《徐仙翰藻》

Xu Xian Hanzao is a collection included in the Daoist Canon of China, in the section “Various Scriptures on Daoist Rites and Methods.” Its table of contents lists six volumes, comprising accounts and inscriptions concerning temples, ritual sites, shrines, and monasteries, as well as rhapsodies, hymns, eulogies, prefaces, and ritual texts for praying for rain and driving away plague spirits.

Volume One contains accounts of Lingji Palace and related temples, ancestral halls, ritual sites, pavilions, and halls. Volume Two contains accounts of halls, inscriptions for gates, inscriptions commemorating ritual sites, and records of monastery construction. Volume Three includes rhapsodies such as “Rhapsody on Biefeng” and “Rhapsody on Lingji Palace,” along with writings that clarify disputed matters, refute slander, and protect steles. Volume Four contains ritual texts for praying for rain, repairing wells and temples, and driving away plague spirits and the drought demon. Volume Five consists mostly of eulogies and ritual texts concerning perfected beings, divine officials, divine generals, the Rain Department, banquets, music, and dance. Volume Six is “Prefaces by Friends.”

Some entries in Volume Five are repeated in the table of contents, which also includes the phrase “driving away the toad miasma.” The contents are presented here as listed.

The contents of Xu Xian’s Literary Works include “Biography of the Painter,” the postscript to the stele inscription for the Elder Zhuang of Lingzhou, a postscript to Zhou Zhuangxi’s Explanations of the Yi Diagrams, a gazetteer entry written in imitation of Jing Chun’s Record of Moving the Prefecture, “Written Instructions,” “On Weiqi,” “The Flourishing of the Qin,” and two pieces, “Reading Books” and “On the Ever-Burning Lamp,” both marked “missing” in the original table of contents.

Volume Seven contains poems, including “Two Poems on Ancient and Modern Verse for the Prefectural Judge of Shanglin,” “Song of the Captured Lin,” “Song of Final Words,” “Liangfu Chant,” “Joy at the Rain,” “Thanks to the Prefectural Judge Lin for the Fragrant Letter,” “Request to the Recorder Lin to Inscribe a Stele,” “Sent to the Recluse of South Village,” “Written on Zhou Tong’s Behalf, in Imitation of the City of Hibiscus,” and “Presented to Lord Lin of East Village.” It also contains several exchanges, farewell pieces, and accounts of events, such as “Reply to Questions on Grave Construction,” “Reply to Zhou Shiyu’s Questions,” “Reply to Mr. Lü’s Questions about Horses and Rice,” “Encouragement to Cai the Painter,” “Reply to a Student’s Question about an Eye Ailment,” “Entrusting Lord East Village to Write an Account,” “Seeing You Off,” “A Chance Amusing Piece,” “Reply to Questions about Livelihood,” “Presented to the Stele Carver,” “Parting from Cai the Painter,” and “Four Daoists Appear at the Altar Established by the Local Magistrate.”

Volume Seven also includes the poems “Ten Peaks of the Treasure Hall,” “Eight Songs in Praise of True Immortals,” “Ten Peaks of Jade Crag,” “East Ravine,” “West Ravine,” “Jade Kun,” “Two Poems Seeing Chen Daoxing Off to Longhu Mountain,” “Matching the Poem of the Monk Dejian of White Cloud Temple,” and “Four Chance Pieces.”

Volume Eight contains the lyrics “Hall of Kinship,” “Hall of Banquets and Joy,” “Presented to Shen Jianxi,” and “Presented to Zhou Quan.”

The works listed in Xu Xian Hanzao include poems and prose exchanged as gifts, pieces offering encouragement, and formal petitions and benedictions used in Daoist Zhaijiao (purification rituals).

The earlier titles are mostly poems and prose exchanged as gifts. They include works presented to Zhou Ming, Lin Chun, Zhang Guilong, Guo Yongweng, and others, as well as replies to questions, words of encouragement to the painter Cai, and poems presented to artisans or officials. “Poems for repaying a vow” refers to writings associated with activities such as thanking the gods and fulfilling vows.

Volume Nine contains various formal petitions. A “petition” is a document submitted to deities or the heavenly realm during a Daoist ritual. Works such as “Petition to the True Lord for Appointment to Office” and “Petition of Thanks to the True Lord for Appointment to Office” concern requesting an appointment for a True Lord—a Daoist honorific for a revered deity—offering thanks, or receiving an office. Titles such as “Petition to the Celestial Master” and “Petition of Thanks to the Celestial Master for the True Lord’s Appointment” are petitions addressed to the Celestial Master (Tianshi) or used to report matters concerning divine offices. Other documents are for celebrating the birthday of the Holy Father, praying for the safety of men and women, delivering the souls of the dead, and conducting rites of refinement and deliverance or atonement. “Refinement and deliverance” is a Daoist rite for saving the spirits of the dead.

Volume Ten mainly contains ritual texts used in Zhaijiao ceremonies. “Prayers for Peace,” “Prayers of Thanks,” “Vow-fulfillment Ritual Texts,” “Prayers to Avert Calamity,” and “Prayers for Blessings” are used to seek peace, thank the gods, fulfill vows, dispel calamities, and pray for blessings. “Preparatory deliverance” refers to a rite performed during one’s lifetime to accrue merit for one’s own deliverance after death. “Yellow Register” refers to a large-scale Daoist purification ritual; “Establishing the Yellow Register Edict and Documents” means performing the associated rites and carrying out the edicts and ritual documents. “Universal deliverance” means saving the souls of the dead on a broad scale. The book lists texts for establishing the altar and for the second and third morning ceremonies, among others. Later entries include ritual texts for a daughter to deliver her mother, for children to deliver their father, and for delivering a husband or ancestors, as well as rites for a Perfected One to express repentance, give thanks for an added honorific title, and pray for a good harvest.

Collected Writings of Immortal Xu includes the titles of various Zhaijiao rituals and prayer documents.

Volume Ten includes proclamations used when a Perfected One receives an immortal’s certificate and when a grand Luotian offering is held; texts of repentance and gratitude for an honorific title; prayers for a bountiful harvest; proclamations addressed during Zhaijiao rites to the sponsors, devotees, ritual attendants, and divine generals; notices used for ceremonies such as the Yellow Register Universal Deliverance rite, the Blood Basin Assembly, and the Ullambana Assembly; and proclamations for rescuing departed souls and informing deities of the lower realm. An “immortal’s certificate” is a credential conferring an immortal office on a Perfected One. The Luotian grand offering, Yellow Register rite, and Ullambana Assembly are all Daoist Zhaijiao or rites for delivering the dead.

Volume Twelve mainly contains petitions used when building palaces and temples, halls and hermitages, bridges, and roads. It also includes prayer documents for establishing ritual altars, seeking blessings and averting calamities, welcoming deities and celebrating auspicious occasions, holding Zhaijiao rites for a Perfected One’s investiture or receipt of an immortal’s certificate, and commissioning divine images and garments. A “petition” is a ritual document that sets out the reason for the rite, expresses a prayer, and conveys it to the deities.

Volume Thirteen is the title of the following volume.

This volume includes pieces from Xu Xian Han Zao, such as requests for books, letters of thanks, congratulatory notes, wedding documents, ridgepole-raising texts, and various lantern couplets and pillar couplets.

“Record of the Ancestral Temple of Lingji” is the title of the main text in this volume. “Lingji” is a divine title; “ancestral temple” refers to a temple where ancestors are worshipped or deities are venerated; and “record” is a form of descriptive writing.

Some entries in the contents are duplicated. The editor explains that the original contents list had omissions and errors, which have now been corrected against the main text; the corrections are not itemized individually.

The word “founding” in the name Founding Temple of Lingji means that this temple is the source of all the Lingji shrines and temples elsewhere. My surname is Xu, and I am a descendant of King Yan. For generations, my family held office in the Tang dynasty. During the wars of the Five Dynasties, I was ordered by the Son of Heaven to defend Jinling.

In the second year of Kaiyun in the Jin dynasty (945), civil war broke out among the Wang ruling clan of Min, and battles spread across the region. I led the generals Cha, Bian, and others, along with ten thousand cavalry, to Jianzhou. The following year, we captured Fuzhou. We then took a small road through the western gorge, intending to cross Luling and travel from Nantai County to Zhangzhou and Quanzhou. Local people came forward and stopped our horses. They said, “The soldiers who scattered earlier turned to violence and ravaged the people. No one expected to see the imperial army again today. If you pity the innocent and rescue them from their plight, so they need no longer wander in hardship, no greater kindness could be shown.” The army halted and formed ranks. I ordered Shang Zi and the others to fight with all their might and attack the enemy as planned. The rebels were killed or driven back, and the people could breathe again. When the army returned in triumph, the elders were still reluctant to part from us.

Later, at the repeated request of Li Changrong, an imperial censor, I wrote a memorial on horseback. I knew that the time when you would serve alongside me was not far off. The following year, as expected, I died in the army and left my mortal body. My spirit did not disperse. It descended south of Bie Peak and became divine.

At first there was no shrine there. People put up a simple shelter and placed a wooden incense burner to honor me. They never neglected the offerings on the days of Fu and La. In the spring of the eighth year of Taiping Xingguo in the Song dynasty (983), a long drought brought no rain. The seeds had not yet been sown, and the people feared for the harvest. Early in the second month, the villagers chose the auspicious day of Wuzi to pray to me. In front of the shrine was a pond, four or five zhang across and too deep to see the bottom. Suddenly clouds and vapor rose up and lingered throughout the day. At dawn the next day, violent winds, thunder, lightning, hail, and heavy rain came all at once. The people were overjoyed.

Three days later, when the new moon first appeared, the villagers went to the shrine to seek a divine sign. They found it had been swept away by floodwaters and reduced to ruins. Shocked and uncertain, they burned incense and cast it into the pond as they prayed. Suddenly, a wooden incense burner floated up from the middle of the pond. The ash inside it was completely dry, and everyone believed this was a manifestation of the divine. Soon two dragons circled around and escorted the burner westward on the water, all the way to the middle of Chuanzhu Islet. There, a ridge stretched across the stream, and the burner could go no farther. Chuanzhu Islet had formerly been called Incense Burner Peak. Magpies flew and called out as if welcoming the burner; paper offerings seemed to form a boundary, and a wondrous fragrance filled the air. At night, the auspicious sign of heavenly lamps appeared; by day, people heard sounds like the ringing of metal and stone. The residents were amazed and built a temple on that site. Later, a miraculous lingzhi appeared, and the temple was therefore named the Founding Temple of Zhi Islet.

The temple was completed on the Dingmao day of the first month in the first year of Yongxi (984). Fang Jue of the Fang family in Henan oversaw its construction. In the second year of Qiandao (1166), Fang Jue’s grandsons Fang Xun, Fang Gan, and Fang Zhong presented an account of the temple’s founding to the prefectural official Feng Li, asking him to inscribe the four characters “Protection of the Land, Responsive Manifestation” on its plaque. In the third year of Xining (1070), Zhang Guan of the Zhang family in Hejian, Chen Pengchu of the Chen family in Yingchuan, Lin Huaixian of the Lin family in Jinan, and Huang Ban of the Huang family in Jiangxia also reported the relevant events to Cheng Shimeng, Minister of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices, who then submitted them to the court. Wang Anshi was in power at the time, and the people were suffering under the Green Sprouts Law. The court had no time to address the matter.

In the eighth year of Xining (1075), Liu Yi, a native of the prefecture, became prefect of Guizhou. At that time, Jiaozhi invaded the border and seized Qinzhou, Lianzhou, and other places. Liu Shu and Zhou Ruli, then an official in the Ministry of Punishments, prayed to me together. I manifested my power and helped them in battle, and the enemy withdrew as expected. Liu Yi then submitted a full report. During the Xingyan and Shaoxing eras, my covert protection was especially conspicuous: Han Zhongwu won at Dayi, and Wu’an also prevailed in the battle at Shangyuan. Xue Bi, pacification commissioner for this circuit, petitioned the court to grant me an honorific title.

In the first year of Duanping (1234), Zhou Shuo, an official of the Left Treasury, and Zhou Sui, prefect of Chaozhou, reported these events one by one to Li Zongmian, a senior court official. In the tenth month of the third year of Duanping (1236), He Cong, military commissioner for this circuit, went to the capital to take up the post of Vice Minister of Revenue. Only then did the court respond to the matter. In the second year of Jiaxi (1238), the imperial order was formally issued, granting me the title “Lingji” and adding further honorifics. The spirits and the people rejoiced, and the court thereby made the divine power of De known.

Since this dynasty began selecting talent through the civil service examinations, I have also overseen success in the examinations. Those from my home region who passed rose rapidly through the ranks, earning the respect of every county. After the Song court moved south, literary culture flourished. Some passed the palace examination when their names were announced; others ranked among the best in the Ministry of Rites examination. Their reputations were high, and they held substantial offices. Some served in the Censorate, some oversaw the imperial treasury within the palace, some became local officials, and others served as teachers. Those who advanced even by a single rank or half a grade were too numerous to count. Later, Fang Ce of the Fang family in Henan and Wang Jie of Wanglang also passed the examinations through their literary ability. Both had dreamed of consulting me, and what they sought was later fulfilled. This shows that the merit I have accumulated for the human world is extensive and was not built in a single day.

This temple was founded during the Kaiyun era of the Later Jin, and more than two thousand four hundred years have passed since then. At first, the temple site was moved to a community altar built at Qingbu on the Yan Stream. Later it was moved again, to the east of the lane, where Lingji Palace stands today. The entire temple household has received titles and honors from the court.

My name is Zhizheng. I was granted the title “Great Immortal of the Nine Heavens’ Golden Palace, Illuminator of the Dao and Bearer of De, Manifestly Numinous and Universally Beneficent Perfected One, Prince of Jiang.” My younger brother Zhie was granted the title “Supreme Immortal of the Nine Heavens’ Jade Palace, Proclaimer of Transformation and Supporter of the Teaching, Manifestly Numinous and Widely Beneficent Perfected One, Prince of Rao.” My father, Wen, was titled Prince of Qi and Perfected One of Loyalty and Martial Valor; my mother, of the Tian family, was titled Immortal Consort of Benevolent Longevity. My wife, of the Tao family, was titled Lady of Jing State and Immortal Consort of Favorable Aid, Benevolence, and Kindness. My younger brother’s wife, of the Xu family, was titled Lady of Wei State and Immortal Consort of Benevolent Aid, Kindness, and Devotion.

I had five commanders: Cha Wenhui, Marshal and Garrison Commander of Yong’an; Bian Gao, Marshal and Garrison Commander of Wu’an; Wei Cen, Marshal of the Left Gate Guard and Military Commissioner; Zhao Zhong, Marshal of the Right Gate Guard and Commander-in-Chief; and Diao Yanneng, Vanguard Marshal and Commander of the Army. My four elder brothers were Zhigao, Zhixun, Zhijian, and Zhixun. All were granted princely titles and received sacrifices in Jinling. Their lineages and careers are recorded in detail in the History of the Five Dynasties.

This temple is the founding shrine of related temples throughout the region. “Founding” means the source. How can one forget the source and fail to know where one came from? The account of the founding of the temple has already been given above. Over time, things deteriorate, and without repairs they fall further into ruin. Now the wooden buildings have been rebuilt as halls, and the temple chambers constructed of stone, so that they may endure for hundreds or thousands of years. The cost of the project was great, and the amounts donated by the benefactors have been recorded. This was the Dinghai year, the twenty-fourth year of Zhiyuan (1287), on the Dingwei day of the eleventh month.

Twelve years later, the temple gate was repaired, and a plaque was inscribed “Founding Temple of Zhi Islet.” The old stele had disappeared, so I caused a stone stele to be set up and composed its inscription. I did so at the request of Fang Zhuangyou, Fang Fengwu, Fang Sixi, and others of the Fang family in Henan. The inscription reads:

Water flows in search of its source; leaves probe the roots from which they grow.

When the source is deep, the waters spread far and wide; when the roots are firm, the branches and leaves flourish.

This is called the Ancestral Shrine, a temple revered by the people. It has stood on this land for hundreds, even thousands, of years.

Its achievements endure like the sun and moon, and its virtue matches Heaven and Earth. Its titles and posthumous names are all recorded in the histories.

In former times, its temple title was “Bright and Divine”; now it has also been bestowed with the title “Divine and Immortal.” Wielding a sword, he brought blessings and favor to the people. How can they repay him? They offer such sacrificial foods as ping and fan, and perform the rites.

In the year Dinghai, the temple was rebuilt. Twelve years hence, our community will flourish even more.

The inscription is titled “Bright and Divine.” Now he has also been bestowed with the title “Divine and Immortal.” Wielding a sword, he brought blessings and favor to the people. How can they repay him? They offer such sacrificial foods as ping and fan, and perform the rites.

In the year Dinghai, the temple was rebuilt. Twelve years hence, our community will flourish even more.

The inscription is carved on a stone stele, preserving the account in its original order and ensuring the rites continue. Emulating the sacred peak, his fame has spread afar three times. May the enlightened sovereign live for ten thousand years.

“Record of Lingji Palace”

My surname is Xu, and I descend from the Ying clan. Ruomu, son of Boyi, was granted the land of Xu by the Xia ruler, in the area around present-day Xiapi and Tong County. From the Xia and Shang dynasties through the Zhou, generations of rulers of Xu rendered meritorious service. King Yan of Xu governed his state with benevolence and righteousness. He once received a red bow and red arrows, regarded as auspicious signs. When King Mu of Zhou heard of this, he sent troops to attack Xu. Unwilling to let his people fight one another, King Yan left his homeland and went to the foot of Wuyuan Mountain at Pengcheng. He called the mountain “Xu Mountain” and settled there.

King Yan’s descendants continued for more than three thousand years. Many renowned scholars and outstanding figures among them had their deeds recorded in history, and all regarded King Yan of Xu as their ancestor. He is also my ancestor.

For generations, my family served as officials in the Tang dynasty, all holding high office. During the upheavals of the Five Dynasties, powerful men raised armies, seized territory, fought for control, and plundered one another. By imperial command, I remained in charge at Jinling, governing more than twenty prefectures south of the Yangtze. I eased the levies, giving the people room to prosper, while ensuring that military supplies remained sufficient. The minority peoples living in the mountains and caves observed the law and order; the old and young lived in peace and enjoyed themselves, and the people joined hands in song. No one above resented me, and no one below became my enemy. The people of Jiangnan relied on me to live in peace. My merit and virtue shone as brightly as the sun and moon, and even later generations could not erase them.

In the second year of the Kaiyun era of Jin, the ruler of Min, Wang, lost his state and asked me for aid. I led ten thousand troops, advancing by land and water. The prefectures of Min opened their gates and surrendered one after another. A year later, our army captured Fuzhou. As we marched south of the gorge and passed Qingbu, local elders welcomed us with food and wine, but also told me of their grievances: several hundred defeated soldiers were hiding on the summit of Biefeng Mountain. They were violent and unruly, and seemed on the verge of rebellion. If the imperial army did not arrive that day, the neighboring villages would suffer. How many of us would be left?

So I led the army south, climbed the mountain, broke the enemy’s momentum, routed their resistance, killed their leader, and brought their followers under control. The soldiers laid down their weapons and cheered and danced. The matter was settled without a battle. The villagers had no complaints, trade in the markets continued as usual, and not a single crop or grain in the fields was harmed. For this reason, the place halfway up the mountain is still called “Battle Gate”; that is how it got its name.

When the army returned, the elders were reluctant to part with us. They remained attached to us and looked up to us, unwilling to let us go. They cut thatch to build a shrine, painted my image on the north side of Longshou at Biefeng, and enshrined it there. Morning and evening, they burned incense and lit lamps, praying for my longevity. Deeply moved, I made a promise to them: “Next year I will leave this world. When that time comes, I will dwell here and remain with you.” When the appointed time arrived, I appeared to people in dreams and showed the efficacy of my divine power. Year after year there were no crop failures, and the people suffered neither epidemics nor untimely deaths. Prayers for rain, made through divination, often received a response, like an echo following a sound. While alive, I was unable to bestow sufficient favor on the people. If, after death, I am to receive their offerings and protect this land, I must not deceive them.

As the years passed, the shrine gradually fell into ruin. Rain leaked through its roof, wind blew in from every side, and scarcely any shelter remained. Suddenly clouds rose high, and a divine dragon curled around the shrine to protect it. The incense burner was undamaged, and the image of the deity still stood upright. All who saw it found it strange. A villager named Fang Jue first built a temple in the countryside at Chuanyan and honored me with the title “Protector of the Realm, Responsive and…” This was the forerunner of today’s Zhiyu Ancestral Temple.

In the early years of the Xiangfu era, local customs and the population had changed. The elders of the village met and agreed to build another temple on the bank of the Yanxi stream at Qingbu. In the past, the stream had surged and overflowed, flooding fields and crops. I sent divine troops to clear its source and open a channel, so that its waters would no longer harm the people. That place is still called “Altar of the Community,” and traces of it remain.

Later, a villager willingly donated land east of Longshou, where the ground was broad and level and the mountains and waters were beautiful. Divination showed that the site was suitable for a shrine. Magpies seemed to carry out the will of the divine, while bees and snakes gathered there. Paper offerings marked out the boundaries, a strange fragrance spread through the air, an auspicious heavenly lamp appeared at night, and during the day a sound like metal striking stone was heard. The villagers therefore resolved to build a temple. They summoned carpenters and stonemasons, who came with their tools and began work in front of the shrine: felling trees to make boards, cutting foundations for the pillars, firing bricks and tiles, and raising the walls. The work was completed in the dingyou year of the Zhenghe era. The image of the deity was solemn and dignified, its bearing majestic. Even today, the elders can recount what happened then.

The temple was expanded again and again. In the autumn of the guimei year, when the Longxing era began, the halls were enlarged and the buildings made more spacious and deep. In the spring of the bingyin year, the second year of the Kaixi era, the kitchens and storehouses were expanded, and halls and courtyards were built, with the steps laid out in orderly tiers. The buildings became high and bright, their scale grander than before. In the renshen year, the eighth year of the Xianchun era, the work advanced further. The names of the donors were written on the beams and have not faded to this day. I have reflected on what the people of old accomplished, and it accords with my wishes. I too dare not rest content with the present. I hope to protect the descendants and the people, and help them live in peace; this truly benefits them.

The shrines and images to the west, south, and north all originated here. They were later built as branches, and many years have passed since then. Ask the elders who have lived long and seen much, and you will learn that my divine virtue has taken deep root in people’s hearts. During the Jingkang crisis, I protected the state with divine troops and showed signs like the miraculous power once manifested in the plants and trees of Gong Mountain. I also revealed omens in the form of banners and command standards. The rebel invaders were put to death, and the Central Plain was brought back to peace. My achievements were reported to the court, which rewarded me with imperial favor. But after the southward migration, the conferment of a title did not take place.

During the Jiaxi era, the village head Chao Shou Zhou Sui, together with the elders Zhang Shaobai and others, submitted a petition to the court, again asking that I be honored with a title. The court bestowed a commendation written in gold and conferred on me the honorific title “Lingji.” The prayers offered in the temple were renewed, and the rites of sacrifice became more solemn. Gods and people alike rejoiced. What a grand and glorious honor!

In recent times, the times and circumstances have changed. The people have yet to recover from hardship; how could they have the means to care for matters at the temple? The roof is damaged and the tiles are decaying; who will repair them? The walls are peeling, and the image of the deity is fading; who will restore it? If I do not proclaim my achievements, manifest my power in all directions, and make it known to the people, the shrine will continue to decline. If one day no one even attends to the food offered in sacrifice, how can this place serve as a home for the deity and a place where people pay their respects?

The villagers often consult me through divination when matters arise, asking me to descend and verify the answers by writing. I have given them six-four oracle figures corresponding to the sixty-four hexagrams of the Classic of Changes. Nothing in heaven and earth, or among the myriad things, lies outside the Classic of Changes. When used for divination, it judges matters as auspicious or inauspicious. Now that I have given the oracle figures, I have taken up my brush and written this account, entrusting you all with the charge of overseeing this undertaking. From now on, I hope each person will fulfill their responsibilities, act with fairness, plan and organize the work, and complete the project as intended. Let what has fallen into ruin be restored to prosperity, and what has grown old be renewed. I do not claim this merit for myself alone. Bringing peace to people’s lives and supporting their livelihoods, so that they may live long and prosper and their families flourish—these are all good deeds by which I protect the people.

On an auspicious gengxu day in the eighth month of autumn, the work was completed, and the craftsmen asked me to write this account. My father assisted the state of Wu and was enfeoffed as King of Qi; his posthumous title was Zhongwu. I had four elder brothers. The eldest, Zhi Gao, inherited our father’s title and was later transferred to Tang. The next, Zhi Xun, Zhi Jian, and Zhi Xun, all administered the affairs of Wu and were enfeoffed as kings; each received temple offerings in Jinling. I am Zhi Zheng, enfeoffed as Prince of Jiang. My second brother, Zhi Kua, was enfeoffed as Prince of Rao. These matters are all recorded in the histories, and the associated hidden virtue is recorded in the temple-sacrifice documents of the Shangshu, Bureau of Rites.

I have received offerings in this land for more than four hundred years. Perhaps they will continue for another thousand years; it is impossible to know. We are fortunate to live under a sacred dynasty that has unified the realm, whose people all acknowledge its rule. The spirits of heaven and earth, too, receive the blessings of the dynasty’s virtue. I look up to the imperial favor and hope that an edict will be issued to honor this devotion and fulfill the people’s expectations. I will never forget it. Three times I call: Long live the Emperor! Long live! Long, long live!

Envoi:

King Xu Xian (Xu Yanwang), the benevolent ruler of ancient legend, was gentle and modest. As a filial descendant, he enjoyed blessings that endured through generations. His virtue was free of fault, earning him honorable praise and reverence. He fulfilled people’s hopes, and the people did not forget his kindness. Three times they cried out, “Long live the emperor! Long live! Long, long live!” Then they sang:

Xu Yanwang was gentle and modest; as a filial descendant, he enjoyed blessings that endured through generations. His virtue was free of fault, and he once governed this land. Biefeng winds like a dragon to the east of Longshou Mountain. The court bestowed on him the honorific title “Lingji” in recognition of his service to the people. His newly built temple stands tall and bright, and his fame shines far and wide. People come bearing offerings of shoulders, arms, legs, bones, and other parts, and he descends to receive them. The people have not forgotten his kindness, and so they have gained abundant blessings. Thus we compose this song and pledge, and engrave these events on stone so they may endure for generations.

On the Back of the Stele

Some say that a stele inscription has a back, while others have no inscription on the back. I do not understand what counts as a “record” and what as a “stele.” “Records” without an inscribed back include the Record of Music, the Record of Learning, the Records of the Grand Historian, the Record of Mourning, biographies, and others. Only after something is carved in stone is it called a stele. Stele inscriptions and commemorative texts are usually works of grief and mourning; a “record” need not be. In the past, when Liu Zongyuan wrote a stone memorial for his father, he also carved the names of his disciples and followers on its back. It is said that Liu Hou began the practice of inscribing the backs of stele memorials; Xu Jiangwang began the practice for records. Who would dare criticize this?

Inscription on the Back of the Stele

Heaven has not allowed the way of the sages to pass from the world, and so it has used my hand to make his good deeds known. This also reveals your abilities, and I ought to encourage, select, and support you. Now Zhou Jun Zhuangxi, nominated by the Lin Dong village office, said, “Is this to bring Shen Bo back to life, or Yin Jifu?” His words were apt and expressed my meaning perfectly. Have them carved beside the seat, so that when scholars enter this hall and read this account, they will know how to strive with diligence and will not do anything that brings shame upon the spirits.

In life, a person is a person; after death, they become a spirit. Those who have served the state and shown virtue toward the people deserve to have temples built and be honored with sacrifices. When a temple has been established and an imperial decree has been granted—a title bestowed by the emperor or an order for sacrifices—a stele should be erected and inscribed with an account of that person’s deeds.

In former times, after Lord Liu (Liu Zongyuan) died, he became the spirit of Luo Pond, and Han Wengong (Han Yu) wrote an account in his honor. Though I consider myself somewhat able to follow Lord Liu’s example, I am ashamed that I lack his talent and virtue and have not found someone like Han Wengong to write my account. How, then, will those who come after me learn of my deeds? I will therefore venture to recount my own life. If a later man of letters can write an account for me as Han Wengong did, that will suffice.

Record of Preserving Sincerity.

Above the entrance to the Hall of Lingji, where the gods are worshipped, was a plaque inscribed with the words “Preserve Sincerity.” The words had been written in the god’s own hand.

One day, a visitor from afar came to invite the god to descend. After straightening his robes, he entered the hall. He saw that the inscriptions on the steles, the commemorative records, and the eulogies had all been composed by the god. He read them carefully, his expression solemn and thoughtful. Then he stepped outside and asked me, “Why are there only the two words ‘Preserve Sincerity,’ with no essay explaining them? Has one already been written but not yet carved?” He asked me to explain.

I am the god, and cannot speak to you aloud, so I will answer through a brush in place of my voice. “Sincerity” means being genuine and free of falsehood. Sincerity is inherent in people’s nature from birth; without it, one cannot establish oneself in the world. Sincerity is needed between ruler and minister, father and child, brothers, spouses, and friends. Its principle is one: seek it within yourself and hold fast to it. The way of cultivating sincerity is not beyond reach. If you strive to put it into practice, you will not fear even when thunder crashes overhead, nor be afraid when an abyss opens beneath your feet. This is because your heart holds fast to sincerity.

If even a single word is untrue or false, it is deception, not sincerity. Alas, even when people are in a dark room and think no one can see them, every movement and thought of theirs seems perfectly clear to an unseen observer. Those who truly hold to sincerity are few; deception is everywhere. If a minister serves a ruler this way, the ruler will grow suspicious. If children treat their father this way, he too will grow suspicious. And if brothers, friends, or spouses treat one another this way, suspicion will arise everywhere between them.

Once a calculating mind takes hold, even the gulls will fly away and refuse to come near. How much more so people, and how much more the spirits and gods? If you do not deceive yourself, and remain genuine and free of falsehood, sincerity will be present of its own accord, even without speaking the word “sincerity.” What need, then, is there to write an essay? The Book of Changes says, “Guard against what is wrong and preserve sincerity.” This means to prevent wrongful thoughts and hold fast to a sincere heart. Perhaps this is where the meaning of those two words begins. Do you understand? Write these words down.

The Kinship and Harmony Hall was built to uphold the bonds of human relationships. Among the ethical ties that matter most in human society, none is more important than closeness among family members. To cherish one’s kin means that a father should act as a father, a son as a son, an elder brother as an elder brother, a younger brother as a younger brother, a husband as a husband, and a wife as a wife.

Thus the Zhouguan, an ancient text on institutions and rites, records that the Grand Steward, an official in charge of state affairs, assisted the ruler in governing the people by means of eight guiding principles. The first was cherishing one’s kin. A father’s kindness and a son’s filial devotion, an elder brother’s affection and a younger brother’s respect, a husband’s harmony and a wife’s attentiveness—all are essential human relationships. The Grand Steward placed kinship first in governing the people because it is the foundation of their moral instruction.

When the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties flourished, those in high positions understood the principles of human relationships, and the people cared for one another. They were filial, kind, friendly, and respectful toward their elder brothers; they lived in harmony, with humility and courtesy. Such qualities did not have to wait until repeated practice had made them habitual. They were the result of the sages’ instruction, which could take effect without severe pressure or coercion.

From the Qin and Han dynasties onward, those who governed often sought only what was convenient and paid little heed to ritual and righteousness. The ancient sages’ teachings on mutual affection and harmony among the people were set aside and no longer upheld. Thus the guiding bonds of society were never established, ritual and righteousness grew obscure, and wrongful conduct increased throughout the realm, with its harms difficult to curb. Fathers and sons no longer lived together, brothers could not tolerate one another, moral instruction was cut off, and social customs declined. People throughout the realm gradually ceased to understand the duties owed to their kin.

People in ancient times were simple and sincere, while people today are cunning; the ancients were generous, while people today are mean-spirited. Does this mean that people today are born inferior to those of old? A sage should arise—one like Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, King Wen, King Wu, the Duke of Zhou, or Confucius—to carry on and preserve the customs of an earlier, more generous age, so that fathers and sons, brothers, husbands and wives understand the duties each must observe. Then perhaps we may once again see the ways of high antiquity in our own time.

Now we are fortunate to live under a wise court that has unified the realm and leads the people through benevolence and virtue. The court promotes the sages’ teachings, beginning by urging the people to be filial. It also permits local communities to recommend those distinguished for filial conduct and moral integrity, and to report their names to the court. The spirits hear of this and rejoice in praise; people everywhere take heed and are moved to change. Some are known for their chastity; some women are renowned for keeping their vows; and in many places arches have been erected to honor households distinguished by filial devotion and righteousness. Yet some still turn a deaf ear to these teachings. This shows that harmful customs have not yet changed, a matter that brings shame to the spirits as well.

The spirits could not remain silent about this. They therefore ordered the local people to repair this hall and build it to the east of the main shrine, to honor the spirits’ kin. Because this place encourages people to draw close to their own relatives, it was given the name “Kinship and Harmony Hall.” Anyone who comes to the temple on business may climb into the hall and gaze upon the statues; a spirit of kinship and harmony will then arise naturally within them.

When the hall was completed, this account was written to uphold the bonds of human relationships. From now on, fathers should love and guide their children; sons should be filial and diligently hold themselves to account. Elder brothers should be affectionate and respectful; younger brothers should honor and obey them. Husbands should be kind and act in accordance with righteousness; wives should be gentle, compliant, and upright. Let everyone strive to fulfill these duties, and never bring dishonor to the name “Kinship and Harmony Hall.”

On the first day of the third lunar month, the Gui-chou day of the Jia-wu year in the Zhiyuan era, this was recorded by the Reverent Immortal of Biefeng, the Perfected One Who Aids and Bestows Salvation.

On the east side of the main hall of Lingji Palace stands a reception hall whose plaque reads “Kinship and Harmony.” A scholar straightened his robes, entered the hall, and asked me, “Does ‘Kinship and Harmony’ mean, as the Record of Rites says in the ‘Fangji’ chapter, treating one’s relatives on both sides of the family with affection and harmony?”

I said, “Exactly.”

He asked again, “From one’s great-great-grandfather down to one’s great-great-grandson, are they all relatives on the father’s side?” I replied, “Yes.”

Then he asked, “Your mother’s brothers are called maternal uncles, and her male cousins are called collateral maternal uncles. Are they all relatives on the mother’s side?” I replied, “Yes.”

The visitor sighed. “People live between Heaven and Earth and are the most spiritually endowed of all beings. What sets people apart from birds and beasts is that they know to cherish their relatives on both sides of the family. Those who know how to cherish these relatives will naturally live in harmony with them. Is this truly why you chose the words ‘Kinship and Harmony’—to make people understand this principle?”

I said, “Well said. Do you understand what this means? These days, people in the world take cunning and deceit as their custom. They discard rules and rites, and cast aside a sense of shame. I can hardly believe they truly know how to treat their parents and kin with harmony.

“The Nan’gang, the Baihua, and other poems praising filial devotion and fraternal affection have long been lost, and the principles of honoring one’s parents and loving one’s brothers have declined with them. No one recites the Tangdi, which sings of harmony among brothers, and the bonds between siblings seem to have grown weak. Who still sings the Jiongsi, with its virtue of wishing, ‘May your descendants flourish in multitudes’? When a woman marries, who still sings the Taoyao, wishing that she will be well suited to her husband’s family? Who now recites the Famu, telling of preparing tender lamb to invite one’s father’s relatives and a fine ram to invite one’s maternal uncles, and expressing the affection of friends and kin gathered together?

“Mencius said that without a heart of deference, one is not truly human. So these matters weigh heavily on me, and I cannot remain silent. How can it be right to regard another person’s gains and losses with the same indifference as a Qin person looking at whether someone in Yue is fat or thin? To speak of these principles today, we must entrust them to writing, proclaim them aloud, and use the words and deeds of the ancients to admonish people. Perhaps this can keep the principle of Heaven within people’s hearts alive, like a fine thread, and leave some hope of rescuing and renewing it. This is what the ancients called moral transformation.

“To change the people of one’s own time, there is no better way than to teach through speech; to influence later generations, there is no better way than to record things in books. But when the ancients found the right moment and could put their principles into practice, they had no need to set them down in books. To write and speak about them now is truly a last resort.”

The visitor said, “Indeed. People today call the gods ‘Holy Father,’ ‘Holy Mother,’ and ‘Holy Elder Brother’; these are all the gods’ kin. Does that accord with what the Nan’gang and Tangdi express? They also call the gods ‘Holy Son,’ ‘Holy Nephew,’ and ‘Holy Grandson,’ as well as ‘Holy Maternal Uncle’ and ‘Holy Son-in-law’; these too are the gods’ kin. Does that accord with what the Jiongsi, Famu, and Taoyao express? Still, I understand that when the gods speak of kin, they mean their relatives on both sides of the family. The gods cherish their own kin; that principle is clear. But what can be done about people in the world?”

I said, “You are stubborn and do not understand. You just cited the ‘Fangji’ chapter in your question, so I assumed you knew the Confucian classics and had read the sayings from the Great Learning taught by Zengzi. Sit down, and I will explain its words to you: ‘If one wishes to govern the state well, one must first put one’s own household in order.’ It also says, ‘When a family is humane, a spirit of humanity will arise throughout the state.’ Humanity means cherishing one’s own kin. Loving one’s kin and living in harmony with them is the root of humaneness. Thus, when the gentleman cherishes his kin deeply, the people will develop humaneness; there has never been a truly humane person who abandoned their own kin.”

The visitor said, “I understand.” Then he rose and asked me to write these words down.

A woman’s reserved dignity and uprightness, and her steadfast adherence to the Way, are her virtues. Her calm and gentle speech is her eloquence. Her tireless work, day and night, spinning and weaving cloth, is her contribution. Her dignified bearing and beautiful appearance inspire reverence, beyond what words can fully praise: this is her beauty. Endowed with these four forms of excellence, it is fitting that the Lady be honored with sacrifices in the temple.

To the west of the temple stands a high, spacious hall, its roof spread like wings and its front facing upward. This is Yanxi Hall, the shrine dedicated to the Lady. Look upon the divine image within: the Lady is like fine jade, dressed in a splendid robe embroidered with exquisite patterns, adorned with pearls and wearing gold and jade ornaments. This is the image of the Lady enshrined in the hall.

Attendants stand solemnly in rows on either side of the image. Some walk, some stand still, some sit, and others rise. One arranges the Lady’s coiffure; another opens her dressing mirror. Some hold towels and combs, while others apply rouge and powder. These attendants bear titles such as Xiuyi, Zhaoyi, Xiurong, Ronghua, Zhaohua, and Shuncheng. Their offices include Dian Fugong, Dian Xixi, Nüfu, Nüshi, Nü Zhu, and Nüyu. The storehouse that receives goods is called the Inner Treasury; the one that issues them for use is called the Outer Treasury. Other attendants oversee the storehouses, the allocation of goods, and the accounts.

Silk gauze curtains hang in the hall, stirred by a gentle fragrant breeze; the silk blinds are raised, and faint moonlight glimmers through the haze. Leaning on the railing, one gazes into the courtyard, where flowers and plants mingle in shades of green and red. Lamps and candles shine brightly in the hall, the scents of pepper and orchid fill the air, and cups and dishes lie scattered. Before the guests are laid out all kinds of delicacies: this is the scene of the Lady’s banquet. When the feast is over and everyone has drunk their fill, the whole hall is joyful. The guests toast one another, chatting and laughing; the women and attendants of the Six Palaces share in the Lady’s favor and delight. The spirits rejoice, and people rejoice; when people are joyful, the spirits send blessings down to the human world.

At the annual Qingfu and La festivals, people come here to make offerings and repay the spirits for their grace. Matters of seeking children are entrusted to the Office of the Child-Sending Spirit. Those who personally carry children to their parents are all qilin sent from Heaven, auspicious signs of the gift of a child.

Ah, the Lady’s virtue, beauty, and efficacy are pure and awe-inspiring, radiant and renowned far and wide. She inspires respect and reverence, as well as affection and admiration, yet the people cannot praise her adequately in words. Surely she needs a biography by Cao Dagu, and writing by Lady Wei, famed for her calligraphy. What I have recorded concerns Yanxi Hall. Its name, “Yanxi,” is taken from a verse in the Book of Songs celebrating the joy of a banquet held by the Marquis of Lu.

It was only after the Surveillance Commissioner, Lord Chang, established village schools that the culture of learning in Fujian began to flourish. In former times, luxuriant bamboo and dense pine groves grew here. A wall enclosed the grounds to the west, the river wound past, and hillsides rose protectively on every side. Both the scenery and the terrain were unusual. Those who studied and sought learning therefore founded a small school here and called it the “Study Hall.” Lectures were held there, and no one dared set up a teaching hall unless he was a renowned scholar of the stature of Dong or Ma. Students entered in turn and advanced in due course; the courtesies of mutual deference were clearly observed.

There was originally a shrine to a local deity east of the hall. Its inscription says that this deity did not make his powers manifest by threatening people with blessings or calamities. Later, the region suffered first the incursions of the Chao bandits and then the upheavals of the Fujian troops. The Study Hall fell into ruin, and the lecture hall disappeared. On top of this, the government’s regulations were so burdensome that the people could barely make a living. Scholars gradually turned to farming; some became artisans or merchants. Even now, everyone who hears of this laments it. Fortunately, incense continued to burn at the shrine of the Northern Lord. People who saw it felt pity and lingered, reluctant to leave, so they cut thatch and put up a shelter to keep out the wind and rain.

During the Qingli era, villagers including Dun Jie began roofing the building with tiles and carving a wooden image. Half a sexagenary cycle later, Chen Zhizu and others replaced the supports with stone pillars and enlarged the structure. Donors also came forward willingly: the examination candidate Zhou Gongyi, the minor official Zhou Shixiu, Zhou Gongchong, and others helped fulfill this wish. The inscriptions on the stone pillars can still be examined today. When the work was complete, people began to honor the shrine by calling it a temple. Since the deity’s shrine had no formal honorific name, they asked me to name it. It had once been called “Responsive Manifestation”; now it is called “Numinous Deliverance.” That is how the name came about. Yet my earlier claim that this deity did not compel people through blessings and calamities may well draw criticism from others.

Though the temple’s design was grander than those of earlier builders, it still was not enough to move later visitors. The buildings were therefore reconstructed, and colored robes were made for the deity’s image. A statue was fashioned, and yellow curtains and a vermilion altar table were installed, giving the main hall a more solemn appearance. The construction date, as established by examination, was the fifth year of the Xianchun era (1269), in the year jisi.

Alas, human beings are the most perceptive of all creatures. Who does not know their own parents? Yet some people think of their parents all their lives while gradually neglecting their ancestors—how much more so when it comes to remembering great-grandparents and earlier generations? Those who farm, labor, or trade today, as well as those who can still study, should investigate their ancestry and strive to restore their family fortunes. They should not treat the fact that a Study Hall once stood here and lectures were once given as mere material for idle talk.

Of course, anyone who studies and understands principles may be called a scholar. As for Yi Yin, who came from the fields of Xin, and Fu Yue, who was originally a wall builder, they were great worthies born in response to their times; I would not presume to compare ordinary people with them. Even when Liu Bang, the Han emperor Gaozu, won the realm through military campaigns, men who had sold cloth or slaughtered dogs could offer counsel, earn distinction in the ancestral vessels, and be remembered in the historical records. This shows that those who study and understand principles can accomplish much. In my view, some people caught up in the disasters of the Qin dynasty may have used them as an occasion to conceal their names and preserve themselves. Today, the state establishes schools to educate scholars, issues edicts seeking worthy men, and has rules for selecting candidates through the examinations. Farmers, artisans, and merchants can all recommend one another and enter the ranks of scholars. I have therefore set down these events to encourage those with the resolve to become scholars.

Some say that “Study Hall” means a hall dedicated to the worship of “Li Ke Wen Zhai.” This is nothing but a baseless tale told by ignorant country folk of Qidong; do not believe it. On the day after the Mid-Autumn Festival in the third year of the Dade era (1299), in the year gengyin, inscribed by the Mountain Recluse of Biefeng.

In my youth, I was bold by nature and devoted myself to pursuing fame and office. With my bags on my back and provisions in hand, I traveled thousands of miles. I visited nearly all the world’s magnificent and unusual places, as well as the sites left behind by worthy people of earlier generations. Just as I was reflecting on this, a friend, Zhang Guilong, happened to write to me. He showed me the Collected Writings of Lingji and said, “In Qingbu, Fujian, there is an ancient temple called Lingji Palace. The deities enshrined there bear the surname Xu: one was granted the title King of Jiang, and the other King of Rao. More than four hundred years have passed since the Kaoyun era of the Later Jin. The two deities’ achievements in assisting the state, bringing peace to the people, and warding off calamities are too numerous to recount. Recently the temple had fallen into disrepair, unworthy of the deities’ illustrious efficacy. In the summer of the guisi year, I joined Shen Jianweng, Zhou Tong, Zhou Yong, Ming Linchun, Guo Yongweng, Zheng Ruxian, and one other person to discuss repairing the temple and to consult the deities. The deities manifested their aid, writing a document with a divine brush and appointing us to undertake the repairs. We contributed funds and rebuilt the temple, giving it a completely renewed appearance. The work was finished in the eighth month. The deities once again descended their brush, writing accounts of their own experiences as a preface and a record. They used hexagrams to reveal good and ill fortune, and prose, songs, and rhapsodies to exhort people to loyalty, trustworthiness, propriety, and righteousness. Every word and sentence takes as its guiding purpose the intent of Confucius and Mencius in teaching the world.”

These are truly wise and upright deities. Even the forceful writing of Ban Gu’s Rhapsody on the Western Capital, the literary brilliance of Zuo Si’s Rhapsodies on the Three Capitals, the talent Yang Xiong brought to rhapsody, and the songs depicting auspicious signs and writings praising precious jade might not surpass the deities’ works. How could such deities be treated lightly? Zhang and the other six men carefully carried out the divine instructions and had the deities’ record engraved on a stone stele. The local man Lin Digong Yannian was responsible for writing it out, and he asked me to write the inscription at the top of the stele in seal script.

In the twelfth month, the deities bestowed an ancient-style poem, saying, “The stele has been erected. Record what happened today; this is the deities’ wish.” I had not yet found time to write, when the deities bestowed another poem, in a style blending ancient and modern forms, in sixty-five sections. One line read, “Those whose names are recorded will be remembered; you may forget, but the deities will not.” I did not dare refuse, and so I wrote this record:

In former times, people offered sacrifices; today, their observance is carried on.

In former times, imperial decrees were issued; today, their words are still proclaimed.

From ancient times, people have written to urge others toward goodness.

The temple has been rebuilt; the work is now complete.

The winds and rains come in due season; we are grateful for the deities’ heavenly grace.

The people come to pray, with hearts ever more devout.

This inscription is carved here, to endure for ten thousand years.

Generation after generation will remember the deities; their grace will never fade.

I have heard this admonition: “Take the worthy and virtuous as your example.” The temple’s restoration is now complete. Whether the weather is fair or rainy, the people remain grateful for the protection of the two deities. They come to pray with ever greater sincerity. This inscription is now being carved in the hope that it will endure for ten thousand years. May people never forget this beneficence, and may its virtuous influence remain unchanged for generations.

I have heard that the Buddha once spoke this verse: “All things are already within the mind. If you seek them, where in the mind should you look?” This is because “mind itself is Buddha”: the Buddha is within the mind. As explained here, the word “Buddha” means “not a person”: the Buddha is not a person in the ordinary sense, and so has no fixed body or appearance. The Buddha’s true state cannot be grasped. It is beyond true and false, form and endurance; it is unobstructed, without fixed substance, unaffected by coming and going, and free of attachments. Seen in this way, there is no fixed place where the Buddha can be installed or found. If someone does not understand this and cannot investigate the matter fully within their own mind and nature, then saying that the Buddha is always close at hand is empty talk. If there is no inner understanding, and one merely talks about prajna—the wisdom described in Buddhism—and uses the name of the Buddha’s teaching to draw people in, while actually seeking profit and gaining no merit, that is worse still. If the entire great chiliocosm—the vast world described in Buddhism—were destroyed, what, then, would become of a single Buddhist sanctuary?

Since the Jingde and Xiangfu eras, the Buddha’s merit and practice have become widely known throughout the land. Sanctuaries have been established everywhere, images of the Buddha painted or sculpted, and offerings of incense made in reverence. Our hometown’s Hall of Abundant Blessings is one such sanctuary. From the Bingyin year of the Kaixi era to the Bingshen year of the Yuanzhen era, the calendar shows that more than ninety years have passed. That is not so long a time. How, then, has the sanctuary fallen into such disrepair? The roof leaks, the walls are crumbling, and the damp and chill cannot be dispelled. People turn a blind eye: those with eyes refuse to see, and those with hands refuse to point it out. They are like the people of Yue, who saw whether the sacrificial animals were fat or thin and felt no concern. Have they never considered that the daily labors of the ancients—carrying water and gathering firewood—could not have been accomplished in a single day?

The vows of the Buddha’s teaching say that all Buddhas begin their practice amid hardship when they appear in the world; even if their knees and foreheads are injured, they feel no shame. With this illusory body of mine, I was unwilling to occupy in vain a fine place bestowed by the king. So I went to the rocky mountains of Nan’an and found a stone chamber in which to dwell. Seen in this light, building the Hall of Abundant Blessings adds nothing to the Buddha’s realm; its destruction would take nothing away from the Buddha. It is simply that, through the Buddha’s wisdom, one can see that human nature is like this. If a person’s mind is like that of a yaksha or rakshasa, the demons of Buddhist legend, how could they be fit to speak of the Buddha?

In the Tang dynasty, the monk Zhigong expounded the Dharma with the Great Scholar Fu on Yunhuang Mountain. At the time, a mendicant monk from Mount Song rose from his seat, bowed, and knelt to ask, “What karma have beings in the latter age committed to fall into the Saha world—the world of suffering described in Buddhism—and endure hardship for long kalpas? What skillful means can save them?” Zhigong replied, “In the latter age, those who do evil are many, while those who form wholesome connections are few.” The Great Scholar Fu said, “These beings have brought this condition upon themselves.” His words were indeed right.

I now expound the Dharma widely for all beings, hoping to guide everyone toward awakening. If good men and good women arouse the mind of anuttara-samyak-sambodhi—the aspiration for unsurpassed, complete enlightenment—and give the seven treasures found in as many worlds as there are grains of sand in the Ganges, without delusion or attachment in their hearts and without turning back, then how could the merit gained through adorning the Buddha land by this cause and condition be measured? I speak no falsehood; these are true words. Listen carefully, each of you, and take the Buddha as your own mind.

Then I offered another verse of the Buddha: “I have a wholesome root, and it is arising from the heart.” Do you understand? This means: “Mind itself is Buddha.” In the third year of the Qiandao era, the Buddha was bestowed the title “Bodhisattva of Constant Light, Perfect Response, Universal Compassion, and Aid.” He is commonly known as the Holy Lord in White Robes, and also as Pangu, the Buddha of Constant Light. I respectfully write this Record of the Sanctuary at the Hall of Abundant Blessings for the Buddha, and have it carved before the hall to encourage the people of the world.

Record of the Pavilion of Visiting Guests

Someone once asked Han Wengong (Han Yu) to write a record. Everyone regretted that they had not seen a portrait of the Sage Lord, they said; they also said that the Sage Lord was known as “Pangu, the Fixed-Light Buddha.” Yet you dared to write Record of the Hall of Abundant Blessings for a Buddha, and carve it before the hall to exhort the world.

Record of the Pavilion of Visiting Guests

Someone asked Han Wengong to write a record. Everyone felt it was a pity that they had not seen the actual painting with their own eyes, while you alone were pleased. In truth, Han Wengong’s writing can convey a person’s appearance and character with great completeness. If one pictures the subject from his words, the actual painting seems to appear clearly before one’s eyes. Your delight came from understanding why Han Wengong wrote a record for the pavilion. All things are destined to perish; only writing can endure. This is indeed true.

The writing of the Perfected One of Lingji is elegant and finely wrought, already complete in itself. But parts of the pavilion wall are damaged and others need repair. Someone measured it horizontally and vertically with a tablet, and worked out that the area was about the size of more than seventy court tablets. Several gentlemen did their utmost to restore it, and asked me to paint it. Thinking of their long-term interests, I considered that one wall of the pavilion stood exposed in the open air, bound to suffer from violent winds and driving rain and, in time, to be damaged. If Han Wengong’s words are to be passed down, then even if the painting should one day disappear, fortunately my written record will remain, allowing later generations to learn about it. Surely setting this down is more than a mere account?

Now we rejoice in the age of a sage dynasty, which has unified the realm and made its power resplendent. The countries of the South Sea bring forward the products of their lands, and spirits and men alike leap with joy. An age of peace has returned. I offer this painting as a celebration of the present day. It depicts a pavilion whose plaque reads “Visiting Guests.” Locust trees stand in front of and behind the pavilion, giving rise to the name “Locust Market.” On its east and west sides are ceremonial gates, one called “Delighting Those Nearby,” the other “Cherishing Those Afar.”

The painting shows steep peaks, rugged rocks, and a long post road. Travelers pass to and fro in an unbroken stream, stretching along the road. The envoys from the countries of the South Sea are shown in their distinctive dress and appearance. The two men riding elephants are called foreign officials, and each has a seal-bearer at his side. Four others use golden hooks to guide the elephants; they are called elephant keepers, or elephant attendants. One man on the left holds aloft a banner reading “Bearing Treasures,” while another on the right raises a banner reading “Presenting Gifts” with both hands clasped. Two carts are driven by four men. There are also two parasol bearers and two interpreters, responsible for translation and communication. The remaining members of the group are barefoot and bare-chested; thirty-six of them wear cloths around their waists woven with multicolored designs.

Their offerings include giant tortoises, ivory, great sums of wealth, southern metals, rhinoceros horn, patterned armor plates, kingfisher feathers, silver, and aromatics such as sandalwood, aloeswood, and quick incense. There are also all manner of rare and strange treasures, exquisitely crafted and splendid, prized by the world: the He Clan’s jade, the Marquis of Sui’s pearl, and Shi Chong’s coral trees. Among the vessels and objects are golden plates, silver basins, glass bowls, pearl curtains, and pagodas of the Seven Treasures. Some are brought by cart; others are wrapped in mats and protected in felt blankets. Carried across seas and over mountains, they are piled inside the pavilion, their lights and colors mingling until they are too numerous to count.

According to the system of the Huai-fang officials described in the Rites of Zhou, those in charge of presenting tribute should have a number of attendants: a middle-ranked officer, clerks, record keepers, assistants, and laborers, each with a separate duty and assigned tasks suited to their abilities. Yet here, it seems, only two people are in charge, with just two attendants. I think they must be exceptionally capable; otherwise, how could they shoulder all these responsibilities on their own?

Pine trees surround the pavilion, and willows line the road. Seen from afar, the landscape is hazy, like cloud-wreathed mountains tens of thousands of miles away. The market bridge is like a ribbon, and the stream like white silk. The pavilion has railings adorned with jade and vermilion balustrades. Its carvings are exquisite, its raised halls lofty, and its buildings arranged in orderly rows. Inside the pavilion, the painting also depicts the five great marshals—Zha, Bian, Zhao, and Diao—setting out on campaign. Warriors lead the way, with cavalry gathered behind them; their splendor is dazzling and their presence awe-inspiring. The painting shows the civil spirit following the might of the divine beings and spirits: repaying the state’s favor, protecting this land, and bringing blessings to its people.

Still, this painting could not have been conceived in a short time, and making it must have required great toil. Though I admire it, I still want to write a record like Han Wengong’s, preserving its general outline. Then why should we fear that violent winds and driving rain will damage the painting over time? Gentlemen who come here in later generations will surely read this record. By reading it, they will understand how to preserve the painting; by preserving the painting, they will praise the dynasty’s abundant Virtue, high as the heavens, deep as the earth, and bright as the sun and moon. As for the Nine Yi, Eight Di, Ten Rong, and Six Man, and the remote and desolate lands beyond the sea, all of which have been brought within the realm and come at the proper seasons to offer tribute and submit to the court—these matters cannot all be recorded in this text or depicted in this painting.

On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival in the year Tuntan, the sky was clear and the moonlight as bright as day. The Man of Biefeng personally recorded how he painted The Pavilion of Visiting Guests, and had the account carved at Lingji Temple.

Qilong Mountain seems to form one flank of Biefeng Mountain. On the mountain stands a temple called the Palace of the King Who Prays for Rain, also known as Longmen Shrine. It is the traveling shrine of the royal lord enshrined at Lingji Palace in Xiangdong.

In the seventh year of the Xuanhe era under the Song, the year Yisi (1125), no rain fell from summer through autumn. The people worried about the drought and feared their crops would fail. They had made offerings to every kind of deity, yet still hoped in vain for rain. Then the village elders conferred with one another: “At the temple in Xiangdong is enshrined the King Who Protects the Region and Responds to Prayers. His divine power can repel disasters and protect the people, and he has always answered those who seek his aid. With the drought now so severe, how can we delay preparing sacrificial animals and jade offerings, and performing the rites?”

On the day Ren Shen in the seventh month, the first day of the month, the new moon appeared. The people purified themselves through fasting and prayed with sincere hearts. In the temple courtyard they offered sacrifice, asking the deity to pity the innocent people suffering hardship. As soon as the prayer ended, clouds and mist quickly spread everywhere. Thunder and lightning broke out, and torrential rain poured down. In the distance, a divine dragon suddenly appeared south of the mountain, with a yellow banner rising above it. On the banner were written in large characters the five words “King Who Protects the Region and Responds to Prayers.” This was the former title bestowed upon the King of Lingji.

Three days later, on the day Jia Xu, the rain stopped and the sky cleared. That autumn brought an abundant harvest: the rice yield doubled, the fields were full of grain, and the storehouses were filled. The elders of the fields and countryside turned toward the north, dancing for joy, bowing, and prostrating themselves. At the winter solstice in the eleventh month, the emperor personally ordered an altar to be established in a mountain hollow on Qilong Mountain, with monthly sacrifices to repay the deity for the blessing of a plentiful harvest.

Another sexagenary cycle later, the people built a temple, grand and dignified, so they could honor the deity there for generations to come. Qilong Mountain received its name because the gods had once manifested their miraculous power through a banner and a dragon. When people prayed for rain, rain came; the deity’s responses never failed. The people of the district petitioned the authorities, who accordingly submitted the title “Palace of the King Who Prays for Rain” to the court. The temple was also called Longmen Shrine. This is an account that capable and respected people of the locality, who value worthy achievements, have all hoped would be recorded.

According to the “Rites for Sacrifices,” mountains, forests, river valleys, and hills that can gather clouds, raise winds, or display unusual signs are called spirits; some are included in the state’s sacrificial rites. This deity has now manifested his power through a banner and a dragon, bringing timely rain and turning drought into good fortune, disaster into peace, and restoring the people to life and vigor. The temple has stood for more than four hundred years, and the people have continually honored the deity in gratitude. Who would dare forget or neglect him?

As the years passed, the shrine gradually fell into disrepair, and the image of the deity grew indistinct, unworthy of his miraculous power. Lin Chun and the others who oversaw the sacrifices had received many favors from the deity. Looking back, they felt they had not fulfilled their duty to serve him, so they gathered the villagers to discuss rebuilding the shrine. They prayed to the deity, who accepted their sincerity and sent down words through the spirit-writing brush. The writing mingled seal script with clerical script and was strange and difficult to make out. The people asked that it be written instead in ordinary script, and received a parallel prose text. Some saw it, yet acted as though they had not.

In the first month of the Yuanzhen era, the first year (1295), preparations for rebuilding the temple were complete. The people from the eastern and western neighborhoods worked together, raising funds in harmony and instructing craftsmen to repair the old temple and add new structures. On the twenty-fourth day of the twelfth month, the day Gui Hai, which coincided with the Start of Spring in the following year, the work was finished the next day, Jia Zi. They asked me to write an account.

As a deity, how could I dare boast of myself and use this to win people’s favor? I simply dwell here in peace and enjoy sacrifices for a long time. The people’s hopes for long life, abundance, safety, and comfort—I will surely fulfill according to their wishes. As for the deity’s lineage, rank, and place of origin, these are all clearly recorded on the stele at Lingji Palace in Xiangdong, and can still be consulted even a hundred generations from now. Your name has already been carved into the stone stele. What more is there for me to say? I will simply record these events as an account of the traveling shrine of the King of Lingji on Qilong Mountain. The temple is called the Palace of the King Who Prays for Rain.

Preface by the Perfected One of Lingji, Great Immortal of Biefeng Mountain.

The Record of the Temple of the Worthy and Sagely King of Lingji states that a stele was erected so the divine being’s merits might endure through the ages. Since the Xiangfu era, people had repeatedly prayed to the deity for blessings and relief from calamity, and their prayers had been answered. During the sacrifices, they also prayed to the deity east of Longshou Temple, whom the court had bestowed with the title “Worthy and Sagely One of the Jade Gate of the Three Heavens.”

The Perfected One Gao Xianwei, whose numinous power is broad and who grants universal aid, is the later incarnation of the Lingji deity. Although the deity had been entered into the state’s official register of sacrifices, there were at that time no dedicated liturgical texts for the rites. During the Shaoxing era, temples were established separately in the west, south, and north. In the Jiachen year, the sixth year of Shaoxing, the northern temple was built, with local residents including Kong Man and Qieshuo taking part. Lin □ also left a record of the undertaking. Ninety-eight years later, the temple had nearly fallen into ruin, but it was rebuilt. The names of those who donated funds and helped with the work can still be verified. By the reckoning of the years, another sixty-seven years have now passed.

In the second month of the third year of Dade, eight days before the community festival, Zeng Chen, Fu Long, and others led fellow villagers to the temple’s eastern courtyard, carrying a stick of incense and taking charge of the rites. They prayed to me, saying, “This temple has long lain in disrepair. We wish to restore it, but we have not yet obtained an auspicious omen, and dare not begin the work.” I urged them, “It is auspicious.” They then asked me to compose an account of the matter and have it carved on a stele, and I did not refuse. The sacrificial text says:

The sacred dynasty has unified the realm, peace reigns in every quarter, and Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries have all been rebuilt. Shrines have been established in the villages, giving the spirits a place to dwell and bringing peace to the region. In the year known as “Deep Offering,” the handle of the Northern Dipper points toward the Yin position. The people are to hold a sacrifice and pray for blessings, and the offerings have already been prepared.

Yet seeing the divine images neglected for so long, blurred and stained, the roof tiles broken and the walls grimy, the whole building tottering in wind and rain, I cannot help but worry. I feel almost unworthy of carrying out the duty of this sacrifice. So I sought the people’s opinions and consulted the spirits: first I divined with milfoil stalks, then with a tortoise shell, weighing the matter’s urgency and importance and deciding what should come first. The answers remained unclear for a long time; only I trusted in the spirits’ intent. The spirits are subtle and unfathomable, making no sound and showing no form. How could I invoke their names falsely, boast of their deeds, and mislead the people? Thinking of the protection I have received from them, I truly do not know what to say.

Later, Hui Ping oversaw the writing in clerical script, with fish-shaped and bird-shaped characters carved among the inscriptions. On the Yi-Chou day of the second month, an auspicious date and hour were chosen, and the builders began work. They leveled the raised places, filled the cracks, repaired what was old and added new features. Then they coated the surfaces with white earth and painted them with cinnabar. The spirits lent their aid and dispelled uncertainty, corresponding above to the four stars in the heavens. When the people take action, they can receive blessings and good fortune.

On either side of the shrine, dancers bearing shields and feathers guarded the village. Six immortals, adorned with pearls and kingfisher feathers, danced to the sound of reed pipes and song. The music of “Cloud Gate” was performed nine times, and a table’s worth of fine delicacies was set out. Various acrobatic acts followed one another, their performers appearing fierce and imposing. The spectators came in an unbroken stream, with carriages and horses crowding the road. Young and old played and laughed, all wearing joyful expressions. When the work was successfully completed, I recorded what had happened. My writing, however, is plain and vulgar, as clumsy as Xi Shi clutching her heart. Which spirit do I mean? It is the Perfected One of Lingji.

East of the Dragon-Head Temple stands an inscribed stele recording these events. If the deeds of divine sages are not recorded, those who come after us will never know their names. The Perfected One of Lingji was a direct descendant of Chengyou. His ancestral home was Gushi, and his family later moved to Fujian. His family served as officials for generations, and the Perfected One was once recommended for his filial conduct and integrity. Lord Liu, the military governor, invited him with banners, gifts, and a covered carriage drawn by a single horse. Though summoned repeatedly, he refused to take office, regarding wealth and rank as clouds in the sky.

The Perfected One later chose a site on Turtle Peak for his home and cleared the land to make fields. His conduct was pure; he was not ashamed to eat coarse food. Born with the bones of an immortal, he once studied the arts of immortality under Woquan. A volume called Dragon Ridge records the methods of cultivation that lead from the azure to the mysterious. West of the Gorge River, he could walk amid flying cascades and rushing waters without wetting his clothes or sinking, as though treading on air. Such deeds are astonishing and beyond measure. He rejected the clamor of the mundane world and became renowned for his Daoist arts. Having heard the Dao, he would have had no regret even if he died that very evening, and in the end he returned to his original nature. One day, he ascended to immortality, leaving his body behind like a cicada shedding its shell.

From the Jiande era onward, people often received the Perfected One’s guidance in dreams. Calamities and baleful influences were driven away, prayers for rain were answered, the Five Grains flourished, and the people benefited. Grateful for the spirit’s grace, the people made their sacrifices on time in autumn and winter. At first, the rites at the shrine had not been formally established. Later, the Perfected One was worshipped together with the other spirits in the main hall. Records of the old titles show that they date back to the Shaoxing era. The temple built then was solemn and majestic, and its reputation became renowned.

In the first year of Shaoding, the temple roof was damaged and nearly collapsed. It was therefore rebuilt to its former plan, on a scale equal to the original. Those who admire the worthy and seek the way of the sages truly deserve an honored title. The people revere his De, while the authorities preserve the shrine and maintain the sacrifices. The spirits’ awe-inspiring power should be honored with undivided devotion. From this day onward, the sage may be looked up to as one who has attained the heavenly Dao. The Perfected One of Lingji has completed his meritorious deeds and embodies many divine virtues, standing alongside the three spirits of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity.

The Wu day is auspicious; the rice and grain for the sacrifice are clean, and the pepper is fragrant. Though the people have labored for the rite, they have indeed fulfilled their wish. From this day onward, let this inscription be carved in stone, so that later generations may follow its example. Though supernatural events are strange, they arise through human ties and circumstances. May the court bestow a title, so that its eight characters may bring him honor throughout the world. Finally, we bow in reverence and pray that the Son of Heaven may live for ten thousand years.

I once attended the Heavenly La Festival, a Daoist purification and sacrificial assembly held on the day of Heavenly La. As I was preparing to leave and return home, a visitor suddenly appeared. He wore gold ornaments at his waist and a purple robe, and stood respectfully below the hall. Raising his voice, he said, “In life, one is a person; after death, a ghost. The ghost of a gentleman would surely never dare bring harm to others; the ghost of a petty person would not manifest its power either. There is an inscription at the temple in the west, and steles have been erected in the north and south. I fear I am about to decay along with the grass and trees.”

Hearing this, I ordered those beside me to invite him in. The visitor proved to be a righteous spirit named Shejiao Shrine. I went down, took his hand, and welcomed him into the hall. “Had you not spoken,” I said, “I might have missed you entirely. A man in patched clothes and a Confucian cap would find it hard to make his way in Yue. The world is such now that unless one is crooked and ruthless, relying on force and bullying others, it is difficult to get by; unless one calculates every last detail, it is difficult to make a living. Your charge is to establish the state through farming: sow in spring, weed in summer, harvest in autumn, and store provisions in winter. You labor tirelessly all year, with no time for rest. Heaven’s gate lies ten thousand li away. Who will make long-term plans for you or plead your case? And who is Zhang Fang, that he dares to command you? The magpie has spiritual power, yet cannot escape the toil of filling the river; the tortoise has spiritual power, yet cannot escape the misery of being propped beneath a bed. Why does the rooster not crow? Why does the dog not bark? Why does the ox pant? Why is the horse weary? To bear a charge like yours is truly a hardship. If you really expect someone to pray to you in private with a pig’s trotter and a cup of wine, how could such a wish ever come true?”

“Still, even when farmers face floods or droughts, they certainly do not stop plowing. You oversee agriculture; how can you be content with pleasure and neglect your duty? Why seek a reputation by putting on a show to please the world? From now on, so long as there is a harvest each year, the sacrifices will flourish. They will last for far more than a hundred generations; they will endure as long as Heaven and Earth.”

I commended you for fulfilling your duty faithfully, wrote an inscription for the plaque, and named this place “The Shrine of Shejiao, Supervisor of Agriculture.” The shrine was first at Wufu Rock and was later moved here; it has stood for some years. The date of its rebuilding can be verified from the inscription on the roof beam, so I will not repeat it here. Written by the Man of Biefeng Mountain on the day after the Heavenly La Festival in the year Bingyin.

Record of the Temple of the Elder of Qilong Mountain, Director of Agriculture

The elder’s surname was Gong, and his personal name was Chengzan. He was a loyal remnant of the Tang dynasty from Wang Rong of Futang. In the fourth year of the Qianning era, he passed the Hongci examination and rose to high office. During the wars of the Five Dynasties, local strongmen carved out territories for themselves. The state was in peril, politics were in disarray, and public morals steadily declined. The elder therefore left his wife and children, departed from his ancestral graves, concealed his name, and gave up the pursuit of fame and office. He traveled north toward the Bailu area, crossing mountains and hazards, and eventually chose a site halfway up Bie Peak to build a house. He called the place Qilong Mountain. The mountain’s level, open ground and quiet streams suited him perfectly.

The Wang ruler of Min once brought gifts and invited him to enter government service, but the elder firmly refused. During the Yonglong era, the Wang brothers fell into internal conflict, and fleeing soldiers scattered through the mountain forests. They had heard of the elder’s noble character and did not dare enter or cause trouble when they passed his door.

During the Tianfu era of the Later Jin, Tang forces marched south to campaign. The village elders, fearing the calamities that war would bring, asked the Tang army to intervene and restore order. The elder put on Tang court dress and went to pay his respects to the two kings. He later became the deity people call the Perfected One of Lingji, whom they worship in Daoist tradition. After the Wang ruler regained his throne, he appointed the elder to a post in his administration, but the elder would not accept a salary. He cleared the mountain, opened fields, and farmed them himself. When the harvest was good and grain plentiful, he shared it with neighbors who lacked food.

The elder treated people with kindness and generosity, and everyone in the village praised him. In the eighth year of the Tianfu era, a shooting star suddenly fell beside his home. Knowing that his allotted years were near their end, the elder donated the fields he had cultivated himself to Heshan’s permanent estate, land set aside to sustain a temple or shrine over the long term. He intended the income to support offerings and memorial observances for himself. He hoped that the two Perfected Ones of Lingji would protect this land, and that he too might be enshrined alongside them.

The elder carried out the duties of Director of Agriculture, overseeing farming and crops. He was responsible for rain and drought and also watched over the cattle, always diligent and conscientious. After years of neglect left the shrine dilapidated and crumbling, village elders joined in rebuilding it. Timely rain and wind, abundant grain harvests, thriving livestock, and the sound of roosters and dogs throughout the village all show how long the elders have enjoyed the elder’s protection.

And who brought about such good customs as kind fathers and dutiful sons, affectionate elder brothers and respectful younger brothers, upright husbands and faithful wives? Perhaps the elder was a reclusive sage like Zheng Zizhen or Yan Junping. Since the elder has become a deity, someone asked me to write this record for him. I have set down his life so that it may be passed on to later generations. Written by Xu Zi, the Elder of Bie Peak, on the Laba day of the twelfth month, in the second year of the Dade era.

In the year called “Great Offering” in the ancient calendar, on the night of the Shangsi Festival, when people performed purification rites, a man from the village came to me with a stick of incense to make a prayer. He said, “The old ancestral house where I live has stood for seventy or eighty years. A plaque once hung there, bearing the words ‘Hall of Lasting Celebration.’ Now it is weathered and dilapidated, and looks rather shabby. I wanted to have it restored, but somehow I have never managed to do so.”

I praised him for carrying on his ancestors’ aspirations, then told someone beside me to grind a full inkstone of rich ink. Using a reed stem as a brush, I wrote the two characters “Gathered Spring” in a single stroke, each as large as a peck measure.

“Gathered Spring” means that all things between Heaven and Earth are filled with spring. Insects begin to stir; creatures that have lain dormant awaken; plants sprout; shells are shed. All things naturally flourish, grow, and take shape. Who brings this about? Do you know how spring comes into being?

The man replied, “I do.” But after returning home and thinking it over, he felt he had not truly understood. So he put on his formal clothes and came back, saying, “I am dull-witted. Please explain more clearly what you said just now.”

I said, “The springtime of all things depends on Heaven and Earth. People live between Heaven and Earth, and are only one among all things. Even spring itself does not know why it becomes spring for all things; how could a person easily understand? Your question is truly puzzling. Sit down, and I will explain.

“Heaven and Earth bring spring into being through spring Qi: it is gentle and harmonious, bright in its nature, and nurtures and shelters all things. That is why all things can grow when spring comes. If the Qi is fierce and scorching, that is summer, not spring. If its mood is bleak and cold, that is autumn, not spring. If it is bitterly cold, pressing and harsh, that is winter, not spring. Without spring, how could anything grow? The same is true of people. You must understand this.

“A father should be a father, a son should be a son, and husbands, wives, elder brothers, and younger brothers should each fulfill their proper roles. This is the great Dao of human relationships. Make filial devotion, kindness, affection, harmony, and humility your foundation. Once the roots are firm, when the spring breeze stirs, the branches grow long, the leaves flourish, the flowers bloom beautifully, and fruit is borne. If the foundation is unstable, even constant spring rain and daily watering will be of no use.

“So how could people fail to cultivate and carefully nurture their foundations? Only then might they accomplish something. Zizhang, if you can put this principle into practice and bring everyone living under one roof into harmonious unity, that will be a springtime that does not wait for spring. It can also accord with the springtime of Heaven and Earth. Why should you worry that your household will not flourish, grow, and come to fulfillment?”

As he listened, the man suddenly felt everything clear. He took the essay home and hurriedly found a brush to copy it down. He told his family to set out wine and dishes, and held a banquet in the Hall of Gathered Spring. Young and old sat in order, urging one another to drink and raising their cups by turns. The man was not quite drunk when he called a boy to bring water so he could wash his hands and rinse his mouth. Then he began reading the essay aloud. His voice was slurred, but he still wanted his family to hear. He slapped the table and cried, “Though I am not yet drunk, I am glad there is no discord among us. In my heart, I know that today I have truly found spring. From today to tomorrow, and from tomorrow to the day after, may there be spring every day. From this year to next year, and for ten thousand generations, may there be spring every year. I have found this spring, and so have all of you; only then will we have lived up to the name of this hall.”

When the banquet ended, the family clapped and laughed as they rose.

Written by the Old Man of Biefeng.

End of Volume Two of Xu Xian’s Elegant Writings.

Door Inscription

Be loyal and trustworthy in speech, sincere and respectful in your actions, solemn and modest when greeting others, and proper in your appearance. Whether cultivating yourself or dealing with others, be kind and circumspect. Each day, reflect three times on what you have heard, seen, and thought. Strive to seek knowledge and put it into practice; then you can admire the worthy and aspire to the realm of the sages. Take Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou as models in your undertakings, and Yan Hui and Min Ziqian as models in your virtue. Build up good deeds and pass them on to future generations, and blessings will remain in your family. These words have been carved on the door so that descendants may keep them in mind.

Record of the Shoutian Yuyan Daoist Monastery

Qingcong, the Great Master of Universal Illumination, was styled Shijing and bore the lay surname Bi. He came from Youyang in Putian, where his family had been scholars for generations. As a young man, he studied at the prefectural school in Sanshan. Those he associated with were all exceptionally gifted and distinguished in bearing. Later, as the times changed and literary pursuits declined, he set aside his studies and became a monk. At first he studied with Master Zhenwen of Dongshan; later he received the Dharma seal from Master Guangzhi of Yuzhong. Qingcong was clear-minded and generous toward others, and possessed refinement without having to cultivate an appearance of it. He often recited Buddhist scriptures and never abandoned the Confucian classics. He was skilled in the calligraphy of Zhong Yao and Wang Xizhi, and was praised among the monks of the Southern School of Chan. If one were to name the foremost among them, it would be Qingcong.

Qingcong traveled from Putian to Fuzhou and first took up residence at Yingtian Monastery in the Min region, where he stayed for sixteen years. He often told people that the Buddha’s teaching had eighty-four thousand approaches, and that practice must begin with putting it into effect oneself, making flexible use of skillful means. He had long hoped to establish a separate monastery, but repeated difficulties kept him from realizing this wish.

Near Yingtian Monastery stood an old residence, once the home of Tang Chengyi. It had been burned during warfare and was reduced to roof tiles and rubble. In the renchen year of the Zhiyuan era, members of the Tang family sold the land to Qingcong. Quietly delighted, he said, “My connection with this place is no accident.” He then spent his clothing and savings, doing everything he could to acquire it.

One day, he and his friend Master Daohuan of Chonglin carried a map and surveyed the area. They found that the arrangement of the mountain’s dragon veins fell within the principles of fengshui land assessment. Shuangji Mountain divided into northern and southern branches, each graceful in its own way. The northern branch extended eastward, first dividing toward the northwest, then splitting into two ridges. One ridge gathered into a rock formation shaped like the character pin, with cliffs staggered on three sides and a balanced overall form. Qingcong believed that such an unusual rock might have been formed by Heaven and Earth, as though awaiting someone destined to find it.

During the Yongjia era of the Jin dynasty, a hermit surnamed Yu came south from Taiyuan and built a hut here. Because the mountain rocks resembled the character pin, he called himself the Recluse Yu Pin, and the mountain came to be known as Yupin Mountain.

One ridge of Yupin Mountain extended from among the pin-shaped rocks, winding forward like a wasp’s waist and a horse’s jaw. At the center, three peaks stood side by side, their summits rounded and their bases firm. They were called Hanqi Peak. Farther on, the ridge turned like an oar sweeping through water; this was called Lotus Peak. At the ridge’s end, three branches spread low across the ground, imposing and upright like an immortal’s seat. To the east lay Bagui Hall and Sizhou Bridge; to the west, Qilin Grotto and Zhenwu Crag. Near the open ground embraced by the mountains stood a pavilion by a pot-shaped rock, Wushi Ridge, and ancient pines. Between the mountains, green streams divided into two channels and wound on as if for a thousand miles, with no end in sight.

A square mountain rose on the outer side, while Tianzhu Peak stood within it as a companion. Yingtian Monastery lay below Tianzhu Peak. Two other peaks rose facing one another, embracing the water like oxen and horses bending to drink, in a graceful and engaging pose. From the southern side of Shuangji Mountain extended Dazuo Peak, Yuyue Peak, and Shuangtong Peak. Below Shuangtong Peak came, in succession, Baotai Peak, Qiyun Peak, Jinlan Peak, Sanlang Peak, and Chaoyang Peak. These peaks rose high in a splendid array, seeming to meet the horizon in the distance, while the views joined together in every direction. Master Yun, who lived at Zhishan Bieshan, once visited the site and composed the “Gatha on Ten Remarkable Peaks,” expressing his feelings about it. All who came to climb and explore praised the scenery.

After acquiring the land, Qingcong made extensive preparations for construction. He oriented the monastery toward the southeast, with its back to the northwest, and pointed to the terrain, saying, “Who has made me so fond of this land and opened the way for me? Is this not the destined occasion for establishing a monastery?”

Qingcong’s conduct and discipline drew much attention. Though he wished to withdraw from the world, he seemed not to understand that the more one tries to hide, the harder it is to remain unseen. When elders of the various Buddhist schools heard of him, none were willing to let him depart easily. Yue Mountain Monastery in Fuzhou invited him to serve as its abbot, sending him hundreds of letters of invitation. Yue Mountain Monastery stood north of the city, close to the bustle of the markets, where comings and goings were unavoidably noisy. Those of shallow learning and narrow understanding could easily become attached to things there. Qingcong, however, was naturally open and free, unbound by outward appearances, thoughts, knowledge, or possessions. He held to only one intention: to complete this monastery. Yet his continuing responsibilities kept him from beginning the work.

In the yiwei year, he formally appointed his disciple Shilong and others to oversee construction. On a jiazi day in a certain month, the workers began excavating and clearing the land, then built an enclosing wall and a hermitage within it, naming the site the Shoutian Yuyan Daoist Monastery. Shoutian has a meaning similar to Yingtian, while Yuyan was named in imitation of Yupin Mountain. Inside the hermitage they built a hall called the Hall of Responsive Action. Behind it was a Guanyin shrine, and behind the shrine they built two rooms, named Dongshan Shouyu and Yuzhong Guicang after the titles of Qingcong’s two early masters. Qingcong did not claim these buildings as his own; he dedicated them to his lineage of teachers, showing that he had not forgotten his origins.

They dug a pond below the hall. Its banks were broad and its center deep; spring water was channeled into it and stored there, with the level neither rising nor falling. Nine grades of lotus were planted in the pond, each equally fragrant. The nine grades joined as one, a wonder beyond words. On the ridge leading into Yupin Mountain were three rocks, in its center stood three peaks, and below lay three mountain branches. Together they made nine, perhaps explaining why the lotuses were divided into nine grades. The pond was named Lotus Pond after Lotus Peak in the mountains. Since Qingcong’s Buddhist lineage traced back to Tianchi, the name Tianchi was also used for the pond. The mountain lay between the northwest and north-northwest, corresponding fittingly to the names of Heaven and Earth. A pavilion was built beside the pond, with a terrace nearby and flowers and trees planted around it. Their fragrance lasted through the seasons, making the place a delight to imagine.

The monastery had three hundred mu of fields for supplying meals and offerings for incense worship. This continued and expanded the method of sustaining monasteries passed down by Jinxian and developed by the two masters Dongshan and Yuzhong. In addition, Qingcong built a pagoda below Chaoyang Mountain, a place for burying and honoring practitioners. This, too, carried on the practice of final repose passed down by Jinxian. Qingcong was indeed a disciple of Jinxian.

Six days before the Mid-Autumn Festival in the third year of Dade, the jihai year, Qingcong sent Daohuan to visit me. He brought a map and asked me to write a record. He said that construction of the hermitage was nearly complete, and that he had also purchased the adjoining land, acquiring the former site of the tombs of the worthy of earlier times. That ground had become a desolate ruin overgrown with weeds and was also property left by Tang Chengyi. They had now begun clearing the land and estimating materials and labor, in preparation for building a great Buddha hall on the scale of a large monastery. It would be built to pray for the present emperor’s long life and well-being, and to give local people who followed the Buddha a place to turn to. Outside the monastery, land had also been set aside for a triple gate, two galleries, a Dharma hall, a monks’ residence hall, an infirmary, and storehouses, to be built gradually. It was not yet known when the entire project would be finished.

Qingcong’s plans were so thorough, his resolve so firm, and his strength so ample—why worry that the work would not be completed? The only real concern was that Qingcong might not carry it out. Though my learning is shallow and my name obscure, I respectfully bowed to Qingcong and quoted a gatha by Master Zhaoxian: “At the tip of a hundred-foot pole, one must advance; the worlds in all ten directions are the whole body.” This means that even after reaching a high point in practice, one must continue onward, and that the whole world can become the realm of one’s own being. Qingcong laughed with delight and said, “Just so. I am going to complete the monastery.” Then he asked, “When it is finished, will you be willing to add to this record?” I replied, “I would not dare refuse.”

Who am I? I am a descendant of the Xu family of Guangling. My name, posthumous title, rank, and native place are recorded in the Qi genealogical history in the History of the Five Dynasties. I style myself the Recluse of Biefeng Mountain. I have gathered these events here for the record. Master Shijing will have them carved in stone, so that those who come after may see them.

The word “Buddha,” taken literally, means “not a person.” Since it means “not a person,” there can be no roof beam above or roof below, no walls in the ten directions, and no doors on any side. Yet the three thousand great thousand worlds are said to be vast and boundless. Where, then, does all this come from? The Diamond Sutra says, “What is called adornment is in truth no adornment; therefore it is called adornment.” This is the meaning of Buddha: the Buddha-mind shines everywhere.

The Master inherited the robe and bowl of the Sixth Patriarch, in an orderly succession. At first, he studied on Dong Mountain under Master Zhen, who lived at Yingtian Temple. Later, he received the transmission from Master Yuzhong Zhi, who lived at Yue Mountain Temple. Hearing the morning bell and evening drum each day was already enough to live in peace. The Master built a hermitage on Jade-Quality Mountain and named it the “Shoutian Yuyan Way-Place.” Was this merely for carrying firewood and drawing water, or for displaying supernatural powers? As for every beam and tile, every piece of wood and stone, the Master handled it all himself. I believe he devoted himself to this work with such effort and care that it was truly arduous and no easy undertaking.

After the hermitage was completed, the Master asked me to record the matter. I agreed, and added some words of praise and support, so my writing inevitably bears a worldly tone. The Master has within him the talents of Han Yu, Sima Qian, Xue Tao, Helin, and others, far surpassing what these words can express. The halls, Dharma hall, sleeping quarters, place of spiritual assembly, gates and corridors, storehouses, storerooms, kitchens, monks’ quarters, and abbot’s room are all arranged with winding grace and ample provision. About nine tenths of the ten parts have now been built, and much of the work in earth, timber, and stone is complete. Count the whole undertaking, and it took four, five, six years from beginning to end before it was finally finished. This gives some sense of the project’s scale. The Master clearly continued to labor over it with great care and effort.

The Master asked me to continue the inscription for the stele. I fear only that I cannot express what this inscription is truly meant to convey. Have you not heard the monk Cen say, “To understand the people of today, one must first withdraw from the world”? These words deserve careful reflection. The Master sat silently in meditation, then suddenly picked up his staff and shouted, “Though the hermitage is small, it contains the entire Dharma-realm. Open it up, and it is boundless; draw it together, and it has neither inside nor outside. This is not a story about Bodhidharma. Do you understand?” Hearing that shout, I felt my mind suddenly become clear.

I therefore understand that the Master built this Way-Place so that it would be like the Jetavana Monastery built by the Buddha: boundless when opened up, with neither inside nor outside when drawn together. Was this indeed the Master’s intention in building the Way-Place? It all lies in a single thought. Its structure cannot be measured by rulers and rods; its orientation cannot be determined by a compass; its realm cannot be described by remote mountain rocks and scenery. Its ingenuity cannot be likened to the steepness of ten peaks, nor can its depth and breadth be compared with two mountain streams. It is truly beautiful and complete, its many wonders beyond description.

If one can understand this, one will see that the whole earth is a monk’s Way-Place. Open the eye of wisdom, and one may move freely in every direction: eastward without end, westward without limit, reaching up to heaven and standing upon the earth, with roads open in all directions and no obstruction. Its light shines through the ten directions, like a thousand suns radiating together. Otherwise, how could he be called the “Master Whose Buddha-Mind Shines Everywhere”? Is the meaning of the Master’s building this Way-Place easy to explain?

An inscription is made to preserve a record. I venture to ask the Master to use Mount Sumeru as the peak of the stele and the sea as ink, then take a great stone from Lion Rock and carve the inscription upon it, so that it may endure through hundreds of millions of eons without breaking or being destroyed, and later generations may learn the origins of the “Master Whose Buddha-Mind Shines Everywhere” and the “Shoutian Yuyan Way-Place.” I have already recorded the hermitage’s history separately, and so I add the following poem:

Master Zonggong, whose religious name was Shijing, was from Putian and belonged to the Bi family. For generations, his family had devoted itself to Confucian learning and held a distinguished position. As worldly circumstances shifted, mountains became deep valleys, and the fortunes of learning gradually declined.

He did not compete in pursuit of worldly fashions. His mind was clear and open; this was his nature. He devoted himself to studying the Buddhist Dharma and followed the sage of the West—the Buddha. Once he grasped the essential point, he understood that the mind-nature is not a mirror waiting to be polished.

He inherited the Dharma lineage of the Yiyuan school and cultivated the way of forbearance. At Dongshan, he revived the school’s tradition and personally received his teacher’s hand upon his crown, a ritual of Dharma transmission. Though he seemed simple and unlearned, he possessed true wisdom and inherited the orthodox Dharma seal. At first, he was summoned to court and praised for his learning; later, he came to Yueshan and was chosen by the community as its leader.

At Yuyan, he selected a site and established a religious community. After receiving the Dharma, Master Long followed the rules of the Yixing school. The monastery arose splendidly amid the dense woods, becoming a place where the orthodox lineage was upheld. The mountain’s vital energy gathered there, and steep cliffs rose above it; the stream divided into two channels, with peaks arranged around them. The site faced southeast, where the scenery was especially beautiful. He cleared the land, trimmed the undergrowth, fired bricks and tiles, dressed timber, built walls, and put up fences.

Once the hermitage was complete, life devoted to meditation became peaceful and quiet. The site was named in keeping with its circumstances, and the inscription read “Yuding.” An unusual kind of lotus grew in the pond, flowers and trees surrounded the pool, and pavilions rose like the legs of a tripod. Shrines were also built for the two masters, where people could honor and worship them; the living would enjoy long lives, and those who came after would receive blessings.

In the year Yuansian, someone asked me to write this account. Our residences were nearby, and everyone joined in the work. The construction in earth, timber, and stone was made even more solid: the main hall was spacious and airy, and three rooms served for residence and teaching the Dharma, while the Dharma Cloud Hall was used for meditation and rest. The covered walkways were orderly and long, and the gates properly aligned. Storehouses held provisions, the kitchen was kept clean, and the monks’ quarters and living rooms were all provided. There were two or three qing of fields, and a pagoda was also built. By then, matters were largely settled. Master Long and the others directed the construction as instructed; it took five or six years for the work to be completed.

Open your eyes and look carefully: the place where the master lived was both a real setting and one to which he did not cling. If you reflect within the space of your own mind, you will see that the traces of construction and its achievements are ultimately like shadows. Once all things have been put in order, you should understand this as well.

A single glimmer of numinous light remains bright, shining throughout the entire Dharma realm. It stretches on, deep and vast, seeming to rise a myriad fathoms high.

The Buddha-Dharma came from the West and passed through cultivation and realization. Its principles are like water held in a vessel and stars suspended on a balance: each has its place and is suited to its proper use.

Even in silence, the Dharma is being taught; suddenly, one can reflect inward. The mind asks, “What does this mean?” and pure faith then arises.

The Dharma robes may be widely bestowed. At Mount Dayu, there was once an instance of transmitting the Dharma. The lineage continues like lamps passed from one to another, their light never going out.

Mind itself is Buddha; nothing else can be compared with it. It is said to shine everywhere because mind and Buddha accord with one another.

Listen carefully, people of the world, to the subtle principles transmitted by the teacher, and keep them in your hearts. Even those who are ignorant and benighted should find inspiration in them.

I am deeply ashamed that this verse was not composed as a longer work, for my learning and talent are meager. Now I have it carved on a stele, hoping it will be passed down for a long time.

“Record of the Restoration of Xilin Temple”

In the area around Fuzhou city in Fujian, local accounts from earlier times called this place the “Three Mountains.” According to Guo Pu’s Record of the Relocation of the Prefecture, “In front stands a spirit with brows like those of a child, adorned with powder and pigments.” This refers to Wushi Mountain, Jiuxian Mountain, and Fang Mountain to the north. There is also Gaogai Mountain…

According to an old custom passed down in Fuzhou, the city was known as the “City of Three Mountains.” The Record of the Relocation of the Prefecture by Guo Pu says that before the city there seemed to be a boy whose brows resembled mountains and whose face was adorned with powder and rouge. This refers to Wushi Mountain, Jiuxian Mountain, and Fang Mountain to the north. Gaogai Mountain, Lotus Mountain, and Fang Mountain are also said to face one another. The name “Three Mountains” probably came from these features. Among them, Fang Mountain stands out most. Seen from the prefectural seat to the south, it looks like a writing desk—a naturally formed sight of remarkable ingenuity. Was it created solely for the sake of the prefectural seat? I have often thought that in mountains and rivers endowed with such spiritual beauty, outstanding, virtuous, and faithful people must surely appear to answer their vital influence. Yet I had never seen one.

One day, while walking at the foot of Fang Mountain, I had gone about a mile when I came upon a Buddhist temple. Its courtyards wound deep into the grounds, and the plaque bore the words “Xilin Chan Temple.” The temple’s Buddhist sanctuary was spacious; its halls were deep and grand, its covered walkways orderly and open, and its towers tall and airy. To the east was a kitchen for preparing the fragrant food offered at the heavenly kitchen; to the west, a meditation hall where practitioners gathered. The Shrine of the Arhats, the Hall of Precious Splendor, the abbot’s quarters, and the other buildings had all been beautifully constructed. Not a single storeroom or monks’ lodging stood empty. Timber, stone, rafters, tiles, and freshly plastered walls all gleamed as if new. The temple was also fully equipped with ritual instruments: bells, chimes, wooden fish, drums, and more. A pool had been dug to draw in water, bringing a sense of purity to the heart; freedom from dust and stain was itself a form of adornment. The Buddha on the blue lotus throne had a body of purple-gold, and the white tuft between his brows shone with light, illuminating the ten directions and encompassing the three thousand great thousand worlds. I burned incense and joined my palms, feeling as if I had ascended to heaven. Thinking that the “four great elements and five aggregates”—a Buddhist account of the constituents of body and mind—ultimately have no fixed, inherent nature, I could not help but marvel: through such cultivation had this man, who had transcended the ordinary world and left its dust behind, attained his reputation and virtue.

Before long, the abbot came out in his robe, a sitting mat tucked into his sleeve, and greeted me with a bow. His bearing was exceptional, and he was unattached to distinctions between self and others. I asked, “Master, are you the one who founded this temple?” He invited me to sit, prepared tea, and then calmly told me:

“The temple was first founded by a patriarch during the Guangming era of the Tang dynasty. A hundred years later, a Chan master expanded and enlarged it during the Jingde era of the Song, establishing it as a place of practice. More than three hundred years have passed since then. In the Wuchen year of the Xianchun era, I came here from Longjiang to serve as abbot. It has now been ten years. Then war broke out, and the temple suddenly became a ruin strewn with rubble and overgrown with plants. Everyone who passed by lamented its condition. Though my own strength was limited, I neither consulted the community nor asked anyone else for help. I took out the savings from my robes and bowl, and devoted myself entirely to planning and rebuilding. I put the money and goods I had accumulated toward the restoration as if managing my own household estate. We recruited craftsmen and hired workers according to the old foundations. After several years of hard labor, the work was finally complete. I also acquired more land, so the temple now has a greater income than before. I hope this will be enough to support the monks as they burn incense in the morning and light lamps at night: above, to pray for the holy ruler’s long life; below, to give the people of the region a place where they can once again take refuge in the Buddha’s teaching. Perhaps then I will not have failed the founding patriarchs of the Guangming and Jingde eras.

“I have also built a separate hall in the monks’ quarters and raised a pagoda, placing images of the ancestral assembly of past generations on either side. Above, I have fashioned images of three Buddhas. In the middle, I selected a burial place to serve as a spirit chamber. To let the dead return to their true nature and go back to their source: that is my final wish in this life. Now I want to quarry stone from the mountain and carve on it the dates, so that those who come after us will know where this temple was built and who founded it. I have long heard that you are sincere and kind, and I would also like you to understand the teaching of emptiness, in which all phenomena are without inherent nature, and the many kinds of causal conditions. So I have presumed to ask you to use Mount Sumeru for a brush and the ocean for ink, and write a few words. I have used this as a pretext to ask you to take up the brush. I hope you will not refuse.”

I replied, “Wonderful, wonderful. The master’s name is Zhengrong. His ancestors came from the old county of Changle, and his family name is Xie. For generations, his family has been devoted to learning. He is precisely the outstanding, virtuous, and faithful person I spoke of. Though he has withdrawn from the ordinary world, through restoring the temple and helping the community he has accomplished deeds and earned a name.”

Once I had finished writing, I let out a long cry and walked out. No one knew where I had gone. The master said, “That man must have been an immortal.” Written by Xu Ruzi of the Eastern Sea, former prefect of Guangling, on the day before the Chrysanthemum Festival in the first year of the Yuanzhen era.

That place. The master said, “How extraordinary!” On the day before the Chrysanthemum Festival, in the year of the Yuanzhen era-name change, Xu Ruzi of Donghai, former prefect of Guangling, recorded this.

Lofty and towering, Turtle Peak stands out in bold relief. From the Illustrated Survey of the Forms of the World in the Huainanzi, we learn that its ancestral range begins at Kunlun; consulting the Blue Bag Classic of Chisongzi, we learn that its offshoots branch from the Yu Ridge. The mountains stretch from the south as if a host of foreign states were coming to pay court; seen from the north, they seem to bow in homage. They imitate the towering height of Mount Song, as though offering blessings to a sage ruler; their ridges unfold with elegance, their forms composed and dignified. They resemble an overturned golden bowl, a great cauldron turned upside down, an immortal spreading open his robes, or a Jade Maiden opening her mirror. They look like armored warriors and strong soldiers, or like nobles and grandees holding precious jade tablets.

Fang Mountain stands before it, bowed as if in obeisance, forming a desk; Mount Bu stands behind, like an attendant, forming a screen. Deer Mountain lends support on the left, while Zhihe Mountain answers it on the right. The peaks rise in orderly, solemn ranks. Jiuhua Mountain in Chizhou and Huang Mountain in Shezhou cannot match Turtle Peak’s grandeur; Mount Kuo in Chengdu and Yandang Mountain in Wenzhou cannot claim equal renown. The famous mountains of Yue in Wu, Yunmeng in Chu, Luofu in Huizhou, and Wuling in Langzhou cannot capture its form, nor could they presume to describe it.

I held my official tablet crosswise to estimate its extent: the range must stretch for more than two or three hundred li. I set up a measuring pole to gauge its height: it must exceed four or five thousand zhang. It towers into the clouds, as if only a hand’s breadth separated it from heaven. People shoulder their packs and brave every hazard, then climb straight up by ropes. Pressing onward, they seem able to reach the courtyards of the Purple Tenuity Palace, the residence of the Celestial Emperor; with a lift of the hand, they might scoop up the waves of the Milky Way. The small things of the human world seem to lie before one, and even heaven and earth appear as clear as an open palm. If the military aide Meng lived here, he would surely worry that the wind might blow off his hat; if Prefect Xie knew of this place, he would surely think of adjusting his shoes and coming to climb. Those men have long since departed. Who is left to appreciate this scenery?

The mountain ridges twist and turn, rise and fall, and jut in and out, overlapping like plots of land divided into fields. At dawn, the mist lifts and the sun rises in the east; at dusk, rosy clouds drift by and the moon appears in the west. Clear light washes the mountains, and their green hues grow deep. The spring breeze stirs fragrant flowers and grasses; summer clouds are splendid, while dense woodland casts shade over the sun; autumn dew vanishes and a pale haze lingers in the mountains; winter frost falls and the plants wither. Such fine scenes and auspicious moments are rare, yet they are enough to keep poets and men of letters lingering in admiration.

Tigers, wolves, foxes, and rabbits live in the mountain caves; crows, sparrows, doves, and pheasants nest here. Some call, some chirp, some howl, and some roar. Hunters set up great nets and spread snares across the wilderness, holding arrows in their right hands and bows in their left. They chase and capture their prey, then steam, boil, or roast it for offerings or food.

The mountains grow many kinds of trees: pine, cypress, camphor, yu, chinaberry, paulownia, nanmu, ning, maple, fir, luo, zelkova, sandalwood, locust, and catalpa. Small trees can be made into door panels, wedges, pivots, and bolts; large trees can supply roof frames, beams, and other structural timbers. There are many kinds, to be selected as needed. The mountains also produce red banana plants, white ramie, fine kudzu fiber, green hemp, mountain mulberry, wild zhe, huang, and indigo, all useful for making clothes. Fruits such as lychees, longans, citrus, wampee, Chinese crabapples, yellow wampee, cherries, white apples, and waxberries are also fit to eat.

As for medicinal plants, there are elsholtzia, achyranthes, yellow essence, yams, fleeceflower root, rehmannia, mint, capillary wormwood, perilla, cyperus, evodia, wild chrysanthemum, hyacinth beans, fennel, cattail and mugwort, phellodendron, wood-caltrop, poppy, and codonopsis. Some places yield Guzhu purple-bamboo tea; others produce coix seeds from Jiaozhou. The mountain’s abundance is too great to list in full. Things are different now from how they were in the past, and the passage of time invites a sigh.

So, at times, one hears a transverse flute and imagines a herdboy driving his animals home; one watches a game of “rotten axe handle” Go—a tale of immortals playing while a woodcutter watches and forgets the world—and imagines that even the woodcutter might pause for a rest. Steep cliffs can shelter a Daoist adept; among the abundant plants, a hermit can build a thatched hut. There is a seat for meditation and a terrace for ascending to immortality. Auspicious heavenly lamps once appeared here, and legends tell of an immortal cauldron used to make elixirs. The sound of the stone drum seems still to echo; the markings on Sword Rock remain visible. A narrow, perilous pass is called “the Gate for Drawing Up Troops,” while a broad, level stretch is known as “the Bay Where Horses Rest.” These ancient traces are real. Am I speaking idly? Why, then, should I sigh? This place is still well worth visiting and admiring.