《一贯天机直讲》Vol. 4

“Sage wisdom reaching heaven” means that the sage, through wisdom, can penetrate heavenly principle; yet merely achieving ming mingde (illuminating one’s inherent virtue) is not enough.

What follows concerns the cultivation practice of cheng (sincerity). Apply effort by gradually expanding from small points, gradually manifesting from fine details, accumulating bit by bit until wholeness is reached. At first others cannot see it; when the six penetrations (liu tong) take shape, everyone can see and hear. The fruits of practice are at first subtle and hard to discern, then grow ever clearer day by day, completed through long accumulation. The Cantong qi (internal alchemy classic) says: “Long obscurity, then brightness.” At the outset one must still the shi shen (acquired conscious mind) before entering a state of undifferentiated chaos; after a long time, the yuan shen (original spirit) appears and the mind becomes clear and bright.

Chen Niwan said: “At the beginning, you want drowsiness but cannot sink into it; next, you want clarity but cannot achieve it.” In the early stage of practice, one must first quiet the spirit to gather in shi shen and sensory awareness. When mind-spirit merges with yuan shen and does not fix on any image, the heart naturally settles and gradually enters a drowsy, sleep-like state. Once you fix on some image, sleep comes hard and mind-spirit cannot settle. After long stillness, when you seek clarity, you must reach a state of cool purity and transparency—and that too is not easy. To seek “dullness” you must first reach extreme emptiness and stillness; to seek “clarity” is when inner activity begins at the utmost point of stillness. Without depth and extremity of stillness, this transformation will not occur.

Therefore one must first hide as if submerged in an abyss; only then does light appear within the openings—hence: “Though hidden and concealed, yet exceedingly bright.” This line is from the “Zheng Yue” chapter of the Book of Odes (Xiaoya). At the start of practice one must return to chun kun (pure yin—utter void and non-action); afterward, like fu (the return of yang), brightness manifests.

“In my heart I hold bright virtue; I do not rely on loud speech or outward expression to show it”—from the “Huang Yi” chapter of the Book of Odes (Dayi). “Virtue light as a feather”—from “Zheng Min” (Dayi); yet a feather can still be weighed and compared. As for the way heaven moves, it is without sound or scent; it cannot be grasped by hearing or smell.

This is a quotation from the Book of Odes, Great Odes, “King Wen.” When one reaches zhicheng (supreme sincerity—the state of pure truth without delusion), one can become a celestial immortal. At that point one goes beyond what the senses of hearing, sight, and smell can grasp, ascending even to the Thirty-Third Heaven and, in Buddhist terms, beyond the Non-Thought Non-Non-Thought Heaven (the highest heaven of the formless realm) to buddhahood. Daoism calls this state “shattering the void” (fensui xukong); it is also said that the body’s eighty-four thousand pores each become a world.

Human beings’ first stirrings of mind are all delusive. Returning from delusive thought to what is real and attaining supreme sincerity—the key to cultivation—is to quiet the shishen (the discriminating, calculating conscious mind) and enter a state of primal chaos. When a person sleeps, they are close to that chaotic state. As the saying goes, “rise at dawn and rest at dusk”; when the sky darkens and one settles into night’s rest, that is when the shishen rests.

In Daoism it is said that Shen (spirit) dwells in the eyes by day and is stored in the liver at night. The liver belongs to wood and tends toward activity; the eyes are the orifice of the liver. When the eyes move, clarity and scrutiny arise, the seven emotions and six desires are stirred, and even at night this may still appear as dreams. Yuanshen (primordial, authentic spirit) is not the same as shishen: though it also dwells in the eyes by day, at night it is stored in the kidneys. In children, yuanshen is stored in the kidneys at night; the kidneys belong to water and favor stillness, so a child’s spirit is relatively calm. If cultivation can restore a childlike bodily state, yuanshen will likewise be stored in the kidneys at night.

The kidneys connect with the ears. When practice advances, spirit is stored in the ears at night; going further, it is stored in the ears day and night. When one sees forms without being moved by them, is in the world without being caught by emotion, and acts without scheming, spirit rests in the ears day and night—and the Dao is accomplished. Here the story of Sun Wukong in Journey to the West, who keeps his golden cudgel in his ear, is used as a metaphor: “stored in the ear” symbolizes the inner gathering achieved through cultivation.

Guanyin Bodhisattva dwells at the Tide Sound Cave in the Purple Bamboo Grove of the Southern Sea. The scripture explains these names symbolically: “tide” refers to the kidneys, “sound” to the ears; “Purple Bamboo Grove” is read as “every bamboo grove,” close in meaning to “Twin Groves.” Here “wood” also means the eyes and means intention; in the Five Phases, wood corresponds to the Zhen trigram in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). Zhen’s image is thunder, and yuanshen is also likened to thunder—called “wood-mercury in fire.” Hence the names “Twin Groves” or “Thunder Sound”; the text holds that they all encode symbolic Neidan (internal alchemy) terms such as gold and mercury.

In the East belongs Wood, and its number is three, hence the phrase “the East’s three gives birth to Wood.” Here Wood is used as a metaphor for human original nature (xing). “The Sovereign emerges from Zhen” comes from the Yijing: Zhen corresponds to the East; the “Sovereign” here means the inner great person—that is, one’s original nature. Original nature is originally within oneself; it is each person’s own “Sovereign.”

All who cultivate the Dao are overseen by the Donghua Emperor (Donghua Dijun, a revered Daoist deity who presides over the East). Saying that the Eastern Sovereign governs original nature is precisely for this reason.

According to the correspondences in this scripture: the three of the East stands for xing (nature), the two of the South for shen (spirit); xing and shen together form one group of “five.” The one of the North stands for qing (emotion), the four of the West for jing (essence); qing and jing together form another group of “five.” The five of the Center stands for yi (intent), forming a third group of “five.” The three groups of “five” combined are what is called the “Three-Fives Way” (sanwu zhi dao). These numbers and directions are symbolic pairings in Daoist neidan (internal alchemy) theory, used to explain the relations among xing, shen, qing, jing, and yi.

“Huan xu” (returning to emptiness) means coming back to the empty void. In the Kun hexagram all six lines are yin; the middle is open, so the image is “emptiness.” Practitioners should take this as their norm and let the mind circulate through the realms symbolized by the six lines without fixating on any single place.

“At the beginning, sixth line: treading on frost, solid ice will come” means that cultivation should begin with gewu (investigating things and clearing away worldly desires)—as when one first steps on thin frost and already foresees the deep cold ahead. When yang is fully spent, water turns to ice. Frost stands for the first line of the Bo hexagram and for yin just beginning to gather. The adept should strip away desires until body and mind match Kun’s void and stillness. Frost also stands for autumn qi, metal qi, and the qi of severity; the seven emotions and six desires all need to be held in check. The text then uses “treading the tiger’s tail” as a further image: you step on the tail yet the tiger does not bite—meaning one should look within danger for the chance to turn harm into kindness and harmony.

“Six in the second place” is Kun’s second line, where yin is heavier. “Straight, square, and great; without practice, nothing is unfavorable” concerns shou qiao (holding the aperture—steadily guarding the key locus in body and mind). The commentary reads “straight” as a single vertical stroke and “square” as the shape of an open mouth, taking both graphs as hints of “aperture.” “Great” means the void—the state in which inner and outer merge with the vast emptiness outside the body—and is called the “xuan pin zhi men” (the mysterious female gate, the Daoist gate of generation and transformation).

“Without practice” means understanding the point yet not clinging to forced guarding; then “nothing is unfavorable.” The text holds that deliberate, habitual guarding is itself harmful. “When the second six moves, straight becomes square; without practice nothing is unfavorable—the way of earth is bright” means that when this line stirs, “straight” completes into “square”; by not clinging to practice and resting in that void here, the earthly way (di dao) shows its clarity.

The text then uses the ancient forms of the graphs for “straight” and “bi” (nose) to explain shou qiao: it takes the component read as “bi” (compare) to mean the two eyes aligned and gazing downward, and the grass radical as the gate of hao qi (vast, filling breath). It goes on to mention “shang mu” (upper eye), again using letter-shapes as symbolic instructions for practice.

“Yuan” (origin/foundation) here means guarding carefully and holding fast, so that one is not harmed. “Six in the fifth place” speaks of the practice of huanxu (returning to emptiness): cultivation has nearly reached the point of refining the body into a body of “pure Kun,” hence “yellow lower garment; supreme good fortune (huang chang yuan ji).” “Yellow” symbolizes the great earth; “chang” (lower garment) is the clothing worn below the waist; “yuan” denotes virtuous goodness. Virtuous goodness has its pattern shining within, and true intent (zhenyi) is already contained in it. Thus it is said “yellow at the center, penetrating to principle” and “beauty within, extending to the four limbs”: when true intent rests in the zhonggong (the inner position at the center of the body), the whole body becomes open and at ease.

“Top six: dragons battle in the open country; their blood is black and yellow” describes the moment when yin reaches its utmost fullness and yang begins to stir; yang is symbolized by the dragon. “Battle in the open country” means that in a time of pure yin, yin and yang meet yet cannot unite, so the image of battle appears. Ordinarily, with one yin and one yang, or three yin and three yang, yin and yang can interact; but here all six lines are yin, and yang is just about to stir—its force is extremely weak and cannot harmonize with yin—so it is called “battle,” as if fighting in the wilderness. When six yin or six yang are about to turn and give birth to yang or yin, if yin and yang are not balanced in strength, the image of battle arises; blood shed in battle means yang cannot overcome yin.

“Use the six” means to employ the meaning of the six lines. “Favorable to perpetual firmness (li yong zhen)” means one should long maintain upright steadfastness to obtain good fortune. With emptiness as the mind, one can seek lasting firmness and good fortune. If one applies the six lines of the Qian (Heaven) hexagram, that is the neidan method of jinhuo tuifu (advancing the fire and withdrawing the talisman)—different from what is said here; that will be explained later.

Lecture Nine

Return to emptiness and guard stillness; nature settles and qi turns back.

Nine returns and seven reversals—in the space of a moment.

The phrase “circulating through the six empty places” in the Kun hexagram is here read as huanxu—“returning to emptiness,” that is, reverting to the state of Kun. Those who cultivate the Way are always practicing this return to emptiness, so they should take Kun as their constant model. How does one attain a body of pure Kun? The scripture says: “Put your own body outside yourself, and the body is thereby nurtured; forget the form, and the form is thereby preserved.” This speaks of turning inward to seek the self and making the inner mind sincere.

“Putting the body outside oneself” is forgetting the body—treating the physical body as something external. The visible body is originally only a shell; Buddhism calls it the “stinking leather bag.” Formed from the refined qi of heaven and earth and the essence and blood of one’s parents, it is like a house where the yuanshen (original, innate spirit) dwells for a time. Without that house, the yuanshen has nowhere to abide. Yet body and spirit are not one thing: when a person dies, the yuanshen returns to the great void while the body decays. The zhongyin (bardo—the intermediate existence between death and rebirth in Buddhist teaching) is likewise compared to one who takes the body as lodging; when the lodging is ruined, the zhongyin departs. With karmic offenses, one enters hell to suffer; without them, one drifts until meeting a womb and is born again—as if moving into another dwelling.

The yuanshen within the body is what is most subtle; in the acquired state people take the hun (soul) as what is spiritual and regard the hun as master and the body as residence. Since the body is like a dwelling, one should not be attached to it but place it outside oneself—only then can one cultivate “return to emptiveness.” When pure Kun is achieved and body and mind are empty and still, that is return to emptiness. The Buddhist Sixteen Contemplations Sutra teaches “contemplation of white bones”: one visualizes one’s body as already dead, sees the internal organs, imagines worms throughout and putrefaction and stench; one contemplates at length until the body is only white bones. Sustained practice of white-bone contemplation helps one forget the body and is especially helpful for those fixated on physical form. “Turning inward and being sincere” requires returning to the fashen (Dharma body—the true body beyond flesh) before one can reach authenticity; only by putting the body outside oneself can one cultivate the fashen.

Mencius said, “I am good at cultivating within myself the vast, firm, upright qi.” Here the word “I” (wu) appears twice, and the two uses are not the same: the first “I” refers to the body of form—the physical person, the provisional, illusory self; the second “I” refers to the Dharma body (the true nature spoken of in cultivation), which is the real self. To use this bodily form to refine that true nature is precisely to nourish the original vast, upright qi within oneself—the great, firm, righteous life-breath one already possesses.

If one does not insist on separating the form body from the Dharma body, the first “I” can simply be dropped when reading the line. The ancients often chose each word with deliberate intent. The vast, upright qi arises from the Original Spirit (Yuanshen) and the Dharma body; what “nourish my vast, upright qi” means, in cultivation terms, is that the Original Spirit and true intent (zhiyi—the mind intent that stays single and undivided) are united as one.

“Forget the body, and the body can instead be preserved” means setting the outer physical body aside and forgetting form—releasing attachment that clings to the body. The “form” (xing) spoken of here also means the images of things grasped in the mind; “human heart-mind” (renxin) is shishen (the discriminating spirit—the mind that distinguishes and senses outer things). When it sees what has form, it is pulled along. Only when the images held in the mind are forgotten can the heart return to purity and stillness.

Most thoughts stored in the heart carry images of things; people often treat what cannot be seen or touched as “non-being” (wu) and what has form and appearance as “being” (you), without knowing that everything with form arises from what has no form. To see things yet not be moved by them—that accords with the Dao (the Way).

The Qingjing jing (Classic of Purity and Stillness) says: “Look inward at your own heart and find that the heart has no fixed substance; look outward at your own form and find that form too has no fixed, unchanging substance; look further at outer things and find that the myriad things likewise have no fixed, unchanging substance.” Forgetting form means forgetting attachment to the images of outer things. Looking inward at the heart without clinging to the heart, looking outward at form without clinging to form—this is what is meant by forgetting the heart and forgetting form.

As the saying goes: “What has form will eventually be destroyed; what is formless is what is real.” Therefore the person who has attained the Way does not cling to outer things: release attachment to thoughts and the heart can be cultivated; release attachment to the physical form and the form can instead be preserved. Forget the burden of the outer body and the state of mind becomes empty and bright, returning to emptiness and stillness (xujing).

Human life has three aspects: body (shen), heart-mind (xin), and intention (yi).

People have three aspects: body, mind, and intention (yi). To cultivate the Dao, work on all three together: the body is there, yet you do not cling to the body; the mind does not cling to the mind; only when body and mind can both be released can intention return to what is true.

If you cannot reach wuxin (no-mind), you will cling to the form of mind; if you cannot forget the body, you will cling to form and appearance (se). Se is one of the six dusts (the objects of the senses). When the senses meet outer things, consciousness (shi) arises—and that consciousness is what is meant here by “mind.” Stay trapped in se, and it is hard to enter the Dao. To go beyond se, the key is forgetting the body and having no-mind.

Mind is the notion of self (wo xiang); body is the notion of person (ren xiang); outer things are the notion of sentient beings (zhongsheng xiang); fixation on the fruits of cultivation is the notion of longevity (shouzhe xiang). The Diamond Sutra names these four notions. Only by letting go of the four can cultivators clear the three poisons—greed, anger, and delusion. The three poisons grow from the seven emotions and six desires: chasing merit, fame, profit, and status is greed; striving to dominate and flaring up in anger is anger; craving sex and drowning in beauty is delusion. As long as you still hold to notions of self, others, and the like, you cannot remove the three poisons.

Clinging to form is wrong, but cultivators must also beware clinging to “emptiness.” The “emptiness” meant here—if it is obstinate emptiness (wankong)—is not true emptiness. How do true emptiness and obstinate emptiness differ? True emptiness is yang in character and can give birth to subtle being (miaoyou); obstinate emptiness cannot. Obstinate emptiness breeds thoughts and images about emptiness and turns into a “notion of emptiness”—that is obstinate emptiness. When the mind-land is blended without discrimination and you do not cling to a notion of emptiness, that is true emptiness.

If what was never empty is forced to become empty; if a thought is already there yet you forcibly crush it—then the mind that tries to stop thinking is still moving, and thoughts have not truly stopped. All of that is obstinate emptiness. True emptiness is simply how things are: no split between knowing and not-knowing, dim and deep, far and unfathomable; it looks empty yet is not sheer nothing—subtle life stirs within; it looks as if something is there yet you do not cling to “having”—so it remains true emptiness. Cultivators should weigh this distinction with care.

People live in the world surrounded mostly by the seven emotions and six desires. To reach "return to emptiness" (recovering the state of empty stillness), body and mind must be quiet and thoughts pure. The inner and outer trigrams of the Kun hexagram can be likened respectively to body and mind. Though body and mind are full of activity, if one can "have without clinging," one can return to true emptiness; those who cultivate the Dao must carefully distinguish these principles.

The scripture also says that when body and mind are both clear and still, one can circulate through the "six voids" (above, below, and the four directions of heaven and earth) and reach true emptiness. What is meant here by "body" includes qi as well; when body and mind are both settled and pure, the "○○" aspect spoken of in the scripture appears. Only after both body and mind are empty and still does this aspect take shape; when the two unite, true intent arises. Thus, stillness in both body and mind is essential practice on the path.

The Analects says: "If someone could restrain selfish desire and restore ritual for a single day, the whole world would return to humaneness." Practice must begin with "restraining the self and restoring ritual." "Restraining the self" means checking private thoughts; only by checking private thoughts can ritual be restored. Here "ritual" also carries the sense of "principle"—returning to heavenly principle. The Daoist tradition calls this mind the "mind of the Dao," like the new moon on the third day. When the mind of the Dao appears, it is like the return of the one yang (yang qi newly stirring), giving rise to the principle and qi of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), hence the image of the crescent moon. The scripture also uses the paired figures in the characters for "humaneness," "origin," and "heaven" to show yin and yang completing each other and chaos returning to oneness as Taiji.

"All under heaven returns to humaneness" here means body and mind return to clear stillness, so the Analects also says: "Do not look at what violates ritual, do not listen, do not speak, do not act." When seeing, hearing, speaking, and acting all follow the principle of Taiji, one can realize the Dharma body (the pure body spoken of in cultivation). The Daoist tradition describes the corresponding practice thus: "Gather the gaze, fix the qi in the ears, gather the breath on the tongue, regulate the breath through the nose; in seeing, hearing, speaking, and acting, do not depart from ritual." When these four are well done, body and mind can settle and return to the state of primordial chaos.

"Contain" means lowering the eyelids and gathering the outward senses. The upper eyelid is like a curtain; half-closed or fully closed eyes do not match what is meant here.

Let the eyelids drop naturally, to a degree that feels just right and comfortable. Gently close the eyes as if shut, yet not fully closed—like in sleep—with a natural light held in the gaze. Each person’s innate disposition differs; one should be neither slack nor tense, not striking a pose, but simply fitting what is right. The point is not to use force; let everything follow nature.

The characters for “concentration” (ning) and “resonance” (yun) carry deep meaning. What arises from within is called “tone” (yin); what enters from outside is called “sound” (sheng). The ears govern hearing of tone and resonance. When you gather the gaze and turn inward to listen (shou shi fan ting—collecting the vision and returning the hearing within), outer sounds gradually recede, and the ears naturally perceive an inner resonance. The ancients’ phrase “the ear hears a stringless lute” refers to this. “Concentration” (ning) means neither letting outer sounds enter nor letting inner resonance dissipate, so that the tone produced stays gathered and does not scatter.

When one hears this resonance within the body, it is because nasal breathing is even and harmonized, so what is heard seems rhythmic; it is not sound from outside but arises from the breath. What the ancients meant when they said that those deep in the Way hear the “Grand Music of Heaven” (Juntian dayue—the legendary vast music of the celestial realm) is also this kind of experience.

“Regulating nasal breath” (tiao bi xi) means adjusting respiration, yet by “regulation without forced regulation” (bu tiao zhi tiao): do not deliberately control the breath, but in naturalness let it become even. If you set out to adjust it, you will never truly harmonize it. That is to say, through all twelve double-hours, softly listen to the breath outside the nose—this is also “returning the hearing” (fan ting). The resonance in the ears is closely tied to harmonized breathing. If what you hear is like insect chirping or thunder, the breath is not yet even; when it is properly harmonized, resonance forms. The two relate to each other.

The later novel Journey to the West Continued (Hou Xiyou ji) says: “The staff’s shadow falls on the head (xiantian qi manifesting as form, like a beam of white light), and a shout enters the ear.” This too speaks of the secret of regulating breath.

When you regulate the breath, the breathing through the nose gradually settles, and you can hear the subtle sound of respiration. The ancients called this state “immortal” breathing, also known as guixi (turtle breath): legend says the turtle lives a thousand years and breathes through its ears, hence sayings like “crane embryo and turtle breath for a thousand years” and “first feel the turtle’s breath in long, unbroken exhalation.” Those who study the Way should attend to this prolonged, quiet breathing. Listening to the breath with the ears also helps regulate respiration.

Zhuangzi, “In the Human World,” says: “To listen with the ears is not as good as listening with the mind; to listen with the mind is not as good as listening with the spirit (shen); to listen with the spirit is not as good as listening with qi; to listen with qi is not as good as listening in emptiness.” Here “listening with the spirit” means grasping through awareness; “listening with qi” means letting mind and spirit rest with the breath in empty stillness. There are also corresponding formulas for using the ears to listen and for harmonizing the breath.

The “six-syllable true words” are Om, Ma, Ni, Ba, Mi, Hum. The first five syllables match inhalation, with qi moving inward to below the navel; Hum matches exhalation, with qi rising again from below to the throat. These are Sanskrit sounds, also used to describe the natural rhythm of breathing. Once the breath is regulated, the six syllables can be silently recited in time with the breath. When the mind is restless and sleep is hard to come, one may also silently recite the six syllables; when the heart is calm and breathing steady, sleep comes more easily. One may recite without voicing the sounds aloud.

Daoism also has a seven-syllable formula: xi, xu, he, xi, xi, chui, hu.

The shift from “xi” to “he” is practice on the inhale; “xi” and “chui” are practice on the exhale. They work like the six syllables mentioned earlier: each uses a particular sound to regulate the breath.

“Keeping the tongue still” is what the Qi (Covenant) calls “blocking the opening” (sealing the mouth)—not never speaking, but speaking less. In sleep or in daily life people often leave the mouth open; let the lips come together naturally. Forcing the mouth shut wastes effort and fixates on the act itself, which is also wrong. The four points here mean the same as the Qi: “The ears, eyes, and mouth are the three treasures; they should be gathered in and not allowed to leak outward; hold the mouth, talk little, speak sparingly, and follow what is natural.” When this is done, the spirit-mind grows quiet and stays centered, true intent appears on its own, and one reaches the state of “returning to emptiness” (bringing the spirit-mind back to quiet emptiness).

When you first begin refining void, there is also a flexible approach called “sleep gong” (a practice of using restful sleep to settle body and mind). The four methods described earlier are the regular path; this one is a provisional expedient. When yin is heavy in the body and yang is relatively weak, sleep can help both body and spirit grow quiet. Over time, yang gradually rises within sleep and yin recedes, and the heart becomes easier to stabilize—so you may start with sleep gong. If you can fall asleep as soon as your head touches the pillow, with no stray thoughts, that is naturally best. If you cannot, you can first trace a circle in the mind and gaze at it in a way that is half intentional, half effortless; that can ease you into sleep and quiet body and mind. Only when body and mind are truly still does it count as the proper method of sleep gong.

This kind of quiet sleep often lasts only a moment before you wake. If there is business, you can rise and attend to it; if not, you may sleep again. It is a good way for yang to arise from stillness. “Spirit gathers in the eyes” means fixing attention on what is before you, contemplating in that half-willed, half-effortless way; then you forget the body and the heart enters empty stillness. In application you must hold to the principle of not clinging to outer appearances; how exactly to do that should be weighed carefully according to circumstances.

The chapter on nourishing qi in Gongsun Chou (upper) in the Mencius also speaks of breath-regulation work: “This qi is utmost great and utmost hard; nourish it with uprightness and do it no injury.” “Do not forget it, do not force it” means nourishing it naturally—neither deliberately forgetting nor straining to augment it; failing that, you harm the qi instead. The qi spoken of as “born from gathering righteousness” is jin qi (in Daoist inner-alchemy language, jin often names a kind of refined vital essence). What Daoists call “jin” aligns in meaning with “righteousness (yi)” here. The Kun hexagram says “straight, square, and great,” and also “reverence to straighten the inner, righteousness to square the outer”—so the idea that qi comes from without is affirmed in both Daoist and Confucian teaching. Nourishing qi is the hardest; the great work is called nourishing qi, the lesser is called regulating breath—neither is easy.

Laozi says “continuous, as if it were there.” “Continuous” means unbroken; “as if there” means as though something arises from nothing. Aspiration (zhi) is the commander of qi and governs it; only with aspiration can qi be guided, and aspiration arises from intention (yi). The Classic of Empty Nonbeing in the Laozi tradition says: “When intention goes forth, it becomes aspiration.” That is, intention leads qi and keeps it unbroken. “Continuous, as if it were there” means following the breath so the breath-stream is unbroken, with aspiration in charge—only then can you return to the root and restore life (gui gen fu ming). “As if there” is abiding at the root. The Pearl and Jade chapter of the Book of Transformation says: “Find the gate of the vast clear-and-harmonious qi (hao qi), and you can return it to the root; know the casket of the original spirit (yuan shen), and you can gather in its light.” That is the union of spirit and qi.

When spirit and qi unite, the scene of the congenital Taiji is restored—that primordial state before heaven and earth were divided and before yin and yang were distinguished. After that, stillness at its utmost turns into movement, and movement at its utmost turns back into stillness; within movement lies the seed of stillness, and within stillness lies the seed of movement, and from this the generation and transformation of the ten thousand things begins.

The work of huansu (returning to emptiness—gathering body and mind into emptiness and quiet) ultimately settles into utmost stillness, and within empty silence vitality appears. Heaven and the human being move together, and the root of change in the ten thousand things is thereby established; its function lies in the alternation of movement and stillness. What is called movement and stillness is precisely the mastery of huohou (fire timing—the right moment to advance or retreat, to hurry or slow) in cultivation.

When body and mind are both quieted, the state of pure Kun (pure yin) forms—empty within and without—and creation (zaohua) arises from this. In the undivided chaos where yin and yang unite, stillness at the extreme gives rise to movement, and yang qi is stirred. The “yang” spoken of here refers to the external kidneys (the male external genitalia); “yang rising” (yang ju) is its erection, marking the emergence of stirring within the static pure Kun. At this point one may apply the “nine returns” (jiu huan) technique; this stirring is the “live zi hour” (huo zi shi)—the moment when yang qi naturally stirs in practice. When it stirs, one must notice it in time and advance the work; without that awareness, “nine returns and seven reversals” (jiu huan qi fan, terms for the cycling and refining of essence and qi in Neidan) have no starting point.

The human body is biased toward yin, and stirring often does not happen naturally in a state of no-mind and no-intent; even when it does, one may not notice. Therefore one must first do the work of returning to emptiness, bringing body and mind to extreme emptiness and profound stillness—waiting until stillness reaches its limit and stirring arises on its own. That is the time when the “source of water is utmost clear” (shuiyuan zhi qing, meaning essence is pure and fit for practice).

At the beginning of practice, the body and mind are only superficially quiet; one has not yet reached deep stillness and concentration. Episodes of the "Living Zi" and "Living Wu" (moments when inner Yang first stirs and when one becomes aware that Yang is activating) may occur, but they remain faint. The body may show some signs while the mind does not yet truly sense them; sometimes Yang does not rise, and sometimes it rises but cannot be noticed in time. At this stage one can only work at the "Seven Returns"; the "Nine Reversals" must still wait.

As Yang gradually reaches the body, at first one merely begins to feel slight movement; over time the whole body may feel tingling and permeated, the inner "golden Qi" (refined vital energy in Neidan) becomes ample, and Yang rises on its own. Then "Nine Reversals" and "Seven Returns" can be practiced together from the start—it is hard to say which comes first. In early practice body and mind are not necessarily both still, so one cannot speak of true inner transformation. When cultivation reaches inner and outer emptiness and the fire-phase symbolized by the Kun hexagram (the stage of bodily and mental quiet in Neidan), body and mind are finally settled. Only then does the moment of activation appear and gradual reversal begin; at first there may still be some obstruction. With familiarity, entering stillness at once steadies body and mind; once settled, Yang rises; when Yang moves, spirit-consciousness notices it. "Nine Reversals" and "Seven Returns" then unfold very quickly.

Yet when Yang arrives, if it cannot be kept within the body, it cannot accumulate into an elixir, so one must also master "caiqu"—gathering and retaining the Yang as it stirs. When the body holds Yang, mind-spirit becomes keen and aware; at the Living Zi moment one can sense Yang's activation.

Why call them "Living Zi" and "Living Wu"? When Yang first reaches the body, that is "Living Zi hour"; when one clearly notices Yang's arrival, that is "Living Wu hour." Zi belongs to the Kan trigram and Wu to the Li trigram; Zi in the north and Wu in the south correspond to each other, and the functions of Zi and Wu interlink. Yang arrives at the body at Zi and is noticed at Wu: noticing the stirring is "Wu," the stirring itself is "Zi." From Zi to Wu one passes through Chou, Yin, Mao, Chen, and Si—Zi thus spans six Yang time-positions; from Wu to Zi one passes through Wei, Shen, You, Xu, and Hai—Wu spans six Yin time-positions. In theory, Yang comes from emptiness into the body, stirs at Zi, and is noticed at Wu, as if six time-positions lay between them; in fact it is extremely swift—one knows the moment it stirs and notices the moment it arrives, hence "Zi and Wu share the same work." The Wuzhen Pian (Understanding Reality) says, "Where lightning flashes, seek the true seed"—to compare this speed to lightning is not excessive: Yang's stirring and the mind's noticing occur almost simultaneously.

When stillness reaches its utmost limit, one arrives at Wuji—the primordial state before Yin and Yang are divided. From Wuji arises Taiji, the whole in which Yin and Yang are not yet split apart yet already contain both. When Taiji moves, Yang is produced. Yang Qi (innate yang energy) is born from emptiness—it comes from nothingness, hence the saying “something from nothing.”

At this point, body and mind have reached the utmost emptiness and stillness, entering a state of vacuum and becoming a body of pure Kun, pure Yin. The Qi generated in the void is pure Yang. Pure Yin and pure Yang attract each other like kind, as a magnet draws iron—even with something between them, they connect in secret. Thus the pure Yin body can summon pure Yang Qi from the void and draw it into the body.

The text of the Kun hexagram says “huang zhong tong li” (the yellow center penetrates and reaches principle), describing Yang Qi entering from outside inward; it also says “mei zai qi zhong, er da yu si zhi” (beauty lies within, and extends to the four limbs), meaning the fine Qi first forms inside the body, then spreads to the four limbs. The four limbs include hands and feet. When Yang Qi first meets the body, it begins at the hands and feet, then gradually fills the whole body until Qi is full. The character for “chang” (unobstructed flow) suggests spreading and penetrating; in the compound for “chang,” the component “shen” combines with “yi,” and “shen” belongs to Metal—Metal corresponds to the Qian trigram—so the phrase “jin qi chong man shen zhong” (metal Qi fills the body) describes how, once Yang Qi is abundant, the body feels utterly smooth and at ease.

Finally, upright Yang Qi reaches the kidneys, erection occurs, and the whole body feels a tingling softness. Here “ma” (numbness) does not mean deadened sensation, but a cotton-like softness and comfort. The body is slightly warm and softly relaxed, yet not slack or listless; posture should still be upright and stable, like a mountain. This shows that innate true Yang has arrived in the body; next it must be retained and gathered.

True gathering is “gathering without gathering”: not chasing or seizing on purpose, but staying natural. What matters most now is forgetting the body; if you cannot forget the body, Yang may leak away. If you can forget the body, Yang can grow from one Yang line to six Yang lines until it is full. When Yang is full, forgetting the body is hard even if you try—then you should stop practice, that is “stop firing” (zhi huo). After stopping, you may walk or go about daily affairs. If you hesitate and keep practicing, Yang may turn into post-heaven Qi and dissipate. The body growing hot and sweating is a sign that Yang has become post-heaven Qi and is scattering—this must be understood.

The Chiwen Gudong Jing treats the principles of returning to emptiness and of stillness and movement; chapters such as Patriarch Lü’s Bai Zi Bei clarify the stages of Neidan practice from start to finish, which later sections explain separately.

Between heaven and earth, what is called “movement” has its root in stillness; what is called “doing” has its root in non-action (wuwei).

Heaven and earth take the undivided state of primordial chaos as their foundation; the sage establishes standards through wuwei—accord with nature and do not act rashly. At the beginning heaven and earth were originally utterly still; later, through motion, yin and yang—the two modes—arose; from one came two, from two came three, and from three the ten thousand things were generated, and so all things appeared. The sage is quiet and clear, without arbitrary action, holding the balanced state of things before they have stirred. When there is responsiveness, he can penetrate principle; what he speaks and does stays within measure—this is bringing “purposeful action” to its fullest. The sage models himself on heaven and earth, enabling the ten thousand things to be born and nurtured; human norms are established from this. The motion of heaven and earth stems from not moving; the doing of the sage stems from wuwei.

When there is wuwei, spirit (shen) can return to stability; when spirit is stable, the ten thousand things return to stillness. When there is no movement, qi (vital energy) can disperse and return to harmony; when qi is harmonious, the ten thousand things can grow.

Only by guarding the center and holding to unity, letting spirit silently abide in peace, can one hide and nourish true nature like hibernating in winter, waiting for the moment to stir. Only through clarity, stillness, single-minded concentration, and gathering qi deep within can one act in season and bring the ten thousand things to flourish. Observing the four seasons makes this clear: in winter all things lie hidden underground, deeply protecting their root; around the winter solstice, yin gradually exhausts and yang rises again, and the ten thousand things begin to sprout and grow. Because they are stored so deeply, they can flourish so abundantly—such is the principle.

Spirit guards spirit; thing supports thing; in the end all return to the root.

Between Heaven and Earth, responsive interaction follows two patterns: one is that like kinds resonate with one another; the other is that opposites complement each other and bring things to completion. Water flows toward what is damp; fire draws near what is dry; clouds rise with dragons, winds follow tigers—these all belong to resonance among like kinds. Only pure Yin can respond to pure Yang; within utmost stillness the greatest movement can arise; after extreme cold there must come extreme heat—these belong to complementarity between opposites.

When spirit returns to silence, that is spirit guarding spirit—the first pattern. When Qi disperses yet the myriad things grow, that is the myriad things mutually sustaining one another—the second pattern. When spirit enters great samadhi (profound stillness meditation), the myriad things all return to stillness—like spirit guarding spirit, like mixing water with water. When essential Qi is gathered inward, the myriad things are nourished and flourish—like mutual sustenance among things, stillness giving rise to movement.

The sage keeps the heart-mind empty and still, holds to silence, nurtures breath and preserves spirit—all ultimately to return to the root of life. Hence “in learning one adds day by day; in cultivating the Dao one subtracts day by day”—the fundamental aim in both is returning to the root and restoring destiny (gui gen fu ming), long life and lasting vision, with no other path.

Silently ponder and realize it—I too have realized it thereby. “It” here means the great Dao of returning to the root and restoring destiny. In the small sense, it is the law of like-kind resonance and opposite complementarity; in the large sense, it is the principle of cosmic generation and transformation. The myriad things go from One to Two, Two to Three; following this process forward, there is birth and death. From Five return to Three, from Three return to One—reversing this process in cultivation is the path of becoming an immortal or a buddha; all depend on embodiment and realization. “I” here means the self of which the Supreme Lord (Taishang)—Laozi in Daoist reverence—speaks.

Enter the realm without interstice, and one transcends birth and death, becoming one with Heaven and Earth. “Without interstice” (wu jian) means no barrier; the transformations of the great Dao were never partitioned. To enter this vast realm without interstice and realize its meaning—“I” again means the self of which the Supreme Lord speaks.

Enter the realm without interstice, and one transcends birth and death, becoming one with Heaven and Earth.

“No gap” means there is no interval. The great transformation of heaven and earth originally has no gap. Entering this gapless great transformation, no longer clinging to the changes of birth and death, one can refine the ordinary human body into the Dharma body (the transcendent mind–body realm of the cultivator), complete merit, return to true origin and become an immortal, and become one with the great transformation of heaven and earth—hence it is said “to be one with heaven and earth.”

Chapter on Entering Sagehood

Forget gazing at external things, and inner light overflows without limit; cease chasing external sounds, and heart-knowledge (xingshi) stays deep and still like an abyss.

People’s ears and eyes are not clear enough because seeing and hearing are not correct and are blocked by external things. The Daodejing says: “The five colors make the eyes blind; the five tones make the ears deaf.” That is exactly this principle. Now, no longer clinging to seeing and hearing, letting ear and eye not be pulled by externals, one can restore inherent clarity: inner light illuminates without limit, hence “light overflows without limit”; heart-knowledge is deep and still without bound, hence “heart-knowledge is constantly an abyss.” “Abyss” means depth. When heart-knowledge is deep and still, one can penetrate the subtle—this is the utmost of hearing restored to natural clarity.

When both functions of eye and ear are forgotten and stilled, that is the gateway to the myriad subtleties.

The ears and eyes are the organs of hearing and seeing for a person, and so they are called the “two agencies.” Those who cultivate the Dao also know they must set aside the Shishen (consciousness pulled by the senses and by discursive thought) and employ the Yuanshen (original, authentic spirit)—yet often they can only forget for a while and cannot cut off completely. Only when one can both forget and sever, so that not the slightest related thought remains, can inner transformation (zaohua, the turning and refining within) be set in motion. The word “sever” (jue) here deserves special attention.

Human nature in itself is originally complete and clear; because the six sense faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) contact outer things, they take what is illusory for real and cling to it, and thus inversion and confusion arise. Now that one understands the outer realm is like a dream, one no longer uses these two faculties of ear and eye, utterly forgetting and cutting off attachment to the outer realm. In this way, when one faculty returns to the source, all six faculties are liberated. Entering the state of “entering the flow and forgetting the object” (ru liu wang suo)—accord with the stream of one’s true nature and release fixation on what is encountered—one can realize true enlightenment (zhengjue) and draw forth exquisitely subtle inner transformation.

The six faculties can interchange in function—for example, seeing with the ear and hearing with the eye, which is the first kind; perceiving without relying on the senses, which is the second; obtaining the six supernormal capacities such as the divine eye and divine ear, which is the third. The marvels are more than one kind, hence they are called the “manifold marvels” (zhongmiao). They are called a “gate” (men) because this path can reach all these marvels, like a doorway.

Pure and whole, this accords with the “Great Square” (dafang)—all-embracing, without fixed form; deep and chaotic, it accords with “beyond pairs” (wulun)—transcending comparison and opposition.

This describes the sage who has attained the Dao: what is called “Great Square” has no fixed shape; what is called “beyond pairs” transcends all relativity. The sage is pure and complete, unrestricted by place or direction; profound and subtle, beyond relative distinctions.

Heaven and earth are so vast, yet all are sustained by me; the myriad things are so numerous, yet all are upheld by me. Where would their end or limit be? How could one define their bounds?

Sages can take part in the transforming and nourishing work of Heaven and Earth, so that the myriad things of the cosmos run and grow; that Heaven and Earth do not decline and that the ten thousand things can keep multiplying depends entirely on the sage’s sustaining power. Confucius said: “Yao as ruler—how great! Heaven is vastest, and only Yao could model himself on the Way of Heaven.” The Yijing says: “When the sage appears, all can see him.” Commentators explain: the sage stands at the head of the people, brings peace to the world, and makes the ten thousand things kin with humanity. Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things continue to be born and never cease because of the sage’s merit—merit vast indeed!

● On Abiding in the World, Part Two

Nurture that formless, imageless true nature, and its true image can endure; guard that bodiless true body, and the true body can stay whole. True nature and true body support each other, and life can be long.

The image that is without form and without image is the true image; the body that has no form is the true body. Only by obtaining this truth without image and without body can one live long and see far. What is meant here by things without image and without body is the “truth of the limitless” (wuji zhi zhen) and “primordial Great Ultimate embracing-truth Qi” (xiantian taiyi han zhen zhi qi)—the primordial source-Qi spoken of in Daoism—regarded as the root of becoming an immortal or a buddha.

Heaven obtains this truth, therefore it lasts long; Earth obtains this truth, therefore it endures; humans obtain this truth, therefore they enjoy long life.

Heaven and Earth last long because they possess the “truth of the limitless” and “primordial one Qi” (xiantian yi qi, primordial source-Qi); that humans can live long and see far also lies in gaining this true Qi.

Ordinary people cannot endure because they lose the truth without image, scatter the truth without body, and cannot preserve the hundred bones and nine orifices of the whole body together with the true body—they end in death.

Because people damage the formless, bodiless true nature, they die before their time. The innate Taiyi qi—the primordial qi generated before birth—within the human body is simply yuan qi, also called yang qi, what one brings at birth. The saying “the common people use it daily without knowing it” refers precisely to this yuan qi. Drawn by external temptations and beset by the seven emotions and six desires, people constantly drain the true yang yuan qi within. Day after day, yuan qi is exhausted; every part of the body becomes an empty shell, true yuan disperses, and the person dies. As the proverb goes: “As long as there is a trace of yin qi in the body, one cannot become an immortal; as long as there is a trace of yang qi, one will not die.” When yang qi is cut off, death is certain.

The purpose of cultivating the Dao is to preserve yuan qi not yet lost and restore what has already been depleted. Practitioners gather innate qi from emptiness and draw it into themselves to make up the deficit; they then continually store essence and qi until true yang is full and they reach the realm of immortality. So-called “small heavenly circuit” and “great heavenly circuit” are both methods of gathering and refining true yang.

Lu Dongbin’s Baizi Bei (Hundred Character Stele) is the briefest of neidan (internal alchemy) classics, yet it states the essentials of inner elixir practice fully. Students should read it repeatedly and ponder it deeply. What follows explains its content:

Nourish qi, forget words, and hold

“Nourish qi” is one matter; at the same time one must forget words and forget holding. “Forget words” means closing the mouth and stilling speech—what is called “blocking the openings” (sai dui: reining in mouth, ears, and other senses so the outer world does not stir the inner mind). “Forget holding” means seeming not to hold deliberately while still cultivating—knowing without clinging to “holding.” If one weighs the word “hold” too heavily…

Nourishing qi (yang qi) is a method of cultivation, yet one must achieve “forgetting words” and “forgetting guarding.” “Forgetting words” means closing off the senses so that spirit and mind are not pulled about by outer things. “Forgetting guarding” means not deliberately clinging to guarding—yet it is not the same as guarding nothing at all: one knows one is cultivating without fixating on “guarding.” If one overweight “guarding,” deliberately guarding cavities and guarding qi, that is inappropriate; hence the instruction to “forget guarding.” Only when both speech and clinging to guarding are released can qi be nourished. Forgetting words without reckless movement, forgetting guarding while remaining clear and still—this is the meaning of “do not forget, do not assist”: do not forget the practice, and do not forcibly push it forward.

Qi and spirit (shen) depend on each other; in practice they naturally unite, so there is no need to stress using spirit to guard in addition. When spirit returns to the cavity, that itself is guarding; there is no need to guard some separate place on purpose. Spirit has three dwelling places: the Heavenly Valley (tiangu), the Responding Valley (yinggu), and the Spirit Valley (linggu). The Heavenly Valley is the mud pill (niwan)—the spirit chamber in the head. The Responding Valley is the crimson palace (jiangong)—the region of the heart and chest, where inner and outer respond to each other. The Spirit Valley is the valley path (gudao)—the area of the anus—also called the hidden aperture of the yin qiao (yinqiao yi qiao) in internal alchemy (neidan) discourse. When spirit returns to the Heavenly Valley, it is quiet and unmoving; when it returns to the Responding Valley, it can respond to the world; when it returns to the Spirit Valley, it hides away according to events. Original spirit (yuanshen) returns to the Heavenly Valley; discriminating spirit (shishen) returns to the Spirit Valley; when there is something to respond to, the Responding Valley handles it. The Spirit Valley belongs to concealment; when shishen settles there, it hides and returns to emptiness. The Responding Valley is where inner and outer mutually respond and where one joins with qi—it is the crimson palace. The way of cultivation should begin from the Responding Valley.

To subdue the heart-mind (xiangxin), one must act yet not cling to acting. “Subduing the heart” means subduing one’s own thoughts so that shishen fades. “Acting yet not acting” means cultivating in the spirit of wuwei (non-action)—working between intention and non-intention: doing only what cultivation requires, without attachment to the doing. If one cares only about acting, one falls into deliberate doing; if one does not act at all, one falls into blank stillness. Acting yet not acting is singleness without scattering, thoughts not arising—this is the sense of “continuous, as if enduring” (mianmian ruo cun) and of “do not forget, do not assist.” When the heart-mind is subdued to this degree, the work of movement and stillness in cultivation arises from it.

“Zu” (Ancestral Origin) denotes the Qian-origin ancestral Qi (the fundamental prenatal vital energy), which in the human body corresponds to Xing (nature). “Zong” (Root Source) denotes Kun-origin vital Qi, which in the body corresponds to Ming (life). Zu is Yuanshen (Original Spirit); Zong is original Qi. The two arise from the same source and differ only in name. When distinguished, Zu is associated with lead and Zong with mercury—yet mercury in practice is found within Qi. Zu is the Li (principle) and Qi of the pre-heaven Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); Zong is the single Qi produced when one’s parents’ Jing (essence) and Qi condense and unite.

In the acquired, postnatal person, Zu is Yuanshen, while Zong is the root of Ming endowed with feeling and knowing—that is, the Qi that enters from outside. Zu and Zong must be discerned through movement and stillness: in movement one discerns Zong; in stillness one discerns Zu. What “knowing” means here is the moments of Huozi and Huowu (the “living” zi and wu hours when yin-yang qi stirs in practice). When body and mind are both quiet, Yuanshen appears—this is Xing, and this is Zu. When stillness reaches its limit and movement arises, yang qi is generated in the void and gathered within—this is Ming, and this is Zong. Movement reaches its limit and returns to stillness; stillness reaches its limit and stirs again—and so the cycle continues.

Stillness belongs to Shen (spirit); movement belongs to Qi. Only when Shen and Qi unite can one truly understand movement and stillness. When stillness is extreme and movement begins—the return of the one yang (yiyang laifu, the first stirring of yang)—and original Qi reaches the body, one must advance the yang fire (jinyang huo). When movement is extreme and stillness comes—the union of the one yin (yiyin laigou)—and cool fluid descends, one must retreat the yin talisman (tui yin fu). “Knowing movement and knowing stillness” is the same as knowing Zong and knowing Zu. With both aspects present, one has truly entered the human path and may then cultivate the immortal path. The crux of the cultivation journey lies in this word “know,” which encompasses the principle of Qi returning to its root and of Shen (spirit) and breath relying on each other.

Where else, then, need one seek?

By putting those three lines into practice, you have already covered the main principles of cultivating the Dao. Train in this way and an ordinary person can become a sage; there is no need to look elsewhere for another method. If you feel it is still not enough and go hunting for other Daoist techniques, you have turned toward “waìdào”—paths that stray from the correct course of cultivation described here. Guard the spirit without forced, rigid holding; nourish the inner life through wuwei (non-action). Qi moves and acts; shen (spirit) stays quiet and turns inward. Only by nurturing qi and nurturing the heart can you see that movement and stillness each have their own root. It has already been shown how to handle the “fire phases” of practice—the timing of advance, retreat, movement, and stillness—and how simple the Great Dao is: in essence, nothing extra is required.

To keep true constancy (zhēncháng—the steady, clear state that does not waver), you must still deal with the world. When things come at you, what matters is that the heart-mind does not lose its way.

This teaching is about true constancy. When you can nurture heart and qi, you can hold to that constancy and guard yuanshen (the original spirit, life’s spiritual master) and yuanqi (primordial qi, the root breath of life). You still meet the ten thousand things, but with a broad, even mind, and when they appear you answer them as reason allows. Treating every affair according to its principle is what is meant by “responding to things without being confused.” The “things” in question are the liugēn (the six faculties—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and the liùchén (the six sense objects—forms, sounds, scents, tastes, touches, and mental objects). When faculties and objects meet, you should meet the situation, respond fittingly, and not let them throw you into confusion. When you see wealth or beauty, for example, if you handle it by principle and are not pulled off course, yuanshen and yuanqi are not drained away—that is the way of true constancy.

When you are not turned aside by outer things, human nature settles of itself; when nature settles, qi naturally gathers and returns.

When the heart-mind is not swayed by external things, heart-nature naturally settles. As heart-nature abides in Tiangu—the cultivation locus within the head—it becomes the Yuanshen (original spirit, one’s authentic spiritual self) dwelling in Tiangu, and one can naturally clarify the heart-mind and see one’s nature: discerning the original heart-mind and knowing true nature. Once Yuanshen is settled, Zhenxi (true breath, the inner breathing spoken of in practice) returns on its own. The term hui (“return”) is written with two kou (“mouth” or “opening”) side by side; here it means one opening facing another, aperture joining aperture.

Heart-nature and life were never meant to be split. If a cultivator steadies heart-nature, lets Yuanshen govern body and mind, and gains a natural divine awareness, then Minggong (work on life—nurturing vitality and refining qi) advances together with Xinggong (work on nature—cultivating the heart-mind). Ordinary breathing turns into Zhenxi, and Xuan’guan (the mysterious pass, the pivotal point where inner changes show themselves in neidan) takes on a visible form.

This is because Yuanshen and Zhenxi rely on each other: spirit is calm, qi breath is still, and breathing returns breath by breath to the root. The Zhuangzi says: “The breathing of the zhenren (true person) seems to come from the heels—deep and long, as if there were something and as if there were not.” That is exactly the condition when heart-nature is settled and breath has returned.

When breath returns, Neidan (internal elixir) forms naturally; within the “pot” of the inner alchemical body, Kan and Li (the symbolic water and fire, yin and yang forces) are harmonized.

When the mind-nature is settled, qi naturally returns to its root; Yuanshen (the innate, pre-natal spirit) and Yuanqi (the innate, pre-natal vital breath) then gather on their own and form the inner elixir (Neidan). True nature and true breath (the fundamental breath spoken of in practice) depend on each other and embrace one another. When the spirit-mind scatters outward, qi scatters outward with it; when the mind-nature returns to the root, qi naturally returns to the root. Hence the saying “fully cultivate nature so as to reach life” (jinxing yi zhi yu ming): to thoroughly refine one’s nature and thereby advance to cultivation of life’s root.

Buddhist scriptures speak much of the principles of nature (xing) but do not directly teach life-practice (minggong). There is also the view that when nature-practice (xinggong) reaches a certain depth, life-practice follows of itself—as a natural outcome of cultivation. The three occurrences of “zi” (self, naturally) in the preceding text and here all highlight this principle of natural correspondence, pointing cultivators to where they should apply effort.

“Within the pot” (huzhong) refers to an aperture shaped like the Penglai immortal mountain—the metaphorical “elixir cauldron” (danding) where the inner pill is nurtured. “Water and Fire mutually complete” (shuihuo jiji) and Kan and Li paired describe the state when the pill forms. Kan stands for the moon, Li for the sun; sun and moon together compose the character for “elixir” (dan). Once the nature-mind is settled and breath has returned to the root, the elixir naturally congeals in the cauldron.

Yin and Yang cycle without end, universally nurturing the ten thousand things, as if a single clap of thunder resounds.

When Kan and Li are paired—Kan and Li symbolize water and fire and also stand for yin and yang within the human body—the practice is called “drawing from Kan to fill Li”: one takes the speck of yang qi hidden inside Kan and sends it into Li, so that Li can recover the pure, firm yang character of the Qian trigram; then one takes the speck of yin qi inside Li and returns it to Kan, so that Kan can recover the purely yin image of the Kun trigram. That is the ceaseless cycling of yin and yang. The crux of cultivation lies in reversing this ordinary direction of yin and yang.

From the moment we are born, yin gradually increases and yang gradually declines; when yang is exhausted, the person dies. That is the course of natural change—hence both birth and death. Those who cultivate the Dao go against it: from “returning to emptiness” (making heart and spirit settle in quiet emptiness), “laying the foundation” (establishing the root of practice), and “refining the self” (tempering body and mind), through the stages of the “small heavenly circuit” and “large heavenly circuit” (different phases of circulating qi in Neidan), they do one thing—gather the true yang from empty space, draw it back into themselves, and use it to refine the turbid yin in the body. The saying “cultivate in reverse and become an immortal or a buddha” means exactly this. So the phrase “turning yin and yang back upon themselves” already states the whole gist of elixir refinement and Dao cultivation.

To enter this teaching, one must wait for the moment of “Earth Thunder Fu”—the image of the Fu hexagram in the Yijing, when yang qi begins to revive. The Yijing on the Fu hexagram says: “Fu—does it not show the heart of Heaven and Earth?” At the moment of revival, the generative heart of Heaven and Earth can appear. When the heart of Heaven appears and the “living zi hour” arrives (the moment in practice when yang qi stirs), one should gather the fire phases, “carry” the metal qi, set the “river chariot” in motion (Neidan imagery for circulating qi), and practice the circuit methods.

From the small heavenly circuit to the large heavenly circuit, the principle is the same: one must wait until “one yang returns” and the zi hour comes before beginning the reverse refinement. Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said: “Earth thunder shakes the mountain; rain waits—until the yellow sprout is washed and breaks from the soil.” Then yang fire and the yin tally (Neidan terms for advancing and withdrawing with the fire phases) move up and down within the body; qi arises from nothing, returns from being to nothing, passing through ascent, descent, advance, and retreat, until yin is exhausted and yang is pure, and all becomes one Qi (a single, undivided primordial qi)—that is the stage symbolized by “the yellow sprout breaking from the earth.”

Whoever learns the secret and cultivates accordingly—even an ordinary person in the countryside—can transcend the mundane, shed the ordinary body, and become an immortal. The Yijing says “the Lord comes forth from Zhen”—meaning the sovereign qi issues from the east that Zhen represents; Zhen belongs to wood, and “east three” points to the related pre-heaven numerology. “Acting before Heaven, yet Heaven does not oppose” means acting ahead of the seasonal moment without violating the Dao of Heaven. Hence it is called “Puhua’s single clap of thunder”—using thunder as a metaphor for yang stirring and the birth of the myriad things.

“White clouds ascending to the crown” describes the moment in cultivation when the great elixir (dayao) has ripened and “one yang returns” (yiyang laifu)—when yang qi rekindles and rises along the Governing Vessel (dumai) to the crown of the head. This aligns with what the Wuzhen pian (Awakening to Reality) means by “relying on the Kun position to form the body, planting it in the Qian palace of mutual exchange.”

“Sweet dew sprinkling Mount Sumeru” means that once yang qi reaches the crown, it joins with yin qi and transforms into a cool, clear fluid that descends from the head, passes through the “multi-storied tower” (chonglou—the throat), and returns to the Yellow Court (huangting, the locus of inner refinement in the abdomen). In neidan (internal alchemy), this process is called “ingesting and obtaining the elixir,” and belongs to the stage of the “great circulation” (da zhou tian), when inner qi completes its circuit through the whole body.

“One drinks the wine of long life for oneself—who else could know such carefree ease!”

When sweet dew enters the mouth, its flavor is uniquely fragrant and rare. After the practitioner has “ingested and obtained the elixir,” this is what they call the “wine of long life.” The Wuzhen pian speaks of “the eldest son suddenly drinking the wine of the west”; Wugen shu (Rootless Tree) speaks of “ghee-wine, the broth of returning life—the king of medicines that revives the dead.” All point to the same kind of neidan experience. This wine of long life is produced by one’s own practice; only the practitioner can truly taste it—as in the saying “like drinking water, one knows for oneself whether it is cold or warm.”

After the sweet dew is swallowed, the cultivator feels cool throughout the body and joy in the heart—feelings hard to compare with anything else. Confucian learning calls this “true joy,” as when Yan Hui, content in poverty, “did not change his joy.” Such happiness is known only to oneself; only when one’s own nature is clear and communes with the Great Void (taixu—the vast emptiness) can one grasp that carefree ease—something words can barely capture.

If you listen quietly to the “stringless melody,” you may secretly penetrate the hidden workings of heaven and earth’s creative transformation.

In one sentence: at the beginning of cultivation, one starts from huanxu—returning the spirit-mind to emptiness and stillness. The scripture uses the image of “blowing a flute without holes and listening to music without strings” to describe not relying on outward sound, but letting the spirit-mind settle and the breath return inward. Thus nature (xing) naturally abides, Qi naturally turns back, and the elixir (dan) naturally coalesces; these three “natural” processes are the hidden alignment with the pivot of change in practice.

At the end of cultivation, one must again return to emptiness and stillness, so that one’s own void merges with the void of Heaven and Earth. With long practice, one reaches what is called “shattering the void.” Others see only that the practitioner seems to do nothing (wuwei), yet do not know that he has entered the working of Heaven and Earth’s transforming and nourishing—hence it is called “secretly penetrating the mechanism of creation.”

The whole chapter is barely twenty lines, yet it sets out the steps of the Dao in order; practicing according to that sequence is like having a ladder one can climb step by step toward Heaven.

After Zhang Ziyang the Perfected One finished the Wuzhen pian (Awakening to Reality), he also wrote the Jindan sibai zi (Four Hundred Words on the Golden Elixir) and transmitted it to Bai Yuxian. The speaker holds that Bai Yuxian did not fully expound the deep meaning of the Wuzhen pian, and so a deviation arose—“wind and thunder at midnight.” The Jindan sibai zi speaks more plainly; it uses symbolic language to explain the Wuzhen pian. Over the ages dozens of commentators have annotated this book; the speaker considers Peng Haogu’s commentary the best. Min Yide selected Peng’s notes and added further explanation, making the meaning even clearer. The following exposition will follow that edition: the notes are already quite clear; read them closely and one can also grasp what lies beyond the words.

“True Earth captures True Lead; True Lead governs True Mercury” opens the Jindan sibai zi. True Earth, True Lead, and True Mercury are symbolic terms in neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation; they refer to using one inner root force to hold and regulate another.

Use true intention (qingming zhuan yi—a clear, focused inner intent) to govern the true lead and true mercury within body and mind: true lead refers to qi in the body, true mercury to shen (spirit) in the heart. True earth is yi (intention) in the body; it can harmonize yin and yang so that true lead restrains true mercury, until both lead and mercury return to true earth. In this way, shen and qi merge into one, nature and life align, and body and mind settle into stillness.

This stillness is not blank unawareness: within deep quiet there is still clear knowing; outwardly unmoving yet inwardly bright and awake. Wandering thoughts subside while awareness does not dim; though the physical body seems still, the spiritual body (the essential spirit in cultivation) remains ceaselessly alive. This is neither falling into empty silence nor resigning oneself to dryness and decay.

Once you raise true intention and settle body and mind to gather the mind, the Five Phases can gather and the Four Symbols harmonize; you then reach “five qi returning to the origin” (wuxing zhao yuan—the qi of the five viscera returning to the one origin) and “three flowers gathering at the crown” (san hua ju ding—the convergence of jing, qi, and shen at the crown). The method is straightforward and not overly difficult; what matters above all is sincere intent first.

“True Earth” (zhen tu) means authentic intention—that is, the naturally clear and luminous awareness; “True Lead” (zhen qian) means the innate true yi qi; “True Mercury” (zhen gong) means the Shen (spirit) that runs restlessly in the heart. To gather the innate true yi qi with authentic intention is to use prenatal qi to steady the drifting human mind. When lead and mercury both return to True Earth, the three meet in the central palace (zhonggong), and body and mind settle and cease to move recklessly.

“From emptiness and void, white snow is born; in stillness and silence, yellow sprouts appear” describes how, once one enters a state of emptiness and silence, the “medicine” in the body gradually arises. “White snow” and “yellow sprouts” are both Neidan (internal alchemy) images for the elixir medicine coming forth. “The jade furnace’s fire burns warm and steady; purple clouds rise from the golden cauldron” depicts the scene when Shen intention adjusts and nurtures qi while warming the inner elixir.

Peng’s commentary says that emptiness and silence are the work of beginning to gather the medicine; white snow and yellow sprouts are signs that the body’s medicine is generating. He pairs white snow with emptiness and void, holding that white snow arises from the void; he pairs yellow sprouts with stillness and silence, holding that yellow sprouts must be warmed by fire to appear, because fire generates earth (tu). In the language of yin-yang waxing and waning, when the time is that of the Gou hexagram (when yin at its height first gives birth to a strand of yang), heaven and earth interact and white snow naturally arises from emptiness and void; when the time is that of the Fu hexagram (when yang returns), earth and heaven interact and yellow sprouts naturally issue from silence. When yin reaches its extreme and yang is just beginning, yellow sprouts seem to grow up from beneath the earth.

The “jade furnace” is the Huangting—the middle Dantian (energy center) within the body; “fire” is Shen, using Shen intention to adjust qi. Shen intention is like fire warming in the jade furnace—this is the phase of “tending the fire with steady warmth.” The “cauldron” is the Qian position, the original palace of Shen. Black turning red and showing purple means fire rising like rosy light; here clouds and fire refer to the same cultivation image. “The jade furnace’s fire burns warm and steady” means the Shen of the Qian palace shines into the Kun palace; purple clouds rising from the cauldron means that after Shen is warmed by Qian fire, in the Kun palace an image of upward ascent appears.

Min Shi says: “When the heart-mind settles within the body and the body begins to be regulated by spirit and mind, that is the first sign of effect.”

Commentators say that White Snow is the root from which Jade Liquid arises, and Yellow Sprout is the root from which Golden Liquid arises: one stands for form emerging from emptiness, the other for motive appearing when stillness reaches its extreme. The “Jade Furnace” and “Golden Cauldron” are where White Snow and Yellow Sprout grow. The Jade Furnace holds natural firing—gentle nourishment—and only then can Purple Mist (the image of true qi rising in practice) fly into the Golden Cauldron, meaning that the path is completed by steering qi with spirit-intent. When true intent does not scatter, the firing naturally stays mild.

“Lotus blooms in the Flowery Pool; divine water’s golden ripples are still (or ‘clear’). Deep in the night the moon stands full—heaven and earth, one round mirror.”

(Gu Zhu) Ziyang’s Original Preface says: “Using lead to make mercury is called the Flowery Pool; putting mercury into lead is called divine water.” On this reading, the Flowery Pool is the root of life (ming), and divine water is the root of nature (xing). To fuse xing and ming, first put mercury into lead, then use lead to restrain mercury. The essence of True One in the Kan palace (the kidney-water direction) carries upright yang qi upward into the lead—like a lotus opening; upright yang qi in the Li palace (the heart-fire direction) descends with the essence of True One, quiet as clear golden waves. Near the approach of the zi hour, water is clear and metal white; xing, ming, spirit, and qi intermingle—hence “heaven and earth, one round mirror.” The crux is joining xing to ming: gathering spirit-mind and letting it enter the qixue (the locus in neidan where spirit gathers and qi settles). The ancients said: “There is no other method for refining the elixir—only draw spirit into the Flowery Pool, and the work is done.” That is exactly this meaning.

(Min Shi) Heart and body become one, purely aligned with heavenly principle. Only when body and mind run naturally does the moment appear when practice can begin.

“Lotus blossoms in the Hua Pool” describes the spirit entering the qi acupoint—the place one holds in practice when concentrating the spirit and regulating the breath. “Spirit water; golden waves still” describes moving innate nature and emotional consciousness toward union. Buddhist scriptures use the opening of the lotus as a figure for the light of wisdom coming forth. Within Lihuo (the trigram Li, symbolizing fire) there is true water, called “spirit water,” a figure for true mercury—that is, the heart-mind. When the ground of the mind is clear, emotional consciousness quiets and settles; then the “golden waves” are calm. “Golden waves” stand for emotional consciousness.

“Deep in the night the moon shines true” describes the scene in which the light of nature appears and the heart-moon is round and bright. At midnight the outer world is still; then the ten thousand things are clear, and only the heart-moon shines; the furnace fire is fully cooked, and body and mind rest unmoved. This chapter treats the stage when refining the self (cultivating heart-nature) has ripened and the light of nature appears.

Cinnabar refines yang qi; mercury cooks golden essence. Golden essence and yang qi are respectively likened to cinnabar and mercury.

(Peng’s note) Cinnabar is the pure yang qi within the fluid; mercury is the pre-heaven true-one essence within water. To supplement the yin of the Li palace, one takes the true-one essence from the fluid. “Golden essence and yang qi,” refined by yang fire, are like cinnabar; nourished by the yin tally (the timing or principle in practice that pairs with yang fire and holds and nurtures), they are like mercury. They are not two separate things.

(Min’s explanation) Once you have the method of entering the work, you must hammer and cook it again and again; you still must use the heart to govern the body and the body to nourish heart-nature, and wait patiently until the gongfu matures—there is no other way.

When cinnabar is refined, the yang qi within it is revealed; when mercury is smelted, the golden essence within it comes forth. Yang qi and golden essence were always present in cinnabar and mercury—they cannot appear without intense firing. This illustrates that original spirit (yuanshen) and the mind of the Dao were always within the knowing spirit (shishen) and the human mind. If the veiling of knowing spirit and human mind is removed, original spirit and the mind of the Dao can return and be seen, and one can grasp the inner master. Cinnabar and mercury can also be seen as different names for one thing; when they unite, they return to the Dao. In other words, when original spirit is preserved, the mind of the Dao appears of itself. Wuzhen pian says: “Originally it is simply mercury, circulating through all heavens.” That is exactly this meaning—the analogy fits very well.

The sun soul is the fat of the jade rabbit; the moon soul is the marrow of the golden crow. Take them and place them in the cauldron, and they transform into a pool of water.

Peng’s commentary: The sun belongs to wood and fire and is called the sun soul (rihun); the soul is stored in shen (spirit). Yang contains yin—that yin is the moon soul (yuepo). Without the moon, the sun cannot show its brilliance, hence “jade rabbit fat”; fat corresponds to jing (essence). The moon belongs to metal and water and is called the moon soul; the soul is stored in jing. Yin contains yang—that yang is the sun soul. Without the sun, the moon cannot form its body, hence “golden crow marrow”; marrow corresponds to shen.

This is like cinnabar as the essence within the sun, which, receiving moon radiance, gives rise to true qi (zhenqi); and mercury as the splendor within the moon, which, receiving sun essence, gives rise to true lead (zhenqian). Among great cultivators, the highest refine shen into qi, then qi into jing; those of the middle path retain jing, refine jing into qi, then nourish shen with qi. When spirit and essence merge as one and are harmonized in the precious cauldron, sweet dew descends naturally and becomes a pool of water.

True mercury and true lead are the medicinal substances used in elixir refinement; with their aid one can form the elixir. Each of the two substances embodies yin and yang within itself: true lead belongs to yang and is called the “sun soul,” yet it is hidden within water—it is the middle line of the Kan trigram; true mercury belongs to yin and is called the “moon soul,” yet it is hidden within fire—it is the middle line of the Li trigram.

The cultivator places these medicinal substances into the cauldron and steams them with the “Four Greats” (the four basic constituents of the body). Yang qi rises to the summit of Kunlun, merges with true yin, and transforms into liquid, then returns again to the cauldron—this is called huandan (returned elixir). This chapter treats the mutual hiding of yin and yang; the cultivator must turn yin and yang around so that they flow back together into the cauldron.

The medicinal substance arises from the xuanqiao (the key mysterious aperture where the medicine generates in practice); the firing times are activated in the yang furnace. When dragon and tiger (symbols of the two forces of yin and yang) meet, the precious cauldron gathers the mysterious pearl (symbolizing the condensed essential elixir).

The “mysterious aperture” (xuankou)—the key site in inner alchemy (Neidan) where essence (Jing), vital energy (Qi), and spirit (Shen) meet—is the “mysterious female” (xuanpin). “Xuan” belongs to Yang and “pin” to Yin; together they are called the mysterious aperture. The lower dantian (the cultivation center below the navel) is like a furnace, the place where Shen dwells; fire is kindled from here, so it is called the “yang furnace.” Above the furnace is something like a cauldron (ding). When stillness reaches its limit, movement arises; the “medicine” then forms on its own—that is the moment for gathering the medicine. After the medicine is gathered, if there is no suitable fire timing (huohou) to refine it, it will dissipate and the mysterious pearl (xuanzhu) cannot form. Hence one must “turn the pivot at the crown’s gate and seize the pearl under the black dragon’s chin.” Medicine is fire, and fire is medicine; when medicine and fire unite, dragon and tiger meet, the embryo forms in the precious cauldron, and naturally a millet-sized mysterious pearl appears.

Yet the yang furnace can only kindle huohou after the mysterious aperture has produced the medicine. If one forces growth before the time is ripe, even when outer huohou is already running, the inner signs will not respond—and one will harm oneself instead. In sum: when Shen and Qi harmonize and merge, the mysterious aperture appears naturally; when it appears, huohou is known naturally; when huohou is mastered, dragon and tiger unite naturally; when dragon and tiger unite, the mysterious pearl forms naturally. The subtlety lies in the interval between movement and stillness—not the slightest deviation is allowed.

Min’s note: When body and mind are pure and unified, free of stray thoughts, the inner scene opens at once; then above all one must hold to single-minded vigilance—guarding the mind in solitude is most crucial. The first five sections stress “stillness”; here “reverent attentiveness” is added to sustain practice. The work of “maintaining reverence and preserving sincerity” is exactly this.

The "medicinal substances" spoken of here are true lead and true mercury—that is, a person's shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy). Only after essence is stored and the belly is filled does the xuan guan (the pass where spirit and qi meet in neidan practice) appear; only when there is medicine in the belly does the xuan aperture open. The yang furnace is the taiji furnace; spirit and qi are both the medicine and the fire that refines it. Once the xuan guan appears, fire can be kindled in the yang furnace; one dragon and one tiger meet at the central palace, and the xuan pearl forms. The euan pearl takes gold as its symbol and is another name for the golden elixir. The dragon belongs to wood and stands for woody mercury; the tiger belongs to metal and stands for metallic lead. When dragon and tiger meet, metal and wood combine. When the xuan pearl appears, yang qi rises accordingly, because dragon and tiger are being cooked in the precious cauldron. This chapter treats the union of metal and wood and the coagulation of the golden elixir.

This pass is no ordinary pass; it is jointly composed from qian and kun. It is called the spirit–qi cavity and holds the essence of kan and li within it.

Peng's commentary explains: "This pass" is the xuan aperture mentioned above. It cannot be simply classified as "being" or "non-being," is not bound to a fixed form, lies beyond body and mind, and dwells in a vague, hard-to-grasp state—hence it is called "no ordinary pass."

According to neidan theory here, the upper body is qian and the lower body is kun. The middle line of the qian trigram is taken from kun to form the kan trigram; kan sits in kun's place and symbolizes qi within. The middle line of the kun trigram is taken from qian to form the li trigram; li lodges in qian's place and symbolizes shen within. Shen is the mercury in the heart; qi is the lead in the body. The heart is where shen is housed; the body carries qi—hence the name "spirit–qi cavity." In the body there is a point of true yang qi, which belongs to li; in the heart there is a point of true yin essence, which belongs to kan—so it is said to contain the essence of kan and li.

(Min’s commentary) When body and mind are fully merged as one, and in quiet contemplation one grasps the mechanism of the aperture, what is spoken of then is no longer the ordinary physical body. After that, one must still carefully restrain body and mind, always maintaining focus, without indulgence or slackness. The key is to make the mind sincere and strictly curb desires.

Note: The Mysterious Pass and Single Aperture (xuan guan yi qiao) is an extremely subtle and profound pivot. Patriarch Zhang explains in the preface to this chapter: “Once you understand this aperture, you will know that the winter solstice, the medicinal ingredients, the timing of fire, bathing, forming the embryo, and leaving the embryo all reside here. It has no boundary and no inside or outside; it is the root of spirit and qi and the deep valley of emptiness.” These words are penetrating and clear. This aperture is constituted by the principle and qi of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji); it is the root of human nature and life—hence it is said to be “jointly formed by Qian and Kun.” In the postnatal body this aperture is hidden and not manifest; only after the medicinal ingredients enter the body and the foundation of the condensed elixir is established does it appear—hence it is said to be “called the aperture of spirit and qi, within which lie the essences of Kan and Li.” The “essences of Kan and Li” here are the medicinal ingredients.

Immortal Ge’s Xuanxuan Shi says: “Where Qian and Kun meet and join is the true center; this ‘center’ rests in emptiness, vast and open. Gathering the essences of dragon and tiger in the aperture, one can grasp the pivot of creation and transformation.” These lines are precisely a commentary on the two preceding chapters. The nature and function of the Mysterious Pass and Single Aperture have already been explained very fully; yet people search for the Mysterious Pass in the physical form—is that not a mistake?

A bit of wood-mercury shows red; four catties of metal-lead show black. When lead and mercury condense into cinnabar, a bright purple-gold color appears.

(Peng’s annotation) The single portion of true yin essence in the heart is called “wood mercury.” Wood’s number is three; within it lies one portion of true yang qi, hence “a single point”; wood generates fire, and fire is red, hence “a single point of red.” The single portion of true yang qi in the body is called “golden lead.” Metal’s number is four, hence “four catties”; lead is black, and metal shares the same palace as water, therefore “four catties of black.”

At first the red substance is refined into the black; then the black is refined back into the red. Red and black mingle and, in the treasure cauldron—the symbolic vessel of elixir work—condense into a cinnabar pearl the size of a millet grain, bright and shining in purple-gold. When red and black unite, the color becomes purple, so it is called “purple-gold.” Yet “lead” and “mercury” are not fixed material things; red and black are only fixed ways of speaking of color; “a single point” and “four catties” are not fixed quantities. Whoever grasps the meaning will understand for themselves.

(Min’s explanation) This again treats the practice of merging body and mind, maintaining reverence while nourishing sincerity. Through long, genuine accumulation in cultivation, when the Great Dao is fully gathered, the heart feels complete satisfaction; only then can one apply effort in a state of pure clarity and natural ease.

Note: This chapter again explains the union of metal and wood and the condensation of the great elixir. Mercury belongs to fire; “wood mercury” means the woody fluid within fire, and its color remains red. The east belongs to wood, number three; the south belongs to fire, number two; three and two combine to make five. Lead belongs to water; “golden lead” means the metal within water, and its color remains black. The north belongs to water, number one; the west belongs to metal, number four; one and four combine to make five. With the aid of the Yellow Matron—the central earth figure who brings metal and wood together—lead and mercury congeal into the golden fluid returning elixir; hence it is said: “Lead and mercury form cinnabar, bright and shining in purple-gold.”

According to textual research, Peng’s annotated edition reads “black [component] at four jin of golden lead,” while the text the lecturer follows has “black [component] at three jin of golden lead”—the two differ in “three” versus “four.” Peng’s commentary still transcribes the original as written, to preserve the manuscript; here the lecturer’s “three” is adopted, so two readings coexist. This note is added for readers who wish to compare them.

The scene in the inner “homestead” is bright and clear; wind and rain come at the depth of spring. Plowing and hoeing are not arduous—the whole earth seems turned to gold.

Peng’s note: “Homestead” means the true earth within the cultivator’s body—the inner foundation spoken of in neidan, such as the spleen-earth and related bases; “scenery” is the aspect shown when the body’s “medicinals” are in motion. When “one yang returns” (the phase when yang first stirs), one need only rouse the Xun wind (symbolizing breath or the wind of qi) to stir the Kun earth (the true earth in the body), and lead the divine water (a cultivation term for inner fluid or essence) to moisten the Flower Pool (often the gathering place of saliva or inner fluid). When “three yang meet in peace” (yang grows and yin-yang unite), one must still be cautious and not forcefully “pick and refine”; neither forgetting nor forcing—then the yellow sprout (a neidan image of the elixir’s first sign) will naturally arise from the true earth within. Calling it “gold” means it has condensed into the golden elixir.

Min’s explanation: Qi accumulated from moral principle is vast and firm; nourish it with upright mind and do not harm it—that is enough.

Here, “home” (jia) refers to the “home” in the phrase “everyone originally possesses this treasure.” “The home’s goods are rich and fine” means that the medicines one already has within are fully sufficient. “Wind and rain in deep spring” means the fire phase has ripened and the work of refining the elixir has reached its proper moment. At this point one should be at ease—neither forgetting the practice nor forcing it ahead—hence “plow and hoe without strain.” If one pushes too hard, one will only harm the elixir work.

When one sheds the embryo and transforms the spirit, mountains, rivers, and the great earth all seem to turn into the seven treasures, and the body itself is wrapped in golden light; therefore it is said that “the great earth is all gold.” This chapter treats the work of warming and nourishing the great elixir. The Wuzhen pian (Classic on Awakening to Reality), a central text of Daoist internal alchemy, says: “If you wish to know the method of refining, nourishing, and returning the elixir, you should plant and cultivate in your own home ground. Without boasting and without forced effort, the fruit ripens of itself and forms the spirit embryo.” That line is precisely the commentary on this chapter.

True lead (zhenqian)—a key “medicine” in internal alchemy—is born in Kan (the Water trigram, often associated with yin and the depths), yet its function lies in the palace of Li (the Fire trigram, associated with yang). It turns from black to red, and the cloud-vapor in the cauldron grows ever thicker.

(Peng’s annotation) Qi arises in the kidneys; within that qi, the pure portion of the “one” water is “True Lead.” So-called True One water is the true water gathered from qi when the pure yang of the Palace of Li (the seat of heart-fire) merges with the watery fluid—not pure yang extracted from the fluid itself. Only then can mother and child meet and cling to each other; otherwise, metal (True Lead) stays hidden in water and cannot rise. Using spirit-intent to gather and hold the breath is a secret transmitted by word of mouth since ancient times. Hence “its function lies in the Palace of Li”: its root is in Kan (water), while its operation is in Li (fire). Once True Lead has appeared by borrowing fire, the color of the water shifts from black to red. The “medicine” is fire; it ascends through the Three Passes (the gates along the spine where qi rises) all the way to the Nine Heavens (a metaphor for the crown). It rises slowly and finely, gathers and steams, gradually condenses; the breath thickens like clouds and enters the cauldron (in Neidan, a metaphor for the locus of refinement).

(Min’s explanation) This passage continues the previous text and especially points out that the work of merging body and mind in cultivation lies in using mind-intent to govern the body. This is the power of tranquility and fixed concentration.

Editorial note: True Lead is born in Kan. Kan belongs to water, yet True Lead is in fact the true fire within water—hence “its function lies in the Palace of Li.” The true fire at the Gate of Life (Mingmen, the life-gate at the waist) surges upward to the heart region and joins the true water of the Palace of Li. At first it appears black, for black is the color of water; after joining fire, black turns red, and dense cloud rises above the cauldron. Chapter two of this text says “purple haze flies above the cauldron,” referring to this thick cloud. This chapter treats the function of True Lead.

True Mercury is produced in the Palace of Li, yet its function lies in Kan. The Maiden (a Neidan term for True Mercury) passes through the Southern Garden, holding a jade olive in her hand.

Peng’s commentary holds that although true mercury (zhen gong) arises in the Li palace (symbolizing the heart and fire), it must be subdued and stabilized by the upright qi of Kan (symbolizing the kidney and water) before it can settle and coalesce; hence it is said that its function lies in Kan. The “Qian girl” (chà nǚ) refers to mercury, and the “southern garden” to the Li palace. When mercury in Li meets lead in Kan, lead and mercury unite, leave the Li palace together, and descend to the Kan position—hence “passing through the southern garden.” When mercury and water congeal, they are like white snow; “jade” describes their purity, and “olive” their shape—neither square nor round.

Min’s interpretation reads this as a further account of the practice in which body and mind merge as one; the crux is to nourish the mind with the body until one reaches a state of utmost single-minded reverence.

The editorial note explains that true mercury is born in Li; Li belongs to fire, yet true mercury is in essence true water within fire, so it is said that “its function lies in Kan.” When true yang rises to the Li palace, it joins true water in Li and becomes fluid that descends to the Kan palace; the meeting of true water and true fire is precisely what “its function lies in Kan” means. “The Qian girl passes through the southern garden” describes her coming from the Li palace: true mercury travels from the southern Li palace to the Kan domain, couples with true fire, and congeals into the jade fluid of the returned elixir (huandan)—the inner elixir image in which fluid congeals and yin and yang unite—hence the metaphor of “holding a jade olive in the hand.” This chapter explains the role of true mercury.

Zhen and Dui (trigram positions and symbols) do not refer only to east and west, nor do Kan and Li refer only to north and south. The Dipper’s handle circling the heavens illustrates that the practitioner must know how to gather and harmonize the various elements.

East corresponds to Zhen, west to Dui, south to Li, and north to Kan—these are the directional assignments of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The operation of the Heavenly Dao never rests; the handle of the Northern Dipper (Beidou) turns toward a different direction with each month, so the waxing and waning of Yin-Yang and the alternation of cold and heat all follow the seasons without disorder.

The human body is likewise patterned on heaven and earth: Qi rises from the Mysterious Valley (Xuangu, the place within the body regarded as where vital energy enters and exits) to the Mud-Pill Palace (Niwan, the crown center in internal alchemy), then descends through the Multi-storied Tower (Chonglou, the throat) and finally returns to the Northern Sea (Beihai, another name for the lower Dantian)—this is called Zhoutian, the circulation of Qi through the body in a complete circuit. The pivot of this circulation also takes the turning of the Dipper’s handle as its reference.

A year has twelve months; counting thirty days per month gives three hundred sixty days. Counting one hundred ke (quarters of an hour) per day, a year amounts to thirty-six thousand ke. Practitioners of Neidan (internal alchemy) apply the fire phases of Zhoutian so that in a single day they may accomplish the work of a full year—that is, one day stands for one year, and twelve double-hours stand for twelve months. Gathering a year’s cultivation into one day and a month’s cultivation into one double-hour, when you turn the practice you need only follow the direction of the Dipper’s handle; there is no need to spell out east, west, south, and north one by one.

If the Dipper’s handle is off, the seasons fall out of step—therefore you must be exceedingly careful in practice.

The medicinals used in forming the elixir (jiedan) are, in the end, only two: true mercury (zhen gong) and true lead (zhen qian). True mercury arises from the Li trigram, which symbolizes Fire; Li occupies the south. True lead arises from the Kan trigram, which symbolizes Water; Kan occupies the north—hence the phrase “south Li, north Kan.” Yet true mercury is also called “the wood fluid within Li”—wood belongs to the east and corresponds to the Zhen trigram. True lead is also called “metal within water”—metal belongs to the west and corresponds to the Dui trigram. For this reason it is also called “east Zhen, west Dui.”

In fact, mercury and lead are not fixed to any single direction among east, west, south, and north. When cultivators refine lead and mercury to form the elixir, what matters is using the central true intent (zhongyang zhenyi)—the mind-spirit that holds the center, harmonizes, and governs—to reconcile shen (spirit) and qi (vital energy), to grasp the pivot of the Dipper handle’s (doubing) turning, to gather the qi of the four seasons through the year, to circulate the celestial circuit (zhoutian—the process, in Neidan terms, by which qi cycles through the body), and to shift according to where the Dipper handle points. Hence it is said: “The Dipper handle turns the celestial circuit; the key is that one knows how to gather and cluster”—meaning that in the method of circulating the celestial circuit, the crux lies in knowing how to aggregate the scattered seasonal qi.

When one does not rely on fixed fire phases (huohou), the winter solstice is not necessarily fixed at the zi hour; when one enters the washing phase ( muyu—a stage in Neidan practice of regulating the breath and reining in the fire phase), mao and you are only figurative comparisons, not actual hours or moments.

Peng’s commentary states that when the “fire” is too strong it becomes overheated, and when too weak it turns cold; the key lies in regulating it to just the right measure—hence the talk of huohou (fire seasons, or the timing and intensity of inner “firing”). Within one day there are six such fire seasons; here hou refers to the rhythm of change in body and mind, not fixed clock hours. When one’s inner stillness reaches an extreme and movement begins to stir, in the monthly rhythm that corresponds to the winter solstice, and in the daily rhythm to the zi hour (midnight period); by following this moment of stirring, the fire seasons are contained within it.

Broadly speaking, the ascent of yang is called zi, and the descent of yang is called wu; yang rising while yin falls is called mao, and yin rising while yang falls is called you. But “do not carve the sub-periods zi, wu, mao, and you out of the hours of the day” means that zi, wu, mao, and you need not be tied to the calendar’s winter or summer solstice, or to the rabbit or rooster months in the year. In external alchemy (waidan), adding fire is called zi, and drawing off fire is called wu; when fire neither increases nor decreases, that is called * muyu* (Bathing)—adjusting the breath of fire so it stays balanced. None of these names is bound to actual hours.

Min’s explanation says that these two passages overall describe the practice of uniting body and mind in cultivation; its application depends entirely on a single thread of true intent (zhenyi), and also on the power of stillness and concentration (jingding) and an attitude of utmost sincerity and reverence. In the end, it is wholehearted single-mindedness, continuous and unbroken. The Perfected One (zhenren) explains this again not only to teach practitioners how to apply the method, but also to dispel the many misunderstandings that those who cling to words and fixate on outward forms have about alchemical texts (danshu).

In the alchemical method, the hours of zi, wu, mao, and you are called the “Four Cardinals.” Stages such as advancing fire, withdrawing the seal, nurturing by warmth, and bathing all take these directions and seasonal moments as metaphors. “Winter Solstice” stands for the first stir of Yang and the time to advance fire; mao and you, set within that pattern, stand for bathing. These expressions borrow the rhythms of heaven only as figures—they spell out the measure of refining the elixir. Practitioners must not take them literally as fixed clock times.

The Ruyaojing (Mirror for Compounding Medicine) says: “Of the twelve double-hours in a day, wherever your intention reaches, you may cultivate.” Within each day’s twelve double-hours, whenever signs appear that Yang is stirring, you may refine the elixir at once; you need not restrict yourself to Winter Solstice in the year or the hour of zi in the day. The phrase “living hour of zi” alone shows this. What holds for zi and wu extends by the same reasoning to mao and you. When circulating the celestial circuit, follow the signs as they actually arise and read the moment flexibly; do not be like one who marks the boat to find a lost sword, and so betray Patriarch Zhang’s earnest warning.

Gather “raven liver” (essence of the sun—in the commentary, wood fluid) and “hare marrow” (essence of the moon—in the commentary, metal essence) and bring them to one place. Grain by grain, the subtle gradually piles up until it becomes plain to see.

(Peng’s note) Humans receive the true primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth in all 384 zhu, together weighing one jin. Eight liang of this is solar essence, hence “raven liver,” that is, wood fluid; the other eight liang is lunar essence, hence “hare marrow,” that is, metal essence. Metal and wood stand apart; one relies on Wu and Ji (the earthy go-between) to harmonize them, then applies fire to refine. Each day one grain appears, as small as a millet seed, weighing one zhu and eight li. From hidden to manifest it grows: zhu accumulate into liang; in thirty days it weighs thirty-eight zhu and four si; in three hundred days, three hundred eighty-four zhu, until it forms a square inch in size and weighs one full jin.

In plain terms, one need only bring body and inner mind into mutual harmony—there is no other method of application. Simply keep nourishing without injuring, and let the work advance from what is subtle to what is fully manifest. That is what it means to practice “watchfulness in solitude” until the heart is broad and the body at ease; then breath seems to fill heaven and earth.

“Crow liver and hare marrow” here means the true mercury and true lead used in cultivation. Both are accumulated bit by bit: true lead is gathered from empty stillness, true mercury is generated within oneself, and both are refined by firing into the elixir—hence “grain upon grain, from the subtle gradually to the obvious.” The method has two phases, “capture” and “merging”: capture means obtaining and sealing securely; merging means refining and condensing. For this one employs the steadfast true intent that does not move—natural spiritual awareness. Long persistence is required for success. The Huangting Neijing and Waijing says: “Immortals and Daoist masters are not born with supernatural powers; they become perfected persons by accumulating refined qi.” That is exactly the explanation of this chapter.

Chaos embraces empty void; void encompasses the three realms (heaven, earth, and humanity). Tracing the root, it is no larger than a single grain of millet (some texts read “like millet,” i.e., the size of a grain).

(Peng’s note) Once there is the world, there are the three powers of heaven, earth, and humanity; with the three powers comes void; with void comes chaos. Before heaven and earth were formed, all was undifferentiated unity. Chaos holds void; void holds the three realms. Tracing back to the moment the human body receives qi, it is only the size of one grain of millet. That is the root of life—and what those who refine the elixir must understand. Hence: “If someone seeks the secret of long life, let him trace the root of creation.”

(Min’s explanation:) “Hundun” (primordial chaos) refers to the physical body; “xukong” (empty void) refers to the heart-mind; and “yi” (oneness) refers to sincerity (cheng). The body envelops the heart-mind, and the heart-mind in turn governs the body—the reason this mutual integration can be achieved is that true intent (zhenyi) runs through the whole. In heaven and earth, true intent is what drives creation and transformation; in the human body, it is what presides over the arising and circulation of life. Once true intent is made to penetrate throughout, it is also fitting to go on clarifying this principle for people. From this we can see that the work a cultivator undertakes is vast in scope and profound in depth.

From the very beginning of the generation of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, the limitless void (wuji) gives rise to the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji); from Taiji unfold the dual modes of yin and yang, the Four Images, and then the birth of the ten thousand things. This is what is meant by “primordial chaos embraces the void, and the void encompasses the three realms.” When the myriad things run their full course, return to their root, and recover their true nature, the movement of the Dao is for the ten thousand things to return from multiplicity to the three, from the three to the one, and finally from the one to emptiness. Thus it can be said that the myriad things are born from chaos and in the end return to chaos.

Those who cultivate the Dao should follow this process, beginning with huanxu—returning to emptiness and stillness in practice—and completing cultivation within that return to emptiness. At the end, one must “shatter the void” and return to the limitless void; then the great work of cultivation is finished.

Yet if we speak from the foundational starting point of practice, the work is in fact built up step by step from “one mercury and one lead.” “Mercury” and “lead” are terms in internal alchemy (neidan), referring to the yin-yang “medicines” of practice—essence, qi, and related elements. This is like the formed world beginning from “one.” So the scripture says: “Trace it to its root, and you find nothing more than a grain of millet.”

The Surangama Sutra says: “Empty space is born within great awakening, like a bubble on the surface of water.” It also says that the Huayan world can be contained on the tip of a single hair, and that the great trichiliocosm can likewise be gathered onto the tip of a hair. In terms of distinction, the trichiliocosm is vast and the tip of a hair is tiny; in terms of mutual penetration, the tip of a hair and the trichiliocosm are not different. This principle is extremely subtle and worth pondering deeply.

Heaven and earth mingle and produce the true fluid; sun and moon store the true essence. Grasp the root of Kan and Li (the water-and-fire, yin-yang pivot in neidan), and the three realms are gathered into one body.

The fluids in the heart descend, while the Qi in the kidneys rises. When fluids and Qi unite, they are called “ye” (fluid)—that is, the true fluid born of the union of Heaven and Earth. Hun is like the essence of the raven; Po is like the marrow of the jade rabbit; together Hun and Po are called “jing”—that is, the true essence contained in sun and moon.

The Kan trigram belongs to yin, yet it holds wu earth (Yang earth); because wu is Yang earth, the root of Kan is said to be yang. The Li trigram belongs to yang, yet it holds ji earth (Yin earth); because ji is Yin earth, the root of Li is said to be yin. To grasp wu earth within Kan is to know that the root begins in yang; to grasp ji earth within Li is to know that the root begins in yin. Kan and Li are hexagrams in the Yijing (Book of Changes); wu earth and ji earth are terms from yin-yang and the Five Phases.

Thus body and mind, Heaven and Earth, and the sun and moon within the body all turn through “true earth” (the inner foundation that harmonizes yin and yang), and the three realms of Heaven, Earth, and humanity are gathered into a single person.

Kan represents the body, Li represents the heart, and the root of both Kan and Li is Yi (intention). In the prenatal state (the original condition of life before it has taken manifest form), Kan lies in the west and corresponds to Po (the corporeal soul); in the postnatal state (after life has taken manifest form), it lies in the north, still Po, and has flowed and transformed into Jing (essence). When prenatal and postnatal are unified so that Jing and Po return to one whole, that is the body. In the prenatal state, Li lies in the east and corresponds to Hun (the ethereal soul); in the postnatal state it lies in the south, still Hun, and has manifested as Shen (spirit). When prenatal and postnatal are unified so that Shen and Hun return to one whole, that is the heart. Only Earth occupies the center, gathering the Four Images (the four directional and yin-yang emblems), and is in truth the root of prenatal and postnatal Kan and Li. Yi always stays in the center and does not shift with prenatal or postnatal.

Superior practitioners let Yi settle within the body, gather in heart and spirit, and bring body, heart, and Yi fully to one place, nourishing them with single-minded constancy until true nature is fully formed. From there they reach a state of fullness and vast extension, able to generate the ten thousand things. Is this not “the ten thousand things are all complete in me, and the three realms return to this one body”? This is the highest skill in elixir cultivation and the achievement of the sage.

The four sections that follow explain again the work of condensing Jing and congealing Shen and its effects, toward that same state of fullness and vast extension that can generate the ten thousand things; they do not introduce a further, higher doctrine. Do not imagine that a new furnace and cauldron must be set up here (in internal alchemy, the vessel and site where body and mind are refined)—or you may be led astray by heterodox teaching.

The commentary says: Kan and Li are true lead and true mercury—that is, true yang and true yin, yang qi and yin essence. Heaven and earth pairing and sun and moon exchanging light both depend on these two forces; hence heaven and earth endure and the sun and moon keep their brightness. If a person can obtain and refine the essence of Kan and Li, they can enjoy long life and clear vision; the cosmos seems to lie in the palm of the hand, and the changes of the ten thousand things are generated from oneself—hence “the three realms return to this one body.” The three realms are the realm of desire, the realm of form, and the formless realm; they may also be spoken of as heaven, earth, and humanity, or as Jing, Qi, and Shen.

The dragon comes from the Eastern Sea in the east; the tiger rises from the Western Mountain in the west. The two forces meet and contend, then finally merge into one—hence the saying “the Three Realms return to the one body.” Here “Three Realms” means the desire realm, the form realm, and the formless realm; it can also mean Heaven, Earth, and humanity, or Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit).

The dragon comes from the Eastern Sea; the tiger rises from the Western Mountain. After they meet and join, they become the marrow of Heaven and Earth.

Peng’s commentary says: The pure Yang qi in the heart is called the “dragon.” Wood generates Fire, and the Zhen trigram belongs to Wood—hence the dragon is said to come from the east. The unified pure Jing qi in the kidneys is called the “tiger.” Metal generates Water, and the Dui trigram belongs to Metal—hence the tiger is said to rise from the Western Mountain in the west. When the dragon roars, cloud-qi rises and moves downward; when the tiger roars, wind arises and moves upward—and the two meet before the “Yellow Chamber.” The “Yellow Chamber” here is the inner hub of the body in practice. The dragon swallowing the tiger’s marrow and the tiger consuming the dragon’s essence symbolize the blending of Jing and Qi; wind and clouds meet, mix, and return to one, and in the end transform into the marrow of Heaven and Earth.

(Min’s note) This passage looks back to the moment when, at the start of practice, body and mind first reach a state of unified stillness and concentration. What is called “battle” is not an actual fight. To return from the post-heaven condition to the pre-heaven, the practitioner must go through a “struggle between Heaven and the human”: when heavenly nature overcomes selfish desire, the “demons” of emotional craving withdraw; when the human mind overcomes the obstructive fixation on principle, the barrier of “reason” melts away. Heaven and the human then merge into one, and body and mind are transformed.

Commentary on the Ziyang edition Preface: “The heart’s wildness is like a dragon; the body’s fierceness is like a tiger.” In this section, “the dragon comes from the Eastern Sea” points to the hun (soul) in the heart; “the tiger rises from the western mountain” points to the po (corporeal soul) in the body. As the Preface itself says, “In the body there is one speck of true Yang qi; in the heart there is one speck of true Yin jing (essence)—these are called the two substances.” Those two refined essences are the dragon and tiger spoken of here. The Preface also says, “The heart belongs to Qian; the body belongs to Kun.” The “fight one battle” here is what Chen Nidan meant by “taking the subduing of body and mind as field battle (yezhan).” “Transforming into the marrow of Heaven and Earth” carries the same sense as “Heaven, Earth, sun, and moon are soft as cotton.”

Layman Peng forgot where pre-heaven Kan and Li originally stand and inferred from post-heaven imagery, so he wrote in terms of heart, kidneys, Zhen, Dui, and the like— which does not match the original intent. The commentary should therefore follow the Preface of this edition.

Note: The dragon stands for gong (mercury) and also for the heart and shen (spirit). The human heart is easily stirred and, like a dragon, soars and shifts—it is hard to rein in— hence it is called “dragon.” The tiger…

Here, “dragon” refers to mercury and also symbolizes the heart-mind and Shen (spirit); because the heart-mind tends to be restless and unsettled and hard to restrain, it is likened to a dragon. “Tiger” refers to lead and also symbolizes the body and Qi (vital energy); because the body is often driven by desire and, when indulged, seems as if it could harm a person, it is likened to a tiger.

The east belongs to Zhen and to Wood, hence “eastern dragon”; the west belongs to Dui and to Metal, hence “western tiger.” When Neidan (internal alchemy) speaks of “driving the tiger to follow the dragon” and “riding the dragon to tame the tiger,” it means letting dragon and tiger meet and interact. This is also called “metal and wood joining”: in the palace of Wu and Ji at the center, metal and wood struggle against each other; after a while, the eastern dragon and western tiger both dissolve and return to thick earth, turning into the true fluid of heaven and earth and the true essence of sun and moon, congealing into Huandan (the returned elixir)—the “elixir” spoken of in cultivation. This depicts the scene of “the great medicine returning to the furnace” and refining the golden fluid into the returned elixir.

The Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “The white tiger of the western hills is raging wild; the azure dragon of the eastern sea cannot be held back. The two beasts are seized and made to fight to the death, transforming into a sheet of purple-gold frost.” Here “marrow of heaven and earth” is the same as “purple-gold frost”—both are symbols of the returned elixir.

“Within golden flower, mercury leaves unfold; upon jade stem, lead branches grow. Kan and Li never rest; how many seasons have Qian and Kun passed?” The meaning is: within the golden flower, mercury leaves spread open; upon the jade stem, lead branches grow; Kan and Li (the trigrams of water and fire) turn without cease—how much time have Qian and Kun (heaven and earth) seen? In some versions the last line reads “Qian and Kun now” instead of “Qian and Kun [have] passed.”

Peng’s commentary states: The Golden Flower is the true lead that is inherently present; it forms an embryo by means of true mercury. The Jade Stem is the inherently present true mercury; it takes shape by means of true lead. Within the human body, mercury stands for spirit (Shen) and lead for essence (Jing). “The Golden Flower opens the mercury leaf” means that in a state of dim, subtle trance, spirit arises from within water. “The jade stem lengthens the lead branch” means that in a state of deep, quiet stillness, essence arises from within fire. When one who has received the oral formula sits in quiet cultivation until the Golden Flower appears and the jade stem flourishes, the branches and leaves of lead and mercury are already luxuriant. At this point one should precisely gather the medicine and advance the fire—that is, draw in and apply the body’s essence and spirit—so that Kan and Li (water and fire, yin and yang) pass back and forth east and west, and Qian and Kun (heaven and earth, yang and yin) circulate above and below, going and returning, rising and falling without break, not pausing even for an instant.

Before the medicine has been obtained, one must discern when the mercury leaf opens and when the lead branch grows. After the medicine is obtained, one must still grasp the subtlety of going and returning and the timing of ascent and descent. Only then can beginning and end be held together in one practice, and the sacred embryo (the inner elixir fetus formed in cultivation) be brought to completion. If during the ten months of practice Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li do not circulate, the medicine in the crucible (the metaphorical vessel for nurturing body and mind) may be gained only to be lost again—how then can the Golden Flower be kept from withering, or the jade stem from drying up?

Min’s explanation says: The gist of this section is to let true intent (the focused, clear mind) preside over practice, so that body and mind merge at every moment without interruption. The mind should embody the firmness of the Qian way; the body should follow the yielding of the Kun way—then circulation continues naturally without ceasing, and Kan and Li gradually reunite and return to Qian and Kun. There is no need to explain each of the trigrams Zhen, Dui, Gen, and Xun in turn, lest that obscure the spirit. The next section will further clarify the language of gathering and replenishing.

The editorial note observes that flower, leaf, stem, and branch all spring from one root source. “The Golden Flower opens the mercury leaf” means that Kan and Li unite, and water…

Flowers, leaves, stalks, and branches all grow from a single root. “The golden flower opens the mercury leaf” describes the joining of Kan and Li—fire arising within water; “the jade stalk lengthens the lead branch” likewise describes Kan and Li joining—a lotus rooted in fire. After long cultivation, the practitioner first completes the Small Heavenly Circuit, using the jade liquor to return the elixir and form the inner elixir; then undertakes the Great Heavenly Circuit, using the golden liquor to return the elixir and form the great elixir. In every stage of these methods, nothing is apart from the work of Kan and Li, Qian and Kun. Like flower, leaf, branch, and stalk from one root, they were never two different foundations to begin with.

When the Great Heavenly Circuit is finished and practice is complete, one may live long with clear sight—sharing the lifespan of heaven and earth and the radiance of sun and moon. The Kan-Li interplay spoken of here can at last achieve a state of lasting endurance without decay. Where there is Qian-Kun, there is Kan-Li. From ancient times, within heaven and earth—from the opening of the cosmos to the smallest being that lives and dies in a day—nothing is born except through yin-yang, and nothing is free of Kan-Li’s role. The great-awakening golden immortal (dajue jinxian) is the most wondrous fulfillment of this dynamic.

Qian-Kun may at times return to primordial chaos, yet the great-awakening golden immortal can pass beyond chaos and endure. The Supreme Lord (Taishang) has already survived seven cosmic chaos-events and seven kalpa-transformations unscathed. The heaven and earth of today are no longer the heaven and earth of former ages. Thus, in terms of change and constancy in heaven and earth, Qian-Kun before long must undergo kalpa-transformation; yet the Kan-Li operation of the great-awakening supreme sage never breaks off. The Book of Changes, Hexagram Qian (Heaven) says: “Heaven’s movement is strong and unceasing; the superior person emulates heaven’s way, strengthening himself without rest.” Without ceasing, one can endure.

In the bathing (muyu) stage, guard against danger; in withdrawal and addition (choutian), hold carefully to the proper measure. The entire course amounts to thirty thousand quarter-periods (ke); the slightest slip may miss the mark by a hair’s breadth.

Peng’s commentary says: A year has twelve months, totaling thirty-six thousand ke (quarter-hour units). The work of those twelve months is compressed into a single day for explanation. Ten months involve regulating the huohou (fire phases—the stages in practice of adjusting “fire” and advancing or retreating yin and yang): when yang qi rises, one gathers the yao (medicine) at Zi (the phase where yang first stirs) and makes it ascend against the usual flow—this is “drawing lead” (chouqian); when yin qi rises, one withdraws fire at Wu (where yang peaks and yin is about to arise) and lets it descend with the natural flow—this is “adding mercury” (tian gong).

The other two months: in the Mao month one enriches water and settles metal; in the You month one applies fire to check water. Only the water phase runs, not the fire phase—this is Muyu (Bathing): fire is suspended and one nurtures through the water phase. Mao month mixes growth with austerity; You month mixes austerity with renewed growth. That layout keeps the fire phases from drying out and becoming dangerous. Remove those two months’ six thousand ke, and ten months remain—thirty thousand ke—hence “only thirty thousand ke in all.” In those thirty thousand ke, the slightest slip can throw yin and yang off course. So one must guard against deviation and stay careful and single-minded: in one cycle, movement shows the work outwardly; stillness hides it within. Keep this up for a year and one can raise the ying’er (Inner Infant—the neidan name for the formed inner body), then become an immortal who has left the mundane behind.

Min’s explanation says: What matters is reverence and sincere intent, a mind that stays one and is not scattered by things. Practice like that and you may see results within a month—hence “only thirty thousand ke in all.” The worry about mistakes means simply pure continuity without break, so that not one moment of the thirty thousand ke is idle; you need not fear other errors besides that. The Book of Changes, Heng (Constancy), says: “If virtue is not kept long, disgrace may follow.” What is feared here is exactly that the practice will not be sustained.

The Dao of the elixir—the method of cultivating the Golden Elixir within—teaches “drawing and adding at Zi and Wu” and “bathing at Mao and You”: at the Zi and Wu hours one applies yang fire to draw lead; when the yin talisman runs in reverse, one supplements mercury. In all of this, the phases of the fire must be handled with utmost care. At Mao and You, the qi of punishment (xing) and virtue (de) meet, and yin and yang each hold half the field—then one must perform “bathing” (suspending or adjusting the fire) to ward off danger and avoid error. In harmonizing the phases of the elixir fire, there is one crucial secret: whenever worldly consciousness and emotional thoughts govern body and mind, and outer appearances stand before the eyes…