven.
On Fanghu Zhenren’s “Painting of Strange Peaks after Snow Clears”
Since primordial antiquity, snow on Minshan and Emeishan has never melted; atop Kunlun, through myriad kalpas, ice and snow still cover the peaks. The immortal of Fanghu (legendary transcendent) wielded the brush; ink was clear and moist as ice and jade; the perilous ranges of Jian’ge linked straight to the farthest west.
Peak upon peak rose like surging waves, the scene strange and grand; warm breath seemed to churn fish and dragons and crack the waters of the Xiang. As rain and snow just ceased, clear light newly appeared, and the view on the bridge stood sharp; at night pine waves rolled on, as if crossing Emeishan’s moonlit slopes.
An old house beside the Cang River lies hidden in the mountain’s quiet depths; along the dark cliff-shores by distant waters, the winding river has frozen into ice. Before Yuan An’s gate the snow stands three feet deep; the ancient trees’ branches are mottled and vivid, like curved hooks wrought from coral.
I laugh at my own frail frame, idling reclined in the wild hills. Scenes like jade trees and fragrant blossoms screen a deep, hidden marsh; over the broad wetlands fog and snow hang heavy, and I wrap myself in thick furs against the cold. The spring wind is slowly turning; the plum blossoms will soon reach their season of full bloom.
Grown old and weary, I no longer take up the brush to write poems; yet when I unroll this painting, joy and wonder rise in me. I think back to the leisurely spirit of Wang Wei’s (Tang poet, styled Mojie) Wangchuan Picture, and again I seek that far-off, secluded mood—quietly facing a lone moon, hiding myself in vast, deep silence.
Immortals of the Wei ranges once built their huts east of the Jade Grove (Qionglin); the Nest-in-Clouds Daoist (Chaoyun daozhe) painted for them a pine a hundred feet tall. In the painting the pine’s shade spreads like an umbrella over the Hall Facing the Mountains (Jianshan tang); roots grip iron and stone, branches reach like dragons.
The painter calls himself an ancient immortal of the Mud Pill (Niwan)—the seat of spirit in inner cultivation. Long ago he sought the Way on Qiong Mountain and received instruction. He seems to dwell among spirit altars and white stones; autumn wind through long vines sounds like chanting. The pine pierces the nine heavens into layered cloud-rivers; below it joins the three peaks, and far off one sees star-rivers and rainbow shadows—vast and dim. The Way of the Mud Pill has endured through ages; the immortal long keeps these green hills, glimpsing the primordial Hongmeng when heaven and earth were undivided.
Once he rode a crane over the ridges, played the mouth-organ by the Min Sea, and sought famous mountains. An old friend gladly welcomed this honored elder; gulls kept him company by the stream, and the Plum Blossom Pavilion stood above the water. Jiading’s vigorous verse is like steel refined a hundred times—intimate whispers, yet wit like the ancient wit Dongfang Shuo. Talent on Literary Mountain (Daoshan) grows lonely; may he spread his wings, rise above the common, with force enough to match whale and dragon horn in strangeness and scale.
I remember mooring on the stream and halting my return. Under the pine I drank rough wine while the stream-moon was full. Fish shadows crisscrossed in green clarity; dusk on the water seemed to carry the sound of pipes. Old trees and sparse bamboo are hard to paint; touching past and present, the heart is full of regret.
Bi Hong and Wei Yan were masters famed for painting pines; the poet alone praises the Pot Immortal (Hu xian) as heir to their art. May his later followers keep that name. At dusk, Diaoshui and the forest peaks are cold jade-green. Trees that do not wither in frost and snow are timber for pillars; those on cold cliffs, long frost-bitten, are rarer still. The poet laughs to sing aloud among orchids and magnolias, and would clip pine flowers to brew spring wine. He lifts his head to invite the old immortals Chen and Bai to share drunken delight in cloud-waves and autumn hues.
The title Inscribing the Painting of Huashan’s Immortal Palm means a poem written on a picture of Huashan’s “Immortal’s Palm”—one of that mountain’s celebrated sights.
Mount Taihua (the Western Marchmount, Huashan) was formerly called “Yue.” Here primordial Qi gathered and condensed into firm mountain mass. The roots of the range stretch westward toward Songshan and Taishan; sheer green cliffs thousands of feet high lean into the sky. The peaks slant outward like half a moon held in the palm; beside them a waterfall hangs from the azure void like the Milky Way. Towering white cliffs pierce the clouds like unfolded screens; surrounding peaks rise in layers, with Huoshan standing especially lofty.
When the Son of Heaven toured the realm, he came here many times. Ruined temple halls and ancient halls rise a thousand fathoms; broken bridges link in the distance to silent islets, old trees hang low, and the valley runs deep. At dusk, drifting clouds seem to cut off the sound of bells and drums; iron chains hang high in hazy mist. The immortal Prince Wang Qiao dwells in these hills—tigers and leopards guard the gate, stone serves as the door.
In our dynasty the realm is at peace; the court sacrifices to the famous mountains according to ritual, and specially sends Daoist adepts (yuren) to pay respect. The envoys may only gaze and bow from the jade altar (the ritual platform adorned with jade); they dare not climb the mountain, then return to the palace gates to report what they saw and felt to the Son of Heaven. Bold phrasing and fine carved stone endure for ages; not even the Qin and Han emperors’ feng and shan rites on Liangfu can compare. Mountain and river spirits send auspicious signs, so the state is secure and flourishing and the rivers and mountains stand firm.
The giant spirit Ju Ling split the rock so the river could flow; the Bright Star and Jade Maiden preside over the immortal isle of Danqiu. The Yellow River surges from the edge of heaven and whirls into eddies; the White Emperor’s golden radiance encircles the four quarters. Perilous passes such as Chexiang and Jiankuo reach toward the sky—I wish to follow them up the mountain and speak with the celestial gods. I would summon the immortals Ma and Wei and ascend on deer, but where exactly are the emerald cliffs and cinnabar valleys?
I grasp a nine-joint staff and laughingly clap the immortal Hongya on the shoulder; when hungry I eat sunset glow like falling geese, when thirsty I drink lotus dew from the jade well. Perhaps I may meet immortals in purple robes with crimson temples, and ask them to lend me a straw dragon to ride between heaven and earth. The immortal of the gourd, white-haired, marvels at how wondrously this painting is done; could the traces of Immortal Nie truly vanish? One breath of clear wind and in an instant you may travel ninety thousand li—why need one be drunk beneath the moon at Emei?
Seven-character Quatrain
On the Immortal Mood in Fanghu
I would not stain autumn mountains with rouge; better to wash away dust and let one or two peaks show plain. To grasp the quiet, non-action (wuwei) spirit of the immortals, cast off worldly grime and sit beneath a tall pine.
The true person of the Western realm has ninety thousand li to travel—why must one be drunk beneath the moon at Emei?
Seven-character Quatrain
On the Immortal Mood in Fanghu
I would not stain autumn mountains with rouge; better to wash away dust and let one or two peaks show plain. To grasp the quiet, non-action (wuwei) spirit of the immortals, cast off worldly grime and sit beneath a tall pine.
To experience the immortal way of life—that plain, flavorless realm beyond worldly taste—you should set aside the cares of the mundane world and sit in stillness beneath lofty pines.
Master Xiyu of the Western Realm: Withered Tree
The setting sun lights the ferry crossing; water meets sky. Fallen leaves drift; cold crows roost along the old road.
I take up the brush to sketch the autumn scene, as if autumn’s voice could never be fully written. Where is the angler who faces the west wind with rod in hand?
Cloud-Gully Secluded Dwelling
Green cliffs and crimson gullies stretch for a thousand acres; in the hills stands only one quiet hut.
They say the sunny window inside is where one reads; vine blossoms fall like rain, adding the chill clarity of autumn wind.
Fanghu Immortal Cliff: Bamboo Leaves
Returning by wild boat, having taken in wondrous sights; in the sleeve, a piece of green jade records the moment.
Immortals mostly dwell deep in kongqing—the blue-green mists of mountain and forest—leaving the human world only two or three bamboo leaves as a trace.
Immortal-Gazing Pavilion
Disciples of immortals seek their masters’ traces everywhere; looking back, the phoenix-like figure has already crossed range upon range.
Do not say the immortals’ abode cannot be found—here in Jiangnan is the highest peak.
Alchemy Rock
When mercury, lead, and other alchemical materials are refined to the end, all become the Golden Elixir; moss-covered cliff is the cultivator’s dwelling.
Gazing from afar at windows ringed with white clouds, the heart still longs for the Great Returning Elixir to be perfected, so that spirit may be nourished and renewed for long ages.
Alchemy Rock
When mercury, lead, and other alchemical materials are refined to the end, all become the Golden Elixir; moss-covered cliff is the cultivator’s dwelling.
Gazing from afar at windows ringed with white cloudsTo grasp the quiet, flavorless quality of life among immortals, one should set aside worldly cares and sit in stillness beneath lofty pines.
Xiyu Zhenren’s Withered Tree
The setting sun lights the ferry crossing where water meets sky; fallen leaves drift, and cold crows perch along the old road.
Taking up the brush to sketch autumn’s scene, it seems the sound of autumn can never be fully written down. And the angler—where is he, facing the west wind with rod in hand?
Cloud-Ravine Secluded Dwelling
Green cliffs and crimson gullies stretch for a thousand acres; in the mountains stands only one quiet hut.
They say beside the sunny window inside is where one reads; vine blossoms fall like rain, adding the chill clarity of autumn wind.
Fanghu Immortal Rock Bamboo Leaves
Returning by wild boat, having taken in marvelous sights; in the sleeve a piece of green jade records the moment.
Immortals mostly dwell deep in kongqing—azure hills and cloud-mist—and leave for the human world only two or three bamboo leaves as traces.
Gazing-at-Immortals Pavilion
Disciples of immortals seek their masters’ traces everywhere; looking back, phoenix-like forms have already crossed range upon range.
Do not say the immortals’ abode cannot be found—here in Jiangnan is the highest peak.
Elixir-Refining Rock
Mercury, lead, and other alchemical materials, refined to the end, become the Golden Elixir (jindan); moss-covered cliff is the cultivator’s dwelling.
Gazing at windows ringed with white clouds, the heart still longs for the Great Returning Elixir to be complete, so that spirit may be nourished and renewed for long ages.
Deep Cavern
The stone cavern is deep and vast, clouds passing through; spirit herbs and dark lingzhi—who knows how many years they have grown.
Sitting, one hears wind and thunder as if rising from beneath one’s feet, and feels that beyond this there is no other sky.
Dragon Pool
Clear, lively stream water circles the rocky flat; a pool of cold jade-green water guards moss on the bank.
Legend says a hidden dragon lurks at the foot of the mountain, once serving the god in the clouds—raising clouds and rain before returning.
Scholar’s Pavilion
This splendid hall was once home to a yutang immortal; his literary brilliance lit the deep, subtle heavens.
His prose scattered in the human realm like myriad pearls; tales of the flying whale too stir the imagination, passed down a thousand years.
Ritual Dipper Altar
The Ritual Dipper Altar (lidou tan) stands high on the foremost kongqing peak; pacing the star-step and offering rites, one seems to ride the wind. Lidou is the Daoist rite of reverencing the Northern Dipper; bugang (pacing the Dipper) is the ritual footwork.
Climbing the ridge, one no longer senses how high heaven is; raising a hand to point, one seems already amid the turning stars and night air.
Jade Court Lodge
Ten thousand zhang up, cinnabar light shines on pearl-like things; in the broad courtyard one sits at ease, as if jade lotuses bloom beside one.
Mortals vainly bow to the luminous immortal realm, hearing only phoenix and swan wheeling in the sky, with Buxu immortal music echoing.
Star-Plucking Pavilion
The star-plucking pavilion rises straight into the azure void; leaning on the railing, one gazes at the jade-like moon.
Do not say immortals’ traces are hard to find—here one can almost reach out and pluck the Dipper’s stars.
Immortal’s Bridge
The immortal’s bridge spans empty green—who knows how many years; moss and lichen cover the stone, weathered by wind and frost.
Legend says immortals once crossed here on their way to the Jade Capital; leaving traces in the human world, they ascended to the clouds.
Clear Spring
Clear spring water flows from the stone’s heart; cold jade-green pool reflects the sky’s color.
Sitting to listen, one seems to hear immortals’ zither strings; the sound scatters with the wind, entering the deep ravine.
Cloud-Rising Peak
Cloud-rising peak pierces the azure void; from the summit one gazes at the boundless sea.
Do not say the immortal realm is far—here cloud and mist connect with the Jade Capital, as if one could reach it in a single step.
Hidden Immortal Cave
The hidden immortal cave is deep and quiet; spirit herbs and dark lingzhi grow in profusion.
Sitting in meditation, one seems to see immortals’ traces; the cave wind scatters, carrying the scent of lingzhi.
Flying Immortal Rock
Flying immortal rock stands on the cloud peak; legend says immortals once soared from here.
Gazing at the white clouds, one longs for the immortal path; the wind scatters, as if one hears immortal music.
Jade Pool
The jade pool’s water is cold and clear; lotus blooms float on the surface.
Sitting by the pool, one seems to see immortals bathing; the water ripples, reflecting azure clouds.
Immortal’s Footprint
On the immortal’s footprint rock, a print remains clear; legend says an immortal once stepped here.
Gazing at the footprint, one seems to feel immortal qi; moss and lichen cover the stone, weathered by long ages.
Cloud-Mist Pavilion
The cloud-mist pavilion stands in empty green; leaning on the railing, one gazes at rolling clouds.
Do not say immortals’ abode is unreachable—here cloud and mist connect heaven and earth, as if immortals might descend at any moment.
Spirit Herb Garden
The spirit herb garden lies in a secluded ravine; lingzhi and dark herbs grow in profusion.
Gathering herbs, one seems to touch immortal ways; the garden wind scatters, carrying the scent of spirit herbs.
Quiet Meditation Room
The quiet meditation room is deep and still; sitting in meditation, one forgets the human realm.
Listening to wind and pine, one seems to hear the Dao; the heart grows clear, as if touching immortal truth.
Azure Cloud Peak
Azure cloud peak rises into the void; from the summit, ten thousand peaks lie beneath one’s feet.
Gazing at clouds and mist, one seems to see the immortal realm; the wind scatters, as if carrying immortal music from afar.
Immortal’s Well
The immortal’s well is deep and cold; legend says immortals once drew water here.
Gazing into the well, one seems to see reflected stars; the water is clear, reflecting azure sky.
Pine and Wind Cave
Pine and wind cave is deep and quiet; ancient pines shade the entrance.
Sitting in the cave, one listens to wind in the pines, as if hearing immortals discuss the Dao; the sound scatters, entering the deep mountain.
Moon-Viewing Terrace
The moon-viewing terrace stands on the high peak; leaning on the railing, one gazes at the jade wheel moon.
Do not say the immortal realm is far—here moonlight connects with the Jade Capital, as if one could ascend on moonbeams.
Spirit Crane Rock
Spirit crane rock stands on the cloud peak; legend says a crane once rested here.
Gazing at the rock, one seems to see the crane soar; the wind scatters, as if one hears crane cries in the clouds.
Hidden Stream
The hidden stream flows through the deep ravine; clear water washes over mossy stone.
Following the stream, one seems to trace immortals’ footsteps; water sound scatters, like immortal zither strings.
Cloud-Returning Cave
Cloud-returning cave is deep and vast; clouds enter and do not disperse.
Sitting in the cave, one seems surrounded by immortal mist; the cave wind scatters, carrying the scent of spirit herbs.
Star-Gazing Platform
The star-gazing platform stands on the highest peak; at night one gazes at the turning stars.
Do not say heaven is unreachable—here one seems close enough to touch the Dipper and Altair; night air fills the platform, as if one stands in the void.
Immortal’s Path
The immortal’s path winds through cloud mist; moss and lichen cover the stone steps.
Walking the path, one seems to follow immortals’ traces; the path vanishes into clouds, leading toward the Jade Capital.
Quiet Valley
The quiet valley lies deep in the mountains; pine wind and spring water sound together.
Sitting in the valley, one forgets worldly noise; the heart grows still, as if dwelling in the immortal realm.
Jade Bamboo Grove
The jade bamboo grove is dense and green; bamboo shadows sway in the wind.
Walking in the grove, one seems to hear immortals’ flute; bamboo leaves rustle, like whispered Dao talk.
Flying Bridge
The flying bridge spans the ravine; legend says immortals once crossed here.
Standing on the bridge, one gazes at clouds below; the bridge seems to float in air, connecting this shore with the immortal realm.
Spirit Stone
The spirit stone stands on the peak; weathered by wind and frost, its form is strange.
Gazing at the stone, one seems to see immortal traces carved upon it; moss covers the surface, marking long ages.
Cloud-Sea Outlook
The cloud-sea outlook stands on the cliff; gazing out, one sees only rolling clouds.
Do not say the immortal realm is illusion—here cloud and sea merge, and one feels as if standing at heaven’s edge.
Hidden Immortal Valley
Hidden immortal valley is secluded and deep; spirit herbs grow in profusion.
Entering the valley, one seems to leave the human world; valley wind scatters, carrying the scent of lingzhi and dark herbs.
Clear Wind Pavilion
Clear wind pavilion stands in empty green; the wind comes cool and clear.
Sitting in the pavilion, one listens to pine and wind; the heart grows transparent, as if touching the flavorless stillness of immortal life.
Azure Cliff
Azure cliff rises sheer; ancient pines cling to the rock face.
Gazing at the cliff, one seems to see immortals’ dwelling places; cloud mist wraps the peak, hiding paths to the Jade Capital.
Spirit Spring Cave
Spirit spring cave is deep and cold; spring water drips from the stone.
Sitting by the spring, one seems to hear immortals’ voices; water sound scatters, like Buxu immortal song.
Moon-Reflection Pool
Moon-reflection pool lies still and clear; the moon’s image sinks in the water.
Gazing at the pool at night, one seems to reach the moon in the water; ripples scatter the reflection, yet the heart remains clear.
Immortal’s Seat
The immortal’s seat is a flat rock; legend says immortals once sat here to discuss the Dao.
Sitting on the rock, one seems to hear echoes of immortal talk; pine wind scatters, as if immortals had just departed.
Cloud-Girdling Peak
Cloud-girdling peak is wrapped in mist; from afar one sees only azure cloud.
Climbing the peak, one seems to walk in the void; cloud opens briefly, revealing peaks like islands in a sea of mist.
Hidden Dragon Pool
Hidden dragon pool is deep and dark; legend says a dragon lurks within.
Gazing at the pool, one seems to feel dragon qi stirring; water ripples without wind, as if the dragon turns in the depths.
Spirit Pine
The spirit pine is ancient and gnarled; branches reach into the clouds.
Sitting beneath the pine, one listens to wind in the needles, as if immortals still meditate here; the tree’s shadow covers one, bringing quiet and cool clarity.
Flying Immortal Path
The flying immortal path leads toward the peak; stone steps vanish into cloud.
Walking the path, one seems to ascend toward the Jade Capital; each step lightens the body, as if bugang star-step were beneath one’s feet.
Jade Gate
Jade gate stands between cliffs; legend says it is the border of the immortal realm.
Passing the gate, one seems to enter another world; mist closes behind, and mortal paths are no longer visible.
Quiet Meditation Peak
Quiet meditation peak is still and high; pine wind alone breaks the silence.
Sitting in meditation on the peak, one forgets body and self; when cloud scatters, one seems to see the turning Dipper close at hand.
Spirit Herb Cliff
Spirit herb cliff is steep and green; lingzhi grows in crevices.
Gathering on the cliff, one must tread carefully, as immortals once did; cliff wind scatters, carrying the bitter-sweet scent of herbs.
Cloud-Bridge
Cloud-bridge spans empty space; below is only mist, above only sky.
Crossing the bridge, one dares not look down; legend says those with affinity cross safely, while others see only broken cliff and no bridge at all.
Immortal’s Zither Platform
The immortal’s zither platform faces the valley; legend says an immortal once played here.
Standing on the platform, one seems to hear lingering zither notes; valley wind scatters the sound, like Dao talk without words.
Star-River Outlook
Star-river outlook stands open to the night; the Milky Way seems to flow past one’s sleeve.
Gazing at the stars, one no longer counts mortal years; night air fills the outlook, and the heart merges with the vast void.
Hidden Immortal Spring
Hidden immortal spring flows from hidden rock; water is sweet and cold.
Drawing spring water, one seems to taste immortal dew; spring sound scatters, like whispered scripture.
Azure Cloud Cave
Azure cloud cave is deep and quiet; cloud enters and lingers inside.
Sitting in the cave, one seems wrapped in immortal mist; cave light is dim, yet the heart feels bright and clear.
Spirit Crane Platform
Spirit crane platform stands on the high ridge; legend says cranes descend here.
Gazing at the platform, one seems to see white cranes wheeling; wind scatters, as if crane cries still echo from the clouds.
Moon-Clear Terrace
Moon-clear terrace is open and bright; at night moonlight floods the terrace.
Sitting on the terrace, one seems to bathe in jade light; do not say the immortal realm is far—here moon and heart are one, clear and still.
Flying Immortal Waterfall
Flying immortal waterfall plunges from the cliff; water mist rises like cloud.
Standing before the waterfall, one seems to hear immortal qi in the roar; rainbow mist scatters, as if a bridge to the Jade Capital hangs in the spray.
Quiet Heart Pool
Quiet heart pool lies still as a mirror; surrounding peaks reflect in the water.
Gazing at the pool, the heart grows still; ripples scatter, yet the reflection of azure peaks remains unbroken.
Immortal’s Footpath
The immortal’s footpath winds through pine and cloud; moss covers every step.
Walking the footpath, one seems to follow ancient immortals; the path leads ever upward, toward peaks hidden in mist.
Cloud-Returning Peak
Cloud-returning peak gathers mist at dawn and dusk; cloud seems to return here from all directions.
Climbing the peak, one stands in swirling cloud; when it clears briefly, ten thousand peaks appear like a painted screen.
Spirit Stone Cave
Spirit stone cave is hollow and deep; strange stones hang from the ceiling like immortals’ lanterns.
Sitting in the cave, one seems to hear water dripping like clepsydra time; cave wind scatters, carrying cool clarity to the heart.
Hidden Immortal Bridge
Hidden immortal bridge is thin as a thread over the ravine; below is cloud, above is sky.
Crossing the bridge, one walks as if on air; legend says only those with quiet hearts and light qi may cross without fear.
Jade Pool Terrace
Jade pool terrace overlooks the jade pool; lotus blooms float on clear water.
Sitting on the terrace, one seems to see immortals reflected in the pool; breeze scatters lotus scent, and the heart grows pure and cool.
Star-Plucking Stone
Star-plucking stone juts from the peak; standing on it, one seems to reach the stars.
Gazing at the night sky, the Dipper seems close enough to pluck; do not say heaven is distant—here one feels the turning stars within arm’s reach.
Cloud-Mist Path
Cloud-mist path vanishes into mist; each step forward, cloud closes behind.
Walking the path, one seems to leave the human world step by step; when cloud parts, another peak appears, as if the immortal realm has countless layers.
Quiet Valley Spring
Quiet valley spring murmurs over stone; sound is soft yet never ceases.
Listening to the spring, one seems to hear the Dao in water talk; valley wind scatters spray, cooling brow and heart alike.
Immortal’s Dwelling
The immortal’s dwelling is a thatched hut beneath pines; smoke from simple cooking rises thin and light.
Living thus, flavorless and still, one tastes the quiet joy immortals speak of; pine wind scatters, and worldly fame seems far away.
Azure Cliff Outlook
Azure cliff outlook juts over the void; below, cloud sea rolls without end.
Standing at the outlook, one seems to stand at heaven’s edge; gazing until cloud and heart merge, one no longer knows where earth ends and sky begins.
Spirit Herb Spring
Spirit herb spring flows beside spirit herbs; water carries the scent of lingzhi.
Drawing water here, one seems to nourish body and spirit; spring sound scatters, like scripture read in whisper.
Flying Immortal Peak
Flying immortal peak pierces the clouds; legend says immortals ascended from here.
Gazing at the peak, one longs to soar with cloud; wind scatters at the summit, as if wings of qi might unfold at any moment.
Hidden Dragon Cave
Hidden dragon cave is deep and dark; dragon qi seems to linger within.
Sitting at the cave mouth, one seems to hear dragon breath in wind and thunder; cave mist scatters, and the heart feels both awe and quiet joy.
Moon-Reflection Cliff
Moon-reflection cliff faces the open sky; at night the moon sinks toward the cliff face.
Gazing from the cliff, moonlight seems to fill one’s sleeves; do not say the Jade Capital is far—here moon and heart connect across the void.
Immortal’s Zither Stone
Immortal’s zither stone is flat and broad; legend says an immortal once played upon it.
Touching the stone, one seems to feel lingering vibration; pine wind scatters, as if zither notes still drift from the stone.
Cloud-Sea Peak
Cloud-sea peak rises above the cloud sea; other peaks show only as dark islands below.
Standing on the peak, one seems to lord over ten thousand peaks; cloud opens and closes, and the heart rides the turning of heaven and earth.
Quiet Meditation Cave
Quiet meditation cave is still and dim; sitting inside, outside noise vanishes.
Meditating in the cave, one forgets time; when one opens the eyes, light at the mouth of the cave seems like a gateway between mortal and immortal realms.
Spirit Pine Path
Spirit pine path is lined with ancient pines; shade covers the path like a canopy.
Walking the path, pine qi fills the breast; wind in the needles scatters, like immortals walking ahead, unseen yet felt.
Jade Bamboo Spring
Jade bamboo spring flows through the bamboo grove; bamboo shadows sway on the water.
Sitting by the spring, one seems to hear immortal flute among bamboo; spring sound and bamboo rustle merge into one clear stillness.
Flying Bridge Peak
Flying bridge peak connects peaks with a narrow bridge; cloud flows beneath like a river.
Crossing toward the peak, one seems to fly over the void; legend says immortals crossed here to reach the Jade Capital.
Hidden Immortal Cliff
Hidden immortal cliff is sheer and hidden in mist; paths are known only to those with affinity.
Climbing the cliff, one grasps vine and stone like immortals of old; when cloud parts, a quiet dwelling appears, as if someone still cultivates there.
Star-Gazing Stone
Star-gazing stone is broad and flat on the peak; at night one lies upon it to watch the stars.
Gazing from the stone, the Milky Way seems to pour across one’s body; night air scatters thought, and mortal cares dissolve into the void.
Cloud-Returning Terrace
Cloud-returning terrace gathers cloud at dusk; mist rolls in from all sides.
Sitting on the terrace, one seems wrapped in immortal mist; when wind scatters cloud, stars appear one by one, close and bright.
Immortal’s Well Platform
Immortal’s well platform surrounds the immortal’s well; legend says drawing water here prolongs clarity of spirit.
Gazing into the well, stars reflect in the dark water; platform wind scatters, and the heart grows cool and bright as the well’s surface.
Quiet Heart Peak
Quiet heart peak is still and high; few climb it, so silence remains.
Sitting on the peak, heart and peak are one stillness; cloud scatters below, and one seems to hear the Dao in the silence between wind and pine.
Spirit Herb Valley
Spirit herb valley is moist and shaded; rare herbs grow in layers.
Entering the valley, scent of herbs fills the air; valley wind scatters, and one seems to walk in the garden of immortals described in scripture.
Azure Cloud Terrace
Azure cloud terrace stands open to sky; cloud and azure merge at the horizon.
Standing on the terrace, one seems to stand in the middle of heaven; breeze scatters sleeves, and the heart expands with the vast azure void.
Flying Immortal Cave
Flying immortal cave opens on the cliff face; inside, light is dim yet qi feels pure.
Sitting in the cave, one seems to touch the realm immortals left; cave wind scatters, carrying faint scent of alchemy and old scripture.
Hidden Dragon Spring
Hidden dragon spring wells up at the mountain foot; water is cold and never dry in drought.
Legend says the hidden dragon lends its qi to the spring; drawing here, one seems to feel vigor rise from the soles of the feet.
Moon-Clear Cliff
Moon-clear cliff faces east; at dawn moonlight still lingers on the rock.
Standing on the cliff, moon and heart both clear; do not say immortal life is only legend—here quiet and light are enough to show its flavor.
Immortal’s Path Stone
Immortal’s path stone bears worn footprints; rain and wind have not erased them.
Gazing at the stone, one seems to see immortals pass in ages past; moss covers the edges, marking years no mortal count can hold.
Cloud-Mist Pavilion
Cloud-mist pavilion stands where cloud often rests; railings disappear in mist.
Leaning on the railing, one seems to float in air; when cloud scatters, peaks roll out like waves, and the heart rides far beyond the human world.
Spirit Crane Cliff
Spirit crane cliff is where white cranes are said to nest; at dusk cranes sometimes cry in cloud.
Gazing at the cliff, one seems to see cranes soar; wind scatters, and crane cries echo as if from the Jade Capital itself.
Quiet Valley Pavilion
Quiet valley pavilion sits in the valley’s bend; pine and spring surround it with sound.
Sitting in the pavilion, one hears no mortal noise; valley wind scatters, and the heart settles like still water in a hidden pool.
Jade Pool Cliff
Jade pool cliff overhangs the jade pool; from the cliff, the pool looks like a piece of jade set in earth.
Gazing down, lotus and reflection merge; cliff wind scatters, bringing up cool mist from the water.
Star-Plucking Terrace
Star-plucking terrace is built high for night gazing; the Dipper seems to hang above the terrace roof.
Standing on the terrace, one reaches a hand toward the sky in play; night air scatters thought—whether stars can be plucked matters less than the heart’s vast clarity.
Cloud-Bridge Cave
Cloud-bridge cave connects two cliffs inside the mountain; a natural bridge of stone spans dark water below.
Passing through the cave, one seems to cross from one world to another; water sound scatters in the dark, like footsteps of immortals long gone.
Hidden Immortal Peak
Hidden immortal peak is wrapped in cloud year-round; its true shape shows only in rare clear moments.
Climbing the peak, one seems to approach the immortal realm; when cloud returns, the path vanishes, as if the peak refused mortal tread.
Immortal’s Seat Terrace
Immortal’s seat terrace surrounds the flat rock seat; pines frame it like a hall without walls.
Sitting here, one seems to join immortals in discussion of the Dao; pine wind scatters words unspoken, yet the heart understands the flavorless stillness they kept.
Azure Cloud Path
Azure cloud path winds along the ridge; cloud often covers the path to the knees.
Walking the path, one seems to walk on cloud; when wind scatters mist, azure peaks line both sides like an immortal’s painted scroll.
Spirit Stone Terrace
Spirit stone terrace faces the strange spirit stone; at sunset the stone glows with faint cinnabar light.
Sitting on the terrace, one gazes at the stone until form and heart both quiet; terrace wind scatters, and one seems to feel qi circulate like breath in neidan practice.
Flying Immortal Outlook
Flying immortal outlook juts from the cliff; gazing out, one sees only cloud and distant peaks.
Standing at the outlook, one seems ready to soar; legend says those who cultivate here sometimes leap into cloud and are seen no more—not death, but return to the Jade Capital.
Quiet Meditation Terrace
Quiet meditation terrace is broad and empty; no railing blocks the view of cloud and peaks.
Sitting in meditation on the terrace, breath slows with pine wind; when eyes open, cloud has shifted, and time seems neither day nor night—such is the flavor immortals savor.
Hidden Dragon Cliff
Hidden dragon cliff drops sheer to a pool below; mist rises day and night from the water.
Gazing at the cliff, one seems to feel the dragon’s presence in deep qi; cliff wind scatters mist, and rainbow arcs briefly over the pool.
Moon-Reflection Terrace
Moon-reflection terrace lies beside still water; at night moon and terrace reflect as one.
Sitting on the terrace, one seems to sit in the moon; ripple scatters the reflection, yet in the heart the moon remains unbroken and clear.
Immortal’s Zither Cliff
Immortal’s zither cliff echoes when wind passes; sound is like distant zither strings.
Standing on the cliff, one listens until mortal thoughts fade; wind scatters the echo, and the cliff itself seems to play Buxu for the void alone.
Cloud-Sea Terrace
Cloud-sea terrace stands when cloud fills the valleys; terrace seems to float on a white sea.
Standing on the terrace, peaks are islands, cloud is tide; terrace wind scatters, and the heart sails far without boat or wing.
Spirit Herb Cliff Path
Spirit herb cliff path is narrow and steep; herbs brush the traveler’s sleeves.
Walking the path, one must step as immortals gathering medicine stepped; cliff wind scatters herb scent, bitter and sweet, into the breath and heart.
Flying Bridge Cave
Flying bridge cave holds a natural stone bridge over underground water; drip of water marks time in the dark.
Crossing the bridge, one seems to cross a boundary between worlds; cave wind scatters, cool on the face, like breath from the Jade Capital’s gate.
Hidden Immortal Spring Terrace
Hidden immortal spring terrace surrounds the hidden spring; mist from the spring wets the terrace railings.
Sitting on the terrace, one drinks spring water and watches mist rise; terrace wind scatters vapor, and body feels light, as if jing, qi, and shen were gently aligned.
Star-Gazing Cliff
Star-gazing cliff is open to the northern sky; the Dipper seems to pour toward the cliff top.
Lying on the cliff at night, stars seem to fall into one’s eyes; cliff wind scatters sleep, and the heart merges with the turning of heaven.
Cloud-Returning Cave
Cloud-returning cave swallows cloud at dawn and releases it at dusk; inside, light is soft and qi is still.
Sitting in the cave, one seems inside a cloud; when cloud thins at the mouth, the human world looks far away, small and quiet as a painted dream.
Immortal’s Well Cliff
Immortal’s well cliff overhangs the well; rope marks on the rock are said to be from immortals drawing water.
Gazing down the cliff into the well, darkness reflects sky; cliff wind scatters, and one seems to hear old legend whisper with the rope’s creak.
Quiet Heart Cave
Quiet heart cave is small yet deep; one person sitting fills it with stillness.
Meditating in the cave, heartbeat and drip of water fall into the same rhythm; cave wind scatters thought, until self and cave are both empty, flavorless, clear.
Spirit Pine Terrace
Spirit pine terrace is shaded by one ancient pine; branches spread like an immortal’s umbrella.
Sitting under the pine, qi feels cool and clean; pine wind scatters needles, and one seems to hear immortals breathe in silence among the branches.
Jade Bamboo Cliff
Jade bamboo cliff is planted with jade-green bamboo; bamboo sea rustles in every wind.
Standing on the cliff, bamboo sways like green waves; cliff wind scatters, and the sound is like scripture chanted soft, without words yet filling the heart.
Flying Immortal Terrace
Flying immortal terrace is where ascension is said to have happened; stone is worn smooth by kneeling cultivators.
Standing on the terrace, one seems to feel upward qi pull the body; terrace wind scatters robes, and for a moment one believes stepping forward might enter cloud and not return.
Hidden Dragon Pool Cliff
Hidden dragon pool cliff rings the dark pool; mist never fully leaves the surface.
Gazing from the cliff, water is black yet clear; cliff wind scatters ripples without wind, as if the dragon turned in sleep below.
Moon-Clear Peak
Moon-clear peak is highest in the range; moon reaches it first on clear nights.
Standing on the peak, moonlight seems to wash body and heart; do not say immortals live only in tale—here moon and stillness teach the same flavorless joy.
Immortal’s Path Terrace
Immortal’s path terrace marks where the mountain path begins to climb toward hidden peaks; stone pillars stand moss-covered at the terrace edge.
Starting from the terrace, one leaves mortal bustle behind step by step; terrace wind scatters, pointing the way into cloud, as immortals’ paths always vanish into mist yet never fail those who seek with quiet heart.
Azure Cloud Outlook
Azure cloud outlook opens on the southern sky; sun and cloud meet here at noon.
Standing at the outlook, azure light fills the eyes; wind scatters heat from the chest, and the heart feels as wide as the sky immortals roam—such is the beginning of tasting their flavorless life beneath high pines, far from worldly care.
Gazing at the Spiritual Mountain
The peaks rise like jade-carved hibiscus, bright before the eyes; crystal spirit nourishes the plants, as if immortals dwell everywhere.
When will I learn to draw water from the lofty pine and cut a slice of azure from the lotus peak?
Cassia in the Moon
Golden-grain cassia blooms fragrance under the autumn moon; the moon’s shadow is cold, as if cast into a mirror of ice.
This body seems already to dwell in the palace of pure emptiness—there is no need to wait for a cloud-haired immortal to descend from the magpie bridge.
Picture of the Cloud Wilderness
Looking out, the toil of the dusty world vanishes at the broad waters; halfway up the air, faintly come sounds of sheng and crane, and all around is stillness.
Since grasping the meaning of the stringless qin, it is not only that white clouds nest in every pine—within the heart there is also a realm beyond the world.
Chess-playing Peak
Fortunate to climb the high cliff and reach the spring peak; around the stone altar clouds coil and drift east and west.
Immortals’ chess is not the game of the hermits of Shangshan; its hidden principle lies in the numerical changes of the Hetu (River Chart).
Eye-washing Pool
Gazing to the limit, every peak and blade of grass is in view; though the crane robe is worn and stained, how could mere dust defile it?
Better to take a single drop of clear water and wash away the grime of worldly kalpas—half a ladle from the heavenly dipper is enough.
Lyric: Qinyuan Spring · Ascending to Truth
Before heaven and earth had divided and the myriad things still lingered in primordial chaos, the Dao already abided within pre-heaven Wuji (limitlessness). Later Yin and Yang parted, heaven and earth each took their place, movement and stillness turned in ceaseless cycles, and the true lord who governs the ten thousand things dwelt at the center. Human spiritual nature is like a single point of light illuminating heaven and earth; once one awakens to it, one can return to the primal simplicity and wholeness where wise and foolish are not distinguished. When worldly entanglements are severed, the mind is like a jade-clear pool or a heart-pearl lit by the bright moon—limpid, settled, and able to penetrate the eight directions without omission. In the depth of night, the heart-mind is as clear as an ice jar, and true Qi (vital energy) merges harmoniously like jade liquor.
In practice, one must unite “true lead” with “mercury,” blend the water of Kan with the fire of Li; the fire dragon and water tiger symbolize the interplay of Yin-Yang and the qi of water and fire in Neidan (internal alchemy). Through intent one regulates the breath until white snow congeals and yellow sprouts fill the elixir cauldron, and the qi-current thunders through Kunlun to reach the Great Void. When the work is complete and the inner elixir’s embryonic form matures and spirit completes its transformation, one may ascend together upon the heavenly Way.
Prelude to Water’s Tune · Fahai
At the dawn of pre-heaven, without form or image—even before one’s parents were born—the unique true nature already shone forth; the light of this spiritual source endures through the ages. Though Yin-Yang qi circulates within the body and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) meet in reverse exchange, one must nourish expansive qi (Haoran zhi qi) until it fills the upper, middle, and lower Dantian (energy centers). Where the method stirs and qi transforms, it is like thunder rolling—boundless in sound and reach.
It is neither fixation on thoughts nor fixation on Buddhist dharma, still less the labels of Chan meditation. The Way is unfathomably subtle and is not lightly transmitted to the world. Do not take talisman charts and incantations as the root; one should directly awaken to the Xuanguan (the critical gate for discerning the root of nature and life) and the teaching of the ancestral patriarchs, until one’s own spirit is complete. Even amid rubble and sedge grass, one can benefit others while remaining transcendent and at ease.
Wind Through the Pines · Inquiry and Study
For ten years I have kept company with books under the lamp; seasons turn from cold to heat, and days slip by unceasingly. How often have I laid down the brush at the small window, facing worn volumes—yet how many truly taste their meaning? Beyond the curtain the wind bites and snow lies deep, yet plum blossoms all the more stir poetic feeling.
Thousands of classics and histories can all help one penetrate affairs; in study and resolve one should broaden and round out one’s understanding. I probe the “Heaven Root” and “Moon Cavern” (images in traditional numerology for the turn of Yin-Yang and the movement of heaven and earth)—from antiquity to now, in writing and in the world, how many baffling fords are hard to cross. Gather the spirit inward until empty clarity is pure; wherever one goes, one can bring the vitality of spring.
Below Chenhu Peak I built a small nest of pine amid drifting mist; once my spirit settled, I even lost track of day and night. The world’s endless rise and fall I meet with a smile, letting it pass like duckweed on water or dreams that fade. Green bamboo and yellow flowers, stream-water that seems to carry color—how much delight lies in this? When the mind is clear and still, one sees that form and emptiness both appear of themselves.
Heaven’s light and cloud-shadows shift back and forth, casting the vast sky into a single clear pool like a mirror. Through spring and autumn my heart stays at ease; I give myself to hills and streams, free as fish and birds. Wide sea, calm river, bright moon, soft breeze—the quiet voice of nature slowly recedes. Then I would step upward into the boundless distance and chant aloud at the edge of heaven.
Tune: “Prelude to Water Melody” — Inner Work
The highest Dao cannot be put into words; one can only hold to the middle way in silence. A deep, indistinct current of Qi circulates without rest, moving in the dark through the Yuan Palace—the inner seat where essence is refined. Gold essence and wood-fluid are gathered and tempered; with true earth within, lead and mercury (metaphors in Neidan for essence and spirit) are harmonized, and in a moment the work shows its effect. Trigram lines are traced, formulas applied, and thunder-like Qi is stirred. Kan and Li (water and fire) are inverted so fire rises through the jade sea, refining the empty void. Taiji (the supreme ultimate) holds true nature and gives it form; pearl-like fluid in the jade cauldron (symbol of inner refinement) congeals into elixir, until wondrous transformation joins the mysterious Dao. The path home to Pengying (the immortal isles) is walked through endless years, tasting Hongmeng—the undivided chaos before heaven and earth.
Tune: “Full Courtyard of Fragrance” — Mountain Dwelling
I put away my black rattan staff and went to find a thatched hut—and found hills and water still embracing one another. I opened a pool and planted trees; plum and bamboo grew around me on their own. Fragrant grass and wild flowers carpeted the ground; mist wrapped the mossy path to the wicker gate. No guests came—only spring wind and autumn moon, pine and chrysanthemum by a quiet stream.
Life was plain and enough: no chasing honor, no bowing to shame. I walked the woodcutter’s track or lingered in a fishing cove, sharing morning and evening with apes in the woods and birds in the valleys. I swept idle thoughts and karmic grime from the heart, wrapped my robe and sat in stillness, nurturing true breath—the Neidan practice of regulating breath to gather Qi—and let the inner elixir condense. In that free, quiet place only a lone zither and a crane kept me company; through frost and dew my face did not wither.
To contemplate that life is like a dream and to seek one’s true nature: for years one pursues this in earnest, vowing to transcend birth and death. One gathers and arranges the classics of the ancients, reading at night and reciting at dawn, probing the teachings of sages past and present. The subtlety of the Dao and the Chan school (the Buddhist tradition of meditation) differ in form yet share one root; seeing this, one need not cling to distinctions. That vast, unobstructed realm is genuine emptiness and clarity, untouched by waxing and waning.
What is laughable is sitting on bamboo chairs and meditation cushions, with pine windows and osmanthus gates nearby, and feeling oneself transcendent and pure with every step. Out of step with the dusty world, taking water and clouds as companions, resting at ease in the snow of one’s old home. Fine horses, sable furs, emerald sleeves, and cups of red wine—all such glitter passes in a blink, good for little more than idle talk. One should turn back at once to the right path; light through the curtain reveals nature as clear as the sky and mind as bright as the moon.
Man Jiang Hong · On the World
I recall the places where I played as a youth—they are no longer the scenes of old. Listening to the tide rise and fall, after it recedes a riot of color remains, as if spring never left the four walls. In halls of song and dance, one grudges how soon dusk comes; amid pipes and strings, when drunk one hates waking to sobriety. How many years have glory and ruin passed before our eyes? Grief cannot be sorted out.
After waking from a dream, worldly cares rush in together; one sighs in vain, alert to nothing. One laments boats of orchid wood and waterside pavilions overgrown with reeds—before one’s eyes, cold water and mist. Ties to rivers and lakes seem severed; the moon in heaven shines on a clear pool. Seeing that floating life is like a dream, once joy and sorrow are seen through, the heart is like still river water, no longer stirred.
Once I took a small boat to fish and drifted on the autumn waters, and saw the vast, hazy expanse of rivers and lakes. Beyond the white duckweed on the banks and the sandbars in the stream, reed flowers wore dew and maple leaves fell. At midnight I heard the tide rise and fall; the moon stood high in the sky, and from far off came the sound of the plum-blossom horn. I pushed open the awning and asked around, but old friends—wherever they might be—were already scattered and hard to find.
I set out by oar from the pasture inlets and fishing villages; the setting sun lit the edge of the town as crows flew home in flocks. In mist and rain I drank green wine and admired yellow chrysanthemums, and many times dreamed of the hills, forests, and streams of home. A high wind blew past a broken pagoda; the sea gate seemed low. Spring was nearly spent, and willows by the town wall trailed in the breeze. I returned to the mountains and woods, shook the dust from my clothes, and looked out over the empty, wide world.
On the Tune “Gazing at Plum Blossoms”: Crossing Infection
The world of dust has no bound; I have seen through worldly ties. How long can a life of show and splendor last? Karmic bonds tied across countless kalpas, and acquaintances life after life—yet so-called loyalty and affection are thin as a single cloud. I feel only shame: relying on cunning to force a win merely adds karmic hindrance. With every deep scheme I busied myself seizing right and wrong, name and gain. Creation is never partial; it is only that my own mind was dark and unclear, sunk in the bitter sea, burning and hard to bear. Now I cast all of that aside, hide among wild water and sparse woods, leave no track, and rest at ease when the moon is bright and the wind is light.
On the Tune “Unbinding Red”: Awakening
Originally, a person’s true nature is as pure and vast as empty space, extending through heaven and earth, whole and luminous. Desire and worldly distractions veil the mind, as if a pearl in the heart lost its shine and one sank into an abyss; yet the light of spirit is not extinguished—that single gleam was never far away. Sweep away distractions like drifting clouds, and nothing in the ten thousand things will block the mind; the Heavenly Heart (the originally clear mind) then reveals itself.
In the wild hills, listen to birds and flowers cry out; quietly taste what they mean. In spring, watch the blue sea turn to mulberry fields—how many times the waters have shallowed. Rise and fall of the world shift without end, yet people often stay trapped in worry and pain, wandering in a deep pit, hard to climb out. In a sudden awakening, one knows that mystery is woven everywhere in heaven and earth.
Sit quietly beside pine and bamboo and feel in silence the root of life. On the road to Caoxi (seat of the Chan patriarchate) there is no tree for shade—meaning to go beyond outer covering, not to cling to “Dharma” or “Chan” alone. When the one yang of the Kan trigram first stirs, light surges like waves. Who can grasp quiet cultivation and taking a “daogui” (in Neidan, a minute dose of medicine or elixir), and send off floating thoughts? No form to see, no sound to hear, nothing words can pin down. Such free-and-easy ease is truly enviable: resting at ease in deep white clouds, keeping company with cold springs and withered trees, dwelling in the hidden stillness of “Hutian” (the gourd heaven—a separate realm in Daoist lore).
Wind in the Pines (Feng Ru Song)
Long stuck in the river city, sick—I borrow wine but cannot drink my fill; I see sparse hair at the temples and start at the morning pin. Heat fades and autumn seems everywhere; far from the world’s noise, the slanting sun seems to shine on days gone by. In curtains hung with orchid-grass, last night’s scent still lingers; clear frost has dampened spring clothes.
The Qinhuai’s tide lies flat, green as indigo; returning swallows perch and murmur low. In curtains of white cloud, cold comes early—who will ask after me or send a letter? “Crow-script and fish-seal” means a letter, from the images of geese bearing words and fish carrying silk. When will I hear the sound of oars returning? I would drink yellow wine among the village’s southern chrysanthemums.
Editor’s note: The base text wrongly gives the tune title as “Water Dragon Chant” (Shuilong Yin).
Source text: Godners/DaoZang; Licence: Apache-2.0 · Report an error / feedback