《云笈七签》Vol. 37

Inwardly, I addressed the Director of Destinies, the deity who governs human lifespans and the boundary between life and death. I sent an official dispatch to the Three Officials of Heaven, Earth, and Water, asking them to gather up my body, restore my soul, and return me to my original nature, so that I might rest in the womb-breathing state and take my place among the numinous spirits. Recently I received deliverance and was entered on the rolls of the Southern Palace. My immortal register was established at Zhuling, the realm of immortals; there I conceal and nurture my essence and Qi while awaiting the right moment, when I may join the ranks of the immortals. Yet the Great Thearch has also ordered me, for a time, to serve in place of the Donghai □ clan and bring them back to life. He has appointed me General of the Guarded Origin, in charge of the ghosts and spirits of the Wu and Yue region. I have therefore come to join you, and now present three poems to express my deep affection. (The commentary says: “Since Lord Yang has taken up the office of Director of Destinies in Wu and Yue and commands its ghosts and spirits, the duties of the Mysterious Master fall under his authority. They should, by rights, be in communication. This is why he first wrote this poem to explain his feelings.”)

Long ago I entered the land of the netherworld, answering the summons of the spirits as I rode on my way. My awareness dispersed into emptiness, and my breath drifted away like rosy clouds. My body was not made of polished jade; without a wondrous craftsman of transformation, how could it have been shaped? I walked, singing a distant melody, and raised my hand to admire the branches’ ringing tones. The forest dwelling has its own quiet pleasures; from then on, I left behind the busy roads of the mortal world. My lingering shadow rests upon the round moon—why are welcome messages so rare? (This poem tells of my origins and aspirations.) (I)

A still and open realm holds my thoughts; mysterious Qi gathers and stirs sound. Though the high carriages come in uneven ranks, someone still seeks me out from a height of ten thousand ren. The practitioner keeps to quietude, studies the Great Dao, joins with the spirits, and accords with a numinous state of mind. Following the changes of the world, I entrust my heart to the deep mountain forest; I hope we may together rise beyond the ways of the world and wander in quiet companionship on East Mountain. (This poem further explains the feelings and reasons behind our association.) (II)

I rode toward the Guangye region, seeking the secluded traces of the netherworld. Within emptiness there is what is real; within form and appearance, nothing is lasting. Once one understands the boundary between being and nonbeing, one can meet at Haoliang, where Zhuangzi and Huizi spoke of the joy of fish—a place here suggesting insight into the mysterious principle. When our eyes meet, we already understand that principle, and need no longer dwell on the affairs of ghosts and spirits. (This poem speaks of the subtle, far-reaching bond between the living and the dead.) (III)

Volume 97: Songs of Praise.

A Song of the Lady of the Left of Taiwei’s Mysterious Clarity, with Preface.

Lady Zuo of Taiwei Xuanqing was one of the perfected beings in the Heavenly Palace of Taiwei. On the seventeenth day of the twelfth month of the yiyou year, the third year of Xingning under the Jin, she came with Perfected Taiyuan and the other immortal perfected beings to the residence of Yang Xi, the Perfected of Jintan, on Gouqu Mountain. At Beichun Palace, she sang a song.

The song says: The deep and flourishing place is not the true realm seen by ordinary people; Taiyuan is my dwelling. How could the Dark Lord be destroyed? I am simply trapped in dim obscurity, alone and bearing a hardship I cannot dispel. I ride a phoenix through purple mists, guiding the reins of my carriage as I ascend the morning peak. All around is boundless stillness, and the scene in the sky is bright and clear. I dwell in seclusion at Phoenix Mound, where sacred mushrooms grow thick; I wander beside the Jade Grove, a forest of precious trees in the immortal realm. Dragon embryo makes your form as pure and innocent as an infant’s; the Eight Jades, treasures of the immortals, reflect the pale morning light. Langhua, precious jade of the immortal realm, flourishes in the Jade Palace; its blossoms take shape and illuminate the towering cliffs. The great Peng spreads its enormous wings, flying over countless mountains and beating upward into the heavens.

A command comes from the Western Court, bidding me sing aloud. I roam among the clouds, leaving behind empty, showy music. Winds from the eight directions encircle the blue firmament, and layer upon layer of clouds and mist part in an instant. A numinous child casts forth flowing golden light; a faint flame glimmers, and the desk for composing texts is opened. The Three Primordials, divine lords of the upper, middle, and lower realms, bow and dance; the Purple Emperor waves his sleeve in approval. Radiant light shines brilliantly, and the star Chang Geng—the planet Venus—gleams brightly. I break free of restraints and wield a shining, keen blade; looking down, I cannot help but feel sorrow. I turn back with pity for the terrestrial immortals, who dwell in mountain forests and have yet to ascend to heaven: why do they still live among mountain groves and streams?

A Song of the Sacred Phoenix

The Scripture of Original Conduct records that the king of the western kingdom of Weilu had a daughter named Chou Ying, who was often accompanied by a phoenix. The sacred phoenix would frequently fan her with its wings. After twelve years, the young woman suddenly became pregnant. Greatly alarmed and perplexed, the king cut off the phoenix’s head and buried it at Changlin Mound. Later, the woman gave birth to a daughter named Huangfei. She sang in sorrow:

Sacred phoenix, you have gone far away, and your return is long delayed. My longing stretches on without end, yet I cannot hope to see you again. Even after ten thousand calamities, the day of your return will never come. When will you fly back?

Later, the phoenix killed by the king suddenly came back to life. It lifted the woman and flew straight up into the clouds, where it disappeared from sight.

The Song of the Stone Drum by the Female Immortal Zhang Liying, with Preface

The Record of Mount Jinjing recounts that in the Han dynasty there was a woman named Zhang Mang, whose given name was Liying. Her face shone with an unusual radiance. She did not need a mirror to see her reflection; by looking into a fan of white silk, she could see herself as clearly as in a mirror. When Wu Rui, King of Changsha, heard that she was gifted beyond ordinary people, he personally led troops to bring her back as his bride.

Liying was fifteen at the time. When she heard Wu Rui was coming, she climbed this mountain and lay on her back beneath the stone drum, letting her hair fall over it. People thought she had died. When Zhang Mang’s wife and the men sent by Wu Rui came to look, they suddenly saw dense purple clouds rising. Then Liying vanished. On the stone drum, people found a song she had left behind:

Stone drum, stone drum! How sorrowful is the human world. I came here and saw how harsh the people’s lives truly are. The affairs of the world fill me with grief, and my thoughts stretch far and deep. My resolve cannot be sullied or changed by a ruler’s might. With luan birds and phoenixes for companions, I sing and dance freely, soaring above the clouds and crossing the River of Heaven, far beyond the snares of the mortal world. People of this world, what can you do to me? I came among you for a time to fulfill an appointment; when my allotted time is over, I will part from the mortal world. Father, mother, do not grieve for me.

Even today, a black mark runs vertically down the stone drum, shaped like a woman’s hanging hair. Local people call it “Zhang Woman’s Hair.”

A Children’s Rhyme from the Early Han, with Preface

In the early Han, four or five children were playing by the roadside when one of them sang:

Wearing a blue-green skirt, enter the Gate of Heaven; pay respects to the Golden Mother and bow before the Wood Lord.

No one at the time understood the meaning of this children’s rhyme. Only Zhang Zifang—that is, Zhang Liang—understood, and he went to pay his respects. Zhang Zifang said, “This is the Jade Youth of the Eastern Lord.” The rhyme means that after attaining the Dao, becoming an immortal, and ascending to Heaven, one should pay respects to the Golden Mother and bow before the Wood Lord. Unless one’s mind and spirit are empty and still, and one has attained the truth and become an immortal, one cannot know the way in.

E Lü Hua is a female immortal. According to legend, those who cultivate the Dao and become immortals, ascending to Heaven, should first bow to the Golden Mother (Queen Mother of the West), then pay homage to the Wood Duke (King Father of the East). Anyone who has not already transcended the mundane world and entered the realm of immortals cannot know the way to do so.

Three Poems Presented by E Lü Hua to Yang Quan (with preface)

E Lü Hua is a female immortal. She appeared to be about twenty years old, wore blue robes, and was strikingly dignified and beautiful. On the night of the tenth day of the eleventh month in the third year of Shengping under Emperor Mu of Jin (359 CE), she came to Yang Quan’s home. She described herself as someone from the Southern Mountains but could not say which mountain. After that, she came six times every month.

Yang Quan, whose courtesy name was Daoyu, was the grandfather of Yang Xin, a palace attendant to Emperor Jianwen of Jin. Both Yang Quan and Yang Xin secretly practiced the Daoist arts, immersed themselves in mysteries, and sought a state of purity. E Lü Hua said that her original surname was Yang and that she was Luo Yu, a woman who had attained the Dao on Mount Jiuyi. In a previous life, she had committed a crime: she had poisoned her teacher’s wet nurse. Because the offense had not yet been fully expiated, she had been temporarily banished from Xuanzhou, one of the immortal realms, and sent into the mundane world to atone.

She presented Yang Quan with a poem, along with a handkerchief made of fire-washed cloth—a legendary fabric whose grime could be burned away—and a gold bracelet and a jade bracelet. These bracelets were ornaments shaped like rings but larger, and made with exceptional skill. She told Yang Quan, “Do not under any circumstances reveal that I have descended here. If you do, we will both be punished.”

She also said, “Those who cultivate the Dao should regard brocade and silk as rags, official rank as a passing guest, and gold and jade as rubble. Let the mind neither ponder nor desire; act without attachment or striving. Do what others cannot do, learn the Dao that others cannot learn, diligently practice what others are unwilling to practice, and attain what others cannot attain. Why? The world pursues desire, while I alone hold fast to stillness and purity. The world studies worldly affairs, while I study tranquility and freedom from desire. The world strives for fame and profit, while I cultivate inner practices. What the world gains is only old age and death; what I gain is long life. That is why I am now nine hundred years old.”

She gave Yang Quan an elixir of corpse liberation, a legendary medicine said to let a person shed the mortal body and depart in transformed form. Then she vanished from sight, changed her form, and left. It is said that she now lives in the mountains of eastern Xiang. When E Lü Hua first descended, she presented a poem that reads:

The sacred mountain rises into the clouds, its soaring ridges layered one upon another, reaching a thousand fathoms into the sky. In the deep, spacious valley, jewel-like trees grow thick and quiet. Young Yang was handsome and gifted; before he was twenty, he had already earned a reputation for refinement. He devoted himself to the profound learning represented by Zhuangzi and Huishi, transcending the body as though he stood beyond the palace gates. Even amid the vermilion gates of the powerful, he could show his talent; both his inner character and outward bearing surpassed the ways of the world.

The Master and I belong to the same clan, descended from one ancestral line. Our great lineage carries on the work left by our forebears, though it has now branched into separate houses. We became friends through our shared interests, like orchids set beside fine jade. As friends, we resemble the three kinds of companions who bring benefit to one’s character, and our affection has grown ever deeper.

In quiet reflection, I am glad we have found one another; refined learning and tradition can endure for many years. Who says subtle truths are hard to discern? To grasp them fully takes only a small space: the human heart. Longing for freedom beyond the cage, we would both choose to be hermits in the mountains. Do not let your wings rise with a sudden gale and carry you wherever it will. Though change and transformation may be shaped by human effort, they are not easily compared to a sheep leaping over a fence. What we hope for is not fleeting glory, but to spend our later years together.

Two poems from Lady An of Jiuhua, a Daoist immortal, to Yang Siming, the deity who governs lifespans and registers of destiny, with a preface.

Lady An of Jiuhua was born in the third year of the Xingning era of the Jin dynasty, the year yichou…

On the night of the twenty-fifth day of the sixth month in the yichou year of the Xingning era of the Jin dynasty, the Daoist immortal Lady An of Jiuhua descended with Lady Wang of Ziwei to the home of Yang Xi in Jintan.

Lady An wore a skirt of cloud-pattern brocade, red above and blue-green below, its patterns vivid and bright. A green embroidered sash was tied around her waist, with more than ten small bells hanging from it, alternating in blue-green and yellow. She wore a jade ornament on her left side, similar in style to ornaments worn by people in the human world, but much smaller. Her clothes would flash with light from time to time, illuminating the bedroom like midday sunlight reflected on mica. Her black hair was carefully combed, gathered into a bun atop her head, with the rest falling to her waist. Gold rings adorned her fingers, and white pearls were wound around her arms. She appeared to be about thirteen or fourteen years old.

Two attendants stood beside her. One wore blue-green robes and carried a blue-green document pouch. In her hands was a brocade case about one chi and two cun long, containing more than ten scrolls. Its opening was sealed with a white jade closure engraved with the title Inner Truth of the Jade Clarity Divine Tiger, Purple Origin Elixir Register. The other attendant, also dressed in blue-green, held a white chest bound with a deep red cord; it looked as though it were made of ivory. She appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen, and was dressed with great refinement. Lady An and her attendants had radiant, clear features, fresh and translucent as jade. A rich fragrance emanated from them, like the scent of burning incense.

When they first entered, Lady An walked behind Lady Wang of Ziwei. Lady Wang introduced her to Yang Xi, saying, “A distinguished guest has come today.” Yang Xi rose to welcome her. Lady Wang said, “There is no need to rise. Let us all sit and exchange greetings.” Everyone then took their seats and greeted one another.

Lady Wang explained, “This is the younger son of Lady Li of Jintai, the Primordial Lord of the Highest Truth. The Primordial Lord of the Great Void once sent him to Turtle Mountain to study the Shangqing Dao. After completing his studies, he received a written mandate from the Most High and was invested as the Ninefold Radiant Consort of the Purple Clarity Upper Palace. He was granted the surname An, the name Yubin, and the courtesy name Xuxiao.” Lady Wang then asked Yang Xi, “Have you ever seen anyone like this in the human world?” Yang Xi replied, “Her numinous grace and elegance are without equal.”

Lady An had been holding three jujubes. They were the color of dried jujubes, but longer and larger in shape, and they did not taste like jujubes. They had no pits when eaten and tasted like pears. Lady An, Lady Wang, and Yang Xi each ate one. Lady An asked Yang Xi, “How old are you?” Yang Xi answered, “Thirty-six. I was born in the ninth month of the gengyin year.” Lady An said, “Your teacher, the Lady of the Southern Numinous Realm, holds authority over the Office of Destiny. Her cultivation of the Dao is profound and complete; she is the foremost exemplar of De. I have long heard of your reputation for De. I…”

“I hoped that today I might meet you in this encounter ordained in the unseen.” The gentleman replied, “I have become mired in worldly affairs, and the dust of the world has stained my nature. Your status and mine are far apart, and I had no hope of being worthy to receive your instruction. Now you have graciously deigned to come here, and my joy is beyond words. I can only hope that you will favor me with your guidance, dispel my confusion, and help me rise again from my difficulties. This is what I have sought day and night.”

The lady said, “When you speak now, do not dress your words in excessive humility. Such language is inappropriate.”

After a long while, the lady ordered Yang to grind the ink and write a poem. When it was finished, she took it and read it, saying, “Now I give you this poem as an expression of my true feelings. If there is anything in it you do not understand, you may ask me.” The poem read:

Cloud palaces rise high into the sky; towers built of jade stand splendid and majestic. The Purple Palace rides upon a blue-green radiance, while tier upon tier of lofty halls house the immortals. In the Langxuan halls with their vermilion chambers, the light of highest De shines like crimson clouds. I bend to drink sweet dew from a spirit vessel, then lift my head to gather blossoms of green mi wine. I wash my feet in the Jade Celestial Pool and punt along the River of the Herdsman. Then I board the carriage of auspicious clouds, take up the dragon reins, and arrive at the shadowed depths of Dark Ravine. Again I shake the dust from my clothes in the human world, lifting my skirts as I cross its turbid waves. I wish to join you in friendship rooted in mountains and marshes, so that firmness and yielding may be brought into harmony. Let us join hands and enter the pure realm of the immortals; the Way of the Most High Perfected Ones is free of bias. If, in the Purple Tenuity Palace, we can meet and find a good plan, then we may receive blessings and enjoy their fruits.

The immortal carriage suddenly sets out from Western Florescence; it need neither wait nor be bound by waiting. At times I gaze from the peaks of the Five Sacred Mountains; at times I bathe beside the Celestial River. I set down the wheels and board an empty boat; wherever I am, I respond freely to what is there. A mustard seed suddenly opens into a vast expanse, within which stands Mount Kunlun. Great and small are without distinction; near and far arise from the same source. The other relies on external things to come to me, while I meet it with a heart that depends on nothing.

Four Poems by Lady Wang of Zhonghou (with Preface)

Lady Donghua, the female immortal of the Eastern Palace, was the consort of the Purple Clarity Inner Transmission. She commanded the Perfected Lady Zhonghou of the Eastern Palace, was the elder sister of Lady Ziwei, and lived in the Canglang Cloud Grove Palace. In the third year of Xingning of the Jin dynasty, the Yichou year, she descended to the home of Yang Xi at Jintan and said:

“King Ling had thirty-eight sons, and Zijin was the heir apparent. He took Lord Fuqiu of Mount Song as his teacher and later ascended to Heaven in broad daylight. The Perfected Lady Zhonghou was named Guanxiang, with the courtesy name Zhong’ai. She was the daughter of Lady Song and Zijin’s younger half-sister. Five of his brothers and two of his sisters—seven people in all—attained the Dao. His younger brother Meishou was Guanxiang’s elder brother by the same mother.

“That evening, Perfected Lord Pei Qingling, Perfected Lord Wang Tongbai, Lady Li Zhaoling, Lady Wang Ziwei, Lady Wang Youying, and Lady Wei of Mount Heng in the south also descended together. The method of cultivating perfection taught by the Perfected Lady Zhonghou was the same as Dinglu’s. Its oral instructions were:

“‘A phoenix perches in a lofty tree, its white robes drifting lightly. Act in accordance with what is right; keep your resolve steadfast, and gather the Shen in a realm of emptiness, stillness, and mystery. The nourishing stone essence of the Five Lords suits your constitution. You should take it promptly; it can restore a youthful appearance. The number three-eight brings clarity to the spirit. Then cultivate the Way of Mysterious Perfection in due order.

“‘Set aside your carriage and rest quietly; you may recite the Cavern texts. The Jade Blade must accord with its number. Devote yourself to cultivation and dwell in a high place; remain silent and at ease, preserving your vital Qi without loss. Wood Powder can dispel illness and is suitable for you to take. Then take [the original is missing characters here], while also observing the practice of grain avoidance. In this way you can replenish the marrow, dispel illness, and make the skin supple. Afterward, climb the mountain again, chant the scripture texts, and discuss and study their subtle principles.

“‘The tiger of Yin, with its white teeth, can also discern the right moment. Thus you may attain deathlessness and live beyond the year Renchen. Rest peacefully among flourishing trees; study and uphold the Book of Zhou. Taiji plants the bamboo slips, and your Golden Name is recorded in Western Florescence. Whether the substance is suitable for you to take is determined by a numinous talisman. When your understanding accords with the Way, you can communicate with the spirits.’”

The text goes on to explain that these words interpret the names of Xu Changshi—whose personal name was Mu and courtesy name Sixuan—as well as Yufu, Huya, and others, and urge them to practice the methods of consuming substances. The Perfected Ones each composed a poem, and the Perfected Lady Zhonghou chanted:

The dragon banner waves through space, while the flying wheel sweeps past the slopes of the Five Sacred Peaks. Wherever they go, all is free and unrestrained; when their influences resonate, they join in harmony with the music of the hidden realms. Being “without dependence” is like “having dependence”: when the two meet, they can be in harmony. Why call the waters of Canglang distant? The Dark Well is not so rare, either. Even along a deep and difficult road, a few steps can bring one to a meeting; within the Four Seas, one can meet everywhere. What could compare with going beyond the worldly realms of light and darkness? The dragon banner waves through space, while the flying wheel sweeps past the slopes of the Five Sacred Peaks… Wherever they go, all is free and unrestrained, joining in harmony with the music of the hidden realms. What depends on nothing and what depends on something meet, and so are brought into harmony. Canglang is not distant, and the Dark Well is not so rare; in the deepest places, one can be found after only a few steps, and within the Four Seas, all can meet. But to go beyond light and the world of dust takes passing through three kalpas—vast aeons—to complete a single cycle.

The roads of the eight directions converge at the formless source; following the course of time, one observes the myriad scenes of the world. Amid the shifting, unsettled world of dust, one loosens one’s robe, revealing the composure of a Daoist practitioner. Gazing into the mist, in an instant one arrives with a perfected person—a realized adept—at the dwelling of the spirits. Visions in the void surround towers like carved jade; mysterious rhythms become songs like the cries of phoenixes. Traveling the fitting Way, one meets no obstruction from tracks or traces; wondrous music ripples through waves of cloud. When one’s De is equal to a realm of immortal beauty, why crave the world’s abundance of things?

Simply contemplate your calm nature and cast off entanglements, allowing your feelings and intentions to unfold naturally. Quiet the body and mind, and set aside clever schemes. If you honor things that have form, then learn to gather in the body and mind and nurture life. Where can one find the Master of Equal Things, the realized adept who holds all things to be equal? Better to yield to the course of time and go wherever experience leads.

Board the carriage and set out from Eastern Florescence, waving the clear wind as you dance in the Great Mystery. Riding a flying carriage through the air for ninety thousand li, you bring the heavens and earth in all eight directions into harmony and balance. For a moment, look down upon the mountains and waters: deep within the numinous mountains, all is quiet and beautiful. Those who share the pure, harmonious Qi naturally accord with one another; so too when their principles are in accord. Dragon fungus, an immortal herb, grants long life; turn inward and nourish your innate nature. The eastern mountains can remain tranquil for ages—why let external things bind you?

Three Poems on Lady Li Zhaoling of the Fangzhang Terrace, Eastern Palace (with Preface)

Lady Li Zhaoling of the Eastern Palace on Fangzhang Terrace was the daughter of Li Qingbin, the Dark Dao Lord of the Central Mystery of the Northern Origin, and the younger sister of Li Lingfei, the Jade Gentleman and Grand Guardian. She attained the Dao in the age of Tang of Shang and ascended to Heaven in broad daylight. She received the immortal scriptures and was invested as Lady Zhaoling of the Eastern Palace. She resided in and governed the Thirteenth Vermilion Hall of Fangzhang Terrace. In the third year of Xingning under Emperor Ai of the Eastern Jin, an yi-chou year, the eighth…

On the night of the twenty-second, she descended at the home of the Perfected Yang Xi. The Lady wore a robe of purple brocade, carried the Divine Tiger Talisman, and held a flowing-gold bell. She appeared to be about thirteen or fourteen years old. Two maidservants stood beside her, both called Yinhui and appearing to be about twenty-one or twenty-two. They wore robes of blue silk and carried two white jade cases. Each case was bound with a blue sash; one was inscribed “The Supreme Emperor’s Chapters,” the other “The Supreme Jade Writings.”

The Lady wore a blue sash, in a style like the badge pouches people tie around their waists. The seal attached to it was about five zhang and three or four chi long. She descended together with the Lady of the Upper Origin, the Lady of Purple Tenuity, the Lady of Right Glory, and the other immortal perfected beings. As she departed, she composed this poem:

High walls among the clouds seem joined to Heaven;

Seven kinds of breath reveal the spirits’ dwelling place.

The Jade Gate opens, and the morning bell resounds;

Nine melodies issue from the vermilion door hinges.

Purple clouds shine upon the red gates;

Incense smoke rises between the green windows.

Four carriages travel side by side, their tiger banners dancing;

Blue sashes are cast toward the distant sky.

The canopies arrange themselves with the clouds;

The Fallen Phoenix drives six dragons.

The carriages race past the foothills of the Five Sacred Peaks;

The Three Pure Ones look back toward Junfang.

Suddenly I smell a foul breath;

The myriad filths of the world make my heart uneasy.

Stench stains the spirit, and the noisy world clashes with itself.

Even bright, pure jade shines brilliantly—

Why let yourself be covered in dust?

Had I bowed farewell sooner,

I would not have sat in the earthly world

And let insects multiply.

On the third day of the ninth month that same year, she descended again and sang:

I drink freely and watch the wisdom of the people;

In an instant, my shadow has traveled through all directions.

I cannot say myself why it is so;

In truth, I do not travel because I am waiting for anything.

When we meet, everyone is glad;

When we do not, there is no sorrow.

I let my shadow roam freely through the distant sky;

Our two meetings came about through natural affinity.

On the night of the first day of the twelfth month, the Lady of Southern Marchmount composed another poem and sent it to Xu Yufu:

On a high terrace, the flying wheel races onward. I guide my carriage to a corner of the dark mountains of the netherworld. Holding the Purple Emperor by the sleeve, in an instant I speed away on the winds from all eight directions. The Jade Radiance Immortal lends wings to the emerald canopy; her blue robes set off a skirt of deep green. The carriage rises high in splendid grandeur, its crown ornaments dazzling, its sash adorned with moonlike jewels.

After only a brief entry into the human world, I find its atmosphere suffocating and feel I should flee at once. Its foul, fetid pollution harms my original Qi, while its many troubles wear down the mind and spirit. Why not ride the wind and rise in a sudden flight, stepping lightly into the vast Great Void—the realm of emptiness in Daoist thought?

Three Poems Bestowed on Yang Xi by Lady Wang of the South Pole, with Preface

Lady Wang of the South Pole was the fourth daughter of the Queen Mother of the West. Her given name was Lin and her courtesy name Rongzhen. She was also called the Lady of Purple Primordial Radiance of the South Pole, or the Primordial Sovereign of the South Pole. She governed the Palace of Great Cinnabar and was appointed to oversee the Sage Lord of the Golden Gate, the Director of Destiny who Protects from Above, and other offices. During the reign of Emperor Ping of the Han, she descended to a stone chamber on Yangluo Mountain and transmitted thirty-one scrolls of scriptures, including the Supreme Treasured Writings, by Wang Bao, courtesy name Zideng, to the Perfected of Clear Emptiness and the Heavenly King of Lesser Being.

Lady Wang was about sixteen or seventeen years old. She wore a brocade shawl and a skirt of blue feathers, with a tiger-script tally at her left side and a spirit-commanding implement at her right. Her bearing was composed, and a subtle radiance shone from her natural beauty. She rode a feathered treasure carriage drawn by nine dragons, followed by nine thousand mounted female attendants. She lived on Mount Changli, amid the Cinnabar Sea of Boyang, and was charged with guiding those destined to become Perfected Ones. In the third year of Xingning under the Jin, she descended to the home of the Perfected Yang Xi. When she met him, she chanted these poems and bestowed them upon him:

The First

Riding the swift wind, I sweep my fan and fly into the Great Void; borne by the Eight Radiances—the eight forms of luminous energy that immortals ride—I soar to a distant height. Looking upward, I am beyond the Purple Dawn; looking down, I see the deep, remote seas far from the human world. My mysterious spirit dwells in a realm of empty, undifferentiated stillness, moving freely above and below without obstruction.

Between the two extremes of dependence and nondependence, there is reliance, yet nothing can bind me. Realize “nonbeing,” and you can transcend death; realize “being,” and you can nourish life. We meet as guests of the East and sing aloud together. Why argue over the two states of dependence and nondependence? (The Guest of the East is the Grand Lord of Mount Tai, Great Mao.)

The Second

I set the jade-and-brocade wheels of my carriage in motion and flick the reins, gazing toward the sky as I wander. At dawn I visit the Palace of Red Fire; at dusk I feast beside the Pool of Night Light. My shadow floats above the clear rosy clouds, while eight dragons draw the carriage in orderly formation.

Riding a carriage with wheels of jade and brocade, I sweep the reins and circle, lingering high in the sky. In the morning I visit the Vermilion Fire Palace; at dusk I feast beside the Pool of Luminous Waters. My form appears at the far edge of the clear, rosy light. Eight dragons draw the carriage, arrayed at different heights. My wandering depends on nothing outside myself; if I still relied on something, I would be led along by it. At the grand gathering, I share a bed with a beautiful companion. The realms of dependence and freedom from dependence each hold to their own view. Being and nonbeing are not fixed; every kind of reliance returns to its proper place. (Part Two)

On the night of the twenty-third day of the sixth month that year, Lady of the South Pole chanted another poem and imparted it to Lord Yang:

The woods stir because kindred things respond to one another; clouds gather, awaiting the dragon’s cry. The mysterious pattern brings things into resonance of its own accord. When the season arrives, all things give voice. The flying reins set out from Mount Xihua, then suddenly draw in as I come to visit. The distant realms in the eight directions are not without joy; chanting in unison naturally inspires reverence. Yet it is sad that, throughout this world in all four directions, sorrow always lingers in the heart. Let us journey together to the Northern Cold Terrace, and let the spirit wind open your heart.

Seventeen Poems by Lady of the Purple Tenuity, with Preface

Lady of the Purple Tenuity was named Qing’e, courtesy name Yuyin, and was the twentieth daughter of the Queen Mother of the West. Long ago, she descended to the human world and imparted the Scripture of the Supreme Treasure Spirit to Pei Xu ren. Pei Xuren succeeded in cultivating the Dao and was appointed a Perfected One of Clear Numinosity. In the sixth month of the third year of Xingning in the Jin dynasty, the year yichou, Lady of the Purple Tenuity descended to Yang Xi’s home. The Perfected One of Great Origins, the Perfected One of Tongbai, Lady Youying, and Lady of Mount Heng also descended with her. They said that Lady of the Purple Tenuity held the divine office of Left Lady of the Purple Tenuity Palace. She guarded the palace on Mount Xuanzhong at Yuye and oversaw the instruction of those on the verge of becoming Perfected Ones.

That night, the Perfected One met with Lady Youying, and they sang of the cultivation that makes one a Perfected One. Lady of the Purple Tenuity replied in song:

Riding the great wind, I rise straight to the ninth heaven and halt my carriage at Three-Beauty Ridge. If the heart still relies on something, it will linger and look about; only when it relies on nothing can it be truly at peace. Why go to the Canglang realm with such effort? What could compare with crossing the Dark Well?

She then chanted:

The Turtle Palace towers high, its palace terraces grand; pearl-like jewels, bright as the moon, hang among them.

The tortoise-shaped palace towers high in solemn grandeur, and between the city walls and raised pavilions, a moonlike radiance seems to fall from the pearls. The company sit in separate places in the Ninefold Spirit Chamber, the dwelling of immortals, striking instruments and chanting of Great Emptiness, the Daoist realm of nothingness. The sound of the jade flute harmonizes with my thoughts, while golden wine, the liquor of immortals, dispels my sorrow.

Then I chanted:

In the Palace of Eastern Florescence, we feast and drink in delight. Music rises without pause, a thousand sounds weaving together. The Azure Lord, an immortal, calls me to rise. I bow low in greeting, gazing with longing toward the immortal realm of the Forest Court. Clad in feathered robes, I shimmer with emerald light; jade pendants strike together with a clear, bright chime. All point together toward the Hall of High Dawn, promising to meet in the depths of the immortal realm.

Then I recounted my travels through the Dark Ridges, chanting:

I crossed the crimson firmament and soared away, borne on a swift wind to the Northern Ridge Court. Divine light shone upon the immortal terrace; moon-round radiance poured down on the wind. Qihui, an immortal’s title, drew in cinnabar essence, the vital essence described in Daoism, and absorbed the moon’s essence between the door leaves. Hand in hand, we met in the Cloud Forest’s immortal halls. Our minds and spirits opened wide, as though we had returned to youth. Quiet and free of cares, we need not settle in any fixed place. How could right and wrong, gain and loss, still occupy our thoughts? The struggles of worldly affairs naturally drive people into turmoil and competition. How, then, can one speak of nourishing life?

At dusk on the sixth day of the ninth month, the Cloud Forest descended once more and ordered Yang Jun to take up the brush, record the words, and transmit them. I chanted:

Above the Great Rosy Clouds, I unharnessed my carriage and drew in the reins, arriving at Purple Mound. I hold the energies of the eight directions in my hands and leap, floating through the air. I glance at the guiding patterns by which Heaven and Earth’s transformations unfold, then at the distant, lofty fields. Having grasped the essence of the Great Dao, I can dispel a thousand worries. Seeking the true Dao, I have found a good companion. What more could there be to pursue?

After chanting this poem, I ordered it sent to Xu Changshi Mu and Xi Fanghui. Then I chanted:

The purple sky is clear and bright; the Dark Palace, an immortal palace, is encircled by the Crimson River. The immortal chambers of Highest Clarity are filled with assembled immortals, and the Spirit Terrace stands tall and radiant. The Eight Carriages of the immortals arrive at the Vermilion Pool, their feathered canopies raised high, reaching the clouds. Swift winds wheel among the sun, moon, and stars; golden bells ring, and jade blossoms drift down. With seven reins, the carriage descends the nine-tiered heavenly steps. We feast and wander in view of the sights, unconfined by any home. Tell me, seeker of the Dao, why remain trapped amid the turmoil of the dusty world? Can you not dwell in Eastern Splendor, cultivate your true nature, and gather in the Qi of Great Harmony?

Holding the jade canopy in his left hand—the ceremonial canopy that symbolizes the retinue of immortals—he treads upon darting light and shadow and ascends to the Seven Primordials, the seven stars of the Dipper and the star spirits they represent. The Three Dawn Deities, the three dawn-star gods of Daoist tradition, radiate brilliant purple light. I gaze up in solemn reverence and commune with the True Spirit, revered in Daoism. In an instant, my form transforms and leaps aloft, while wondrous visions appear on every side. The subtle, numinous response has no bounds; one should diligently devote oneself to studying the Shangqing scriptures. Why remain seated along the road? This prevents your spiritual response from becoming focused. When baleful influences and sickly Qi intrude, you lose the essentials of the Way of cultivation, and may even let the years slip by without realizing it.

Xu said to Lord Yang: “Diligence means devoting yourself wholeheartedly to the work at hand and immersing yourself in the mysteries of the Dao. Those who are careful can extend their understanding from one thing to another, and accomplish something of their own. The hardships of learning the Dao are truly beyond words! If your heart harbors shame or disdain, you are still far from the Great Dao.

“Only after enduring refinement can one’s worth become clear. The actions of the worthy, too, lead from one thing to another, bringing fresh insight. What matters most now is to forget the distractions within your heart.” Then he chanted:

The realm of wondrous purity and emptiness is deep and remote; the setting sun’s afterglow rises from the eastern marsh. May I find a kindred spirit who has transcended the common world, to accompany me in serene withdrawal from worldly life—one with whom few in this world can resonate.

After chanting it several times, he said:

The numinous one dwells in seclusion among deep mountain peaks; the Perfected One gathers in his form and rides upon the clouds. The mysterious song is not beyond our reach; wondrous communion has its own time of arrival. Who would have thought that, in the stillness of empty space, the profound melody is always present? Hand in hand, we ascend to the Feathered Palace, where immortals dwell, and feast together in the Vast Cold Palace, the legendary lunar abode. I ask who my companion is: before my eyes, there is only the Jade Maiden, the female immortal who serves the Perfected Ones.

When he had finished chanting, he said: “A person of outstanding transcendence soars like a galloping steed, taking wing above Mount Kongtong. Should such a person not long revere the immortals who hold the southern throne of honor, and forsake the wealth of a lord with a thousand chariots?” On the thirtieth day of the second month, he chanted a verse:

Lifting my robe, I cross the clear river, and there I meet Lord Fusang, an immortal of the East. A grand gathering is held at the Ruins of Tailing, a place in the immortal realms, and a banquet with music is laid in the Palace of Dark Splendor, an immortal palace. If faith in the Dao is truly pure and steadfast, why not dwell on the eastern peak? These words also describe the beauty of Fangzhu and the eastern immortal realms of Donghua.

On the fourteenth day of the fourth month, he composed seven more verses, whose words were as follows:

I command the radiant splendor of the sun and moon, scattering divine fluids as I rise on swift winds to the Highest Clarity realm, the Daoist realm of immortals. Cloud terraces tower high; the Heavenly Gate and Jade City are magnificent and beautiful. The morning breeze stirs the vermilion mists, and red clouds drift down over the Golden Court. Green leaves flourish on the dark peaks, while purple fungi grow beneath the cliffs. Auspicious clouds encircle the alchemical furnace, where immortal jade is refined, and I soar to the jade palaces of the eight directions. I wander at ease through the Palace of Vast Cold, living longer than an ancient thousand-year-old chun tree, yet keeping the face of a child. Dragon banners summon numinous lightning; tiger banners call forth vermilion troops. The perfected high immortals turn the Nine Luminaries and perceive the hidden subtleties of a realm both deep and clear. Who can set foot on this mysterious immortal path? Come seek me, and you will gain endless life.

The Purple Tenuity Lodge, abode of the Celestial Emperor, is veiled in purple clouds; on Yu Terrace, rosy light mingles with swift winds. Luan birds sing among the canopies, while phoenix music guides the dragon chariot. Eight wolves bear crimson banners; white tigers sound horns and flutes. Clouds billow up, revealing the numinous palace as it descends amid the clamor of the mortal world. I halt my chariot where the beloved resides; those of kindred purpose naturally call to one another. The root of the Dao can be found in a single instant; ten thousand years are no more than one morning. Even the longevity of an ancient chun tree must eventually fade. Once the kalpa has passed, what is there to worry about? True immortals behold one another; do not let the mind and spirit scatter in haste. Wield the blade of emptiness to cut away stagnation and attachment; worldly fixations unsettle the Five Spirits within the body and mind.

At dawn, I set out toward the radiance of the east, riding a flying chariot across the vast sea. Mountains and waves shake the blue horizon; winds from the eight directions disperse the dark clouds. I look back toward Yiqian House, an immortal dwelling, and feel its pull; true feeling moves the heart. The Three Golds, precious substances used in cultivation and refinement, can serve for wandering and repose; the eastern mountains are suited to long years of practice. The turmoil of the world fills the road ahead. Who can step onto the bridge to long life?

Weightless, I climb the Ridge of Eight Rosy Clouds and linger above the Flying Dawn Canopy, the cloud chariot of the immortals. My purple chariot rises into the Great Void, gazing out beyond the nine heavens. The sound of jade flutes stirs the auspicious clouds, and numinous vapors disperse the darkness. High immortals and exalted perfected women gather for a feast; their clear, resonant songs have no end. We travel among mountain peaks and celestial courts. What is there to wait for or hesitate over?

Divine jade shines upon the numinous ford, and the Seven Primordials—the spirits of the stars, including the Northern Dipper—make the sacred gate gleam. In the space of a thought, the mind transcends the ordinary; in a single leap, it ascends to Taiwei, the abode of the Celestial Emperor. Beautiful music arrives with harmonious song, and the grand assembly of immortals comes about in its own time. Together with the heavenly beings, I gaze out; together with the morning light, I rise. Racing my chariot beyond the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, where could there be danger or a fall?

The human world is fleeting, like a hurried stop amid mountain ridges wreathed in dust and drifting haze. After cycles of flourishing and decline, the green will return once more. Who can know the cycles of calamity in the immortal realms? Looking back brings sorrow. (Sixth poem)

Plants and trees among the clouds conceal a secluded place. Looking upward, one senses the vital energy of the stars in their courses. Many immortals gaze toward the morning light, seeming to rise together with the dawn. Riding chariots and horses beyond the four quarters of Heaven and Earth, what overturning or danger could there be? (Fifth poem)

Plants and trees among the clouds conceal a secluded place. Looking upward, one senses the vital energy of the stars in their courses. The tender shoots of plants and trees grow thick and lush; with profound De (Virtue/Power), they are sure to flourish and prosper. (Seventh poem)

Poetic praises from “The Section on Eulogies,” juan 98.

Two poems that Lady Taizhen presented to Ma Mingsheng, with a preface.

Lady Taizhen, a Daoist immortal said to be the youngest daughter of the Queen Mother of the West, was named Wanluo and styled Bosui. She was about sixteen or seventeen years old. She served Xuandu Taizhen and had a son named Santian. Santian served as Director of the Secretariat in the Supreme Office, overseeing and inspecting the affairs of the Celestial Bureaucracy. He was an assisting official responsible for matters on earth.

Santian was still young and liked to shirk his duties and wander about, neglecting his responsibilities. The relevant officials submitted an impeachment memorial, accusing him of failing to handle and investigate affairs in person. He was therefore demoted and reassigned to oversee the Eastern Peak. He was removed from the register of True Kings and appointed to command the spirits and ghosts. He was to serve for five hundred years, after which another would take his place. Lady Taizhen came to visit him and urged him to govern diligently and fulfill his duties from then on, making amends for his past failures.

On her way, the Lady passed through Linzi and encountered Junxian, a minor county official who had been wounded by bandits and was close to death. Seeing him, she took pity on him and asked why he was so badly hurt. Junxian told her the truth. After examining him, the Lady said, “Your injuries are grave. The blade has wounded your lungs, your five viscera are damaged, your blood has congealed in the Crimson Palace—a place Daoist teachings associate with the body’s internal organs—and your Qi has disrupted the area outside your intestines. These wounds are life-threatening. You may not survive. What can be done?”

Knowing she was a divine being, Junxian bowed his head and begged her to save him. The Lady took a pill the size of a small bean from a tube behind her elbow and immediately had him swallow it. As soon as he took it, he recovered: the bleeding stopped, his wounds closed, and the pain vanished. Junxian bowed again and said on his knees, “My family is poor, and I have nothing to offer in thanks. I do not know how I can repay your kindness. I can only do what little I can to return the favor I have received.”

The Lady said, “If you truly wish to thank me, that is a kind thought. Would you be willing to leave with me?” Junxian then changed his name and surname, calling himself Ma Mingsheng, and followed the Lady in her service.

The Lady returned to the cliffside stone chamber on Mount Daizong, the Eastern Peak. The chamber hung high above the ground in a sheer and perilous place. Layer upon layer of rock formed deep, secluded recesses, more than a thousand zhang above the earth. Inside were a golden bed and jade table, along with a dazzling array of rare treasures. It was a place no ordinary person could reach.

The lady returned to the stone chamber in the sheer cliffs of Mount Daizong in the Eastern Peak Range—Mount Tai. The chamber hung suspended, with steep drops above and below, hidden deep among layers of rock. It stood more than a thousand zhang above the ground. Inside were a gold bed and jade table, along with an array of rare and precious objects. No human could reach the place.

At first, Mingsheng had wanted only to learn methods for treating metal wounds—injuries caused by knives and swords. It was only after seeing immortals come and go that he learned there was a way to live forever. From then on, he attended to the lady and supplied her needs morning and night, sweeping and cleaning without ever daring to slacken. She also tested him with apparitions of ghosts, monsters, tigers, and wolves, and with all manner of transformations.

At this time, Mingsheng’s mind was clear and his emotions calm and upright; he never felt afraid. The lady also had him live elsewhere for a time. While he rested, she arranged for beautiful women to tempt him and draw close to him. Yet Mingsheng remained firm in his resolve and calm in mind, and no improper thoughts arose in him.

The lady sometimes went away and returned after five or ten days; at other times, she did not return for twenty days or a month. Mingsheng saw immortal guests coming and going, riding dragons and qilin or traveling on tigers and leopards. Many perfected immortals came to pay their respects, and the rooms were full of them all day. Whenever guests arrived, the lady always sent Mingsheng to an outer room. At times, fine dishes, rare fruits, fragrant wine, and unusual drinks would appear at once, though no one knew where they came from or what they were called. Sometimes the lady invited Mingsheng to sit with her and share the food and drink.

Mingsheng also heard the sounds of zithers in the air, along with graceful, beautiful singing. The lady sometimes played the zithers herself. With a single string, she could produce five tones at once. The music rang out high and clear, powerful and far-reaching; it could be heard several miles away. Birds of every kind gathered near the cave and stone chamber, circling overhead and refusing to leave no matter how they were driven off. This was a vision of the music of the heavenly beings and the wondrous realm of nature.

While she was there, the lady often stayed with Mingsheng in the stone chamber, though they slept in separate beds. In that quiet, uninhabited place, the two of them were usually alone. At times the lady went away without saying where she was going. Mingsheng saw only that a white dragon often came to meet her. She would put on a robe embroidered with cloudlike radiance and ride away on the dragon. The robe’s hem was adorned with bright moon pearls; she wore jade pendants and a golden Taixuan crown, a Daoist headdress. No attendants could be seen. When she returned, the white dragon departed on its own, and no one knew where it went.

Inside the stone chamber stood a jade bed covered with purple brocade bedding. Clothing and implements were arranged beneath crimson silk curtains. Golden boxes and other objects had unusual colors and were rarely seen in the human world; Mingsheng could not identify them all. There were also two scrolls of plain silk, titled the Scripture of the Supreme One of the Nine Heavens. Mingsheng never dared to unroll and read them. He only supplied what was needed, swept and cleaned, and guarded the stone chamber. He did not dare even to look closely at the clothing and implements, much less ask the lady about them.

Five years passed in this way. He became even more diligent and careful, never letting up. The lady said to him, “You truly are someone who can be taught, and one day you will certainly attain the Dao. You were born a mortal, yet you have reverently admired the vital energy of the immortals and never once given up. Even if you wished to seek death, how could you possibly die?”

The lady then told him her family name and the story of her origins. “I have lived in the human world for a very long time. Now, by command of the Heavenly Lord and at the summons of the Most High, I can no longer stay. I see how devoted and careful you are, so I am telling you these things. I also wish to teach you methods for attaining longevity and extending life. However, the sweet dew of Great Harmony and Natural Dragon Embryo that I transmit may be passed only to Perfected Beings of the Three Heavens; it is not suited to beginners. You are not yet ready to hear of it. Even if you did hear it, you might not be able to use it to cultivate yourself. Master Anqi has a work called The Method of the Dawn Golden Liquid Elixir. Its secret arts and essential methods are the way of the Primordial Lady and the Great One. When mastered, they enable one to ascend to Heaven in broad daylight. Master Anqi will come tomorrow, and I will entrust you to him. Follow him for a time, and he will surely teach you the arts of the Dao.”

The next day, Master Anqi arrived. He rode a splendid qilin, wore red robes and a far-traveling crown, and was adorned with jade. At his waist hung a pouch decorated with a tiger’s head. He appeared to be about twenty years old, with a fair complexion and a dignified, composed bearing. Six or seven immortals followed behind him, each holding a tally as an escort. When Master Anqi saw the lady, he bowed with great respect and referred to himself as “your subordinate.”

After a while, wine and food were brought in, and everyone feasted for about half a day. The lady said to Mingsheng, “I can stay no longer. Go with this master and do not worry about me. I will come to see you from time to time.” She then gave Mingsheng two five-character poems, so that they might remember one another. In tears, Mingsheng bade her farewell, then followed Master Anqi to study the Way of the Nine Elixirs, the Daoist arts of refining elixirs and attaining immortality.

The poem says: “For a time I leave the walls of Yongcheng, driving my carriage toward the foot of Mount Dai.”

For a time, I left Yongcheng and rode to the foot of Mount Dai. Looking up, I saw the palace towers of the Great Clarity—the pure celestial realm spoken of in Daoism—with their lofty halls rising high among the clouds. Perfected beings moved to and fro through the empty sky, their forms appearing everywhere. They refined the body to preserve its natural nature, and with every gesture drew in the Qi of Great Harmony, the calm and pure primordial energy between Heaven and Earth. In the morning they paid homage to the King of the Nine Heavens; at night they returned to dwell in the immortal realm of Western Florescence. When Jing and Qi circulate, one can ascend to the skies; through breathing practices, one can nourish the “green teeth,” a Daoist term for Jing and Qi. The true elixir is not made from metals or stones; when the wind rises, it naturally sounds like immortal music. They soared freely above and below, reaching the distant heights of the clouds. Their feathered robes streamed in the wind—how light they seemed! The Five Sacred Peaks were not my dwelling; the Mysterious Capital was my home. Looking down at those who struggle for worldly splendor, I saw them cling to delusions like frogs and toads. They looked back at the defilements of the mortal world, and their troubles became entangled with one another. If they had not yet grasped the Mysterious Principle, why cling to shaping external things? Misfortune often comes from disclosing the secrets of the Dao; guard them with care, and blessings will grow.

In the past, I lived in Kunling Palace and discussed ways to prolong life with others. Golden Liquid, an immortal elixir used in Daoist cultivation, can indeed extend life, but it is no match for the immortal arts of Great Harmony. I climbed to the Terrace of the Dark Immortals, where I sat in quiet contemplation and chanted of the numinous immortals. Suddenly, I met the King of Fusang and the Perfected Beings of the Nine Elders’ Immortal Capital. They rode in carriages drawn by purple dragons, their faces radiant and bright. They guided me onto the path to long life, invited me to the realm of nature, told me the art of the soaring swan, and passed on to me the “Jade Embryo Chapter.” Jade cream gathered the Mysterious Qi, while the Plain Maiden explained it to me. I bent down to absorb the essence of the jade phoenix, then rose upward to the Three Heavens. Clouds wove themselves into a road that I could walk at once, allowing me even to travel for a time among the Five Sacred Peaks. Why speak of the Mysterious Capital as far away? Penglai seemed right beneath my feet. Teacher and disciple drew close in mutual affection, becoming friends and, in time, celestial beings. If one violates the teachings and acts recklessly, calamity will surely follow; it shows no favor to the wise over the foolish. Guard the secrets with care, and you may enjoy lasting peace; reveal them, and you put your life in danger.

Twenty-Six Poems by Madam Right of Yunlin, Yang the Perfected, and the Chief Historian Xu (with preface)

Lady Youying of Yunlin, a female immortal of Yunlin Palace, was named Meilan and styled Shenlin. She was the thirteenth daughter of the Queen Mother of the West. Appointed Lady Youying of Yunlin Palace, she governed Mount Canglang. On the third day of the seventh month in the year Yichou, the third year of Xingning under the Jin, the High Minister of the Eastern Peak, the Director of Destinies, and other perfected immortals descended together to Yang Jun and gave him a letter:

In your youth, you lost your way and wandered, but your deep spiritual nature did not vanish. Good fortune and misfortune arise from different causes and conditions, and the cloud ladder leading to the immortal realm has yet to rise. Though you aspire to seek the Dao and make progress, you have not yet penetrated its highest principles. Your talent is truly outstanding: your writing is elegant and refined, your aspirations rest in the Great Mystery, the profound realm of the Dao, and you hope to enter the Purple Court, the palace of the immortals, and soar through the air. Your mind is clear and perceptive; you understand the principles of movement and stillness. Your writing is rich and graceful, and accords with subtle truths.

Your conduct follows proper standards, and you can respond with flexibility and firmness. In stillness, you apprehend the flavor of the real; in breathing practice, your breath flows in harmony and its tones ring true. You are broad-minded by nature and upright in De (Virtue/Power), truly deserving of respect. Yet the distracting thoughts in your heart have not been swept away, narrowness and stinginess remain deeply rooted, and your desires have not been severed. The inner spiritual pool, the pure realm of the mind and spirit, has not yet become clear. Under these conditions, we cannot discuss subtle truths with you, much less the right moment for inner and outer cultivation to come together, or the union of the Sun and Moon, terms often used in Daoism for the essences of the sun and moon.

When one makes a mistake, what matters is the ability to correct it. The barriers between us have been removed and our feelings reconciled; there is no longer any impediment. Even if we temporarily quiet the talk of others, we can still bring about a reconciliation. The road ahead remains long, and this is only one of many such matters. Many unresolved issues remain, and they must be regularly reviewed and handled with care. If your thoughts are scattered or your conduct falters, you will miss opportunities as they arise. Even if you hear gentle counsel, how can it prevent these errors and dispel these distracting thoughts?

A clear, ringing voice drifts through the air, and a wondrous wind stirs the trees. The body passes beyond the shadowed path, while the mind chants subtle and numinous sounds. The Benevolent Marquis is just such a person. By devoting yourself diligently to guarding the True One, a Daoist practice of concentrating the spirit and returning it to unity, you can turn white hair black and regrow hair that has fallen out within a year. But if you worry inwardly about your descendants while managing public affairs outwardly, and if your social dealings and sensory experiences become too extensive, entangling you in sights, sounds, and worldly business, none of this will benefit your cultivation.

It also speaks of Lord Xu’s cultivation of the Dao with a jade axe, using Xue Jihe’s experience as a comparison. Xue Jihe was the younger brother of Master Xue of Changli. By indulging his desires, he lost the rank he had once held. Yet by nature he loved the sound of the xiao, like the cry of a phoenix. Master Changli therefore prayed to the Most High (a revered Daoist deity) on his behalf, so that he might be reborn. It is also said that the hidden virtue—the good deeds done without others’ knowledge—accumulated by Zhao’e (a personal name) might benefit Lord Xu and his jade axe as well.

It also says: Hearing the north wind brings sorrow; seeing Qiyao (a star’s name) brings peace of mind. Thinking of a fine horse stirs the desire to gallop; praising a gentle nature, one hopes it will dispel what is knotted within. Are the feelings of ordinary people not often like this? This is because people are moved by the atmosphere of their native place and carry deep within them a longing to return home. If you can trust in this, your practice may yet accord with the Dao. But if desire blocks the way, and the cinnabar radiance within your heart—the spiritual light spoken of in Daoist cultivation—cannot flow freely, then even if a numinous being takes your hand, it can only return empty-handed. A lofty companion on the Dao withdraws with sleeves gathered and stays away for a long time. Shen and Qi no longer attend to your dwelling, and the profound, penetrating state of silent communion no longer appears to your mind’s eye. You have brought this upon yourself. How could it not be sorrowful?

Those who have attained the Dao can cast off every entanglement and move forward with resolve. Thus, all manner of turmoil naturally subsides, and layer upon layer of confusion clears away. What is easy requires no effort; it is precisely what is difficult that reveals a person’s resolve. The saying, “In the first month, a guest from Mount Guishan must arrive,” is something the wise should examine more carefully.

From ancient times to the present, life and death each have their own course, as do appearing and withdrawing, each in its proper season. Setting aside past experience, not displaying one’s cleverness, and adapting to ordinary life are all ways of cultivating the Dao.

As for taking the Jade Elixir (immortal elixir), making the Ninefold Florescence rise in flight three times, drinking cloud nectar at dawn—the spirit liquid of the immortals—and letting flowing yellow (an immortal medicine or treasured substance) circulate within the body, then tilting the head back to swallow golden liquid and chew jade dew, one can at once ride the radiance of the sun, ascend into the heavens, and soar to Taiwei, the celestial realm of immortals.

If worldly affairs run counter to the mysterious Dao and cultivation is not yet complete, one should for a time pass through the Great Yin, the shadowy underworld, and live concealed in the Netherworld. One relinquishes the physical body and preserves embryonic breathing in a place of emptiness and stillness; regulates the breath, cuts off breathing through the mouth and nose, and receives subtle, mysterious vital essence. Thus the countenance is transformed in the Hall of the Three Yin, where Yin energy gathers, while a youthful appearance is cultivated at the Gate of the Nine Refinements, where vital essence is refined.

Only then does one understand that the affairs of the immortals are truly wondrous: though a person dies, they are not extinguished, and the principles of coming and going, of transformation, are profoundly mysterious.

A great tree capable of shading ten thousand acres must grow on a towering mountain ridge. A river that gathers into towering waves and shakes the mountains must have its source in Bantong. The worthy person who accumulates hidden De (virtue)—doing good in secret without seeking reward—has deep and abundant virtue, like the people of Bin. Yilin roams freely beyond the Great Wilderness and so has no fear of being bound. The spirit bird spreads its wings and soars above the peaks of Xuanpu, thus escaping the dangers of nets and ropes.

When people cultivate the Dao (the Way), is it enough simply to hide themselves away in some secret, remote place? Even a steed so swift that its shadow cannot be seen cannot gallop along the Lüliang. A boat that can ride the waves and cross the water cannot sail up Mount Taihang. This shows that each thing has its own strengths and its proper place. Where trees grow thickly, birds gather; where springs run deep and full, fish flock. This is the response that follows from deep and abundant virtue.

Those who cultivate the Dao must indeed work diligently and endure hardship to achieve anything. In learning the Dao, one should concentrate on keeping to the Way and let one’s original nature unfold naturally, without allowing thoughts to wander. Cast off extravagance and hold fast to quiet simplicity. Keep the mind still, as though seeing something in a hidden place; let it be at ease, as though something had already been gained in secret. Be focused as if standing at the edge of a deep valley, and cautious as if walking on thin ice. These are the ways that lead to the gate of realization, but they do not yet bring one into its inner chamber.

Learning the Dao is both difficult and easy. If one can investigate the mysterious and grasp its meaning, preserve a peaceful and natural nature, gather the Shen (spirit) and let it settle, devote oneself to studying the six viscera, cherish one’s original Qi (vital energy), restrain one’s desires, and avoid being led by external things into reckless looking and listening, then learning the Dao is easy. If one cannot do these things, learning the Dao is difficult.

When the vital energy in the mountains is disturbed, the birds and beasts in the forests cry out in sorrow. When rivers and lakes are blocked and cannot flow freely, the dragons and serpents in the wetlands suffer and grow restless. These are signs that nature reveals. When people’s choices run counter to what is right, the workings of all things become different as well. Without stillness and gentleness, one cannot attain humility and harmony; without an open mind in which the spirit can dwell, one cannot accord with the subtle Dao. If the thoughts in one’s heart are free of wrongful intent, misfortune will not be drawn near. Let the heart return to quietude and cast off its burdens; clear the source, and the waters will naturally become clear.

If one travels south while intending to go north, thinks one thing but says another, gives up the sweet shepherd’s purse to eat bitter tea, mocks the “Nine Pieces” (the name of an ancient musical composition) yet favors coarse northern tunes, then I know that person cannot distinguish, hear, or appreciate harmonious music. So I told Emperor Jianwen of Jin: “Wear a piece of musk around your neck to ward off water-related malign influences or illnesses, and bad dreams.”

The practice of the Dao lies in accumulating merit and doing good widely. The Perfected One of Great Emptiness often said: “When people commit many wrongs but do not know to repent, their sins return to them, like countless rivers flowing into the sea, growing ever broader and deeper. But if they recognize the wrong they have done, repent, and change their conduct to do good, they too can attain the Dao. When others treat me with malice, I respond with kindness; when others bring calamity upon me, I respond with blessings and good deeds. In this way, goodness remains in my hands. When evil people harm the good, it is like spitting toward the sky: the spit cannot stain the heavens, but soils the spitter. It is like scattering dust into a headwind: the dust does not reach others but falls back upon oneself. The Dao cannot be destroyed; in the end, calamity will destroy those who do evil.

“Supporting a hundred ordinary people is not as good as supporting one good person; supporting a thousand good people is not as good as supporting one poor recluse who devotes himself to studying the Dao. These are secret teachings of the High Perfected and important precepts of the Most High.”

Wealth and beauty are like honey on the edge of a blade for a child to lick. The taste of the honey is not enough to truly satisfy, yet it may cut the child’s tongue. Take this as a warning! Among human desires, none is stronger than craving beauty. Its offenses are great, and its consequences are difficult to undo. How, then, could one fail to guard against it? To cultivate the Dao, one should accumulate hidden virtue—good deeds done without seeking recognition—extend kindness, and rescue others. In one’s practice, the most important thing is to safeguard oneself and follow the Great Dao. In this way, blessings will be abundant and the foundations of life secure. The scripture also offers this teaching:

Coveting sensual pleasures is the greatest calamity. No offense is more serious, and its consequences are difficult to undo. How could one fail to guard against it? Those who study the Dao should accumulate hidden merit by doing good in secret, showing kindness, and rescuing others. In cultivating the Dao, the most important things are to safeguard oneself and practice the Dao’s teachings. The blessings gained in this way are immense, and life can become secure and long-lasting. A Daoist practitioner once wrote these poems:

One

I ride a swift carriage through the empty reaches in all eight directions, then return to feast in the chamber of Eastern Florescence. The Queen Mother of the West, a legendary female immortal, invites me up to her lofty pavilion. I give a long cry and travel on the spirit wind. Because my heart is bound by a concern, I have come here, crossing the Canglang waters.

Two

Riding a carriage through clouds and rosy mists, I travel above the glow of the dawn. Heavenly banners stream and flutter in every direction; a purple canopy bears the wondrous spirit carriage aloft. Red vapors coil around the standards, and the feathered robes stir fragrant winds. Thunder roars like a fierce beast, while lightning seems a dark dragon, singing and leaping through the sky. The music of Heaven rises in Kun Court, where the golden zhu zithers ring out with sacred bells. By the Canglang waters I gather spirit fungi; on Eight-Ting Peak I pluck flowers. Day by day my face grows younger. Though long ages pass, I remain like an infant. I quietly nurture my body on Eastern Mountain, and the Seven Spirits within me naturally commune.

The sorrows and griefs of the mortal world will at last leave my hair white and withered, and send me into a long sleep, cut off from distant joys. I regret that I did not set out sooner on the path beyond the mundane world.

Three

I halt the carriage as Wangshu, the deity who drives the moon, has already moved on. The wheels turn back toward Canglang. I have not yet seen that immortal set out on his travels; when I happen to think of him, how can I know whether he is well? When spring arrives, I can use the season to give voice to what is in my heart and forget my worries.

Four

I command the spirit visions of the sun, moon, and stars, and float onward through purple mists, looking out over the eight scenic wonders around the Fen River. Feathered youths bring me jade nectar, while the immortals of Jade Florescence send me off with fine food and wine. We agree to meet on the banks of the White River, where my Weiwei pearl, an immortal ornament symbolizing a wondrous treasure, will shine brightly.

Five

The Cang Chamber reflects the rosy glow of the eastern sky; a purple immortal realm appears in the dawn’s first red light. Two men of virtue together uphold the Dao’s central teaching and guard the domain of the True Immortal Lord. Climbing the eight high terraces, I gaze across a broad expanse; to the north I see only Feiyuan. With a tranquil heart, I look out through the clouds, my figure distant as I travel by spirit light. I breathe in the finest energy of the mountains, draw in my radiance, and live in seclusion on Eastern Mountain. Even if I dwell in the human world for a long time, each day is without leisure. How could this compare with transforming my mortal body and returning to the face of a child?

At dawn, the Gate of Heaven takes shape amid the Great Rosy Clouds, and a Jade Chamber rises straight into the clear, bright sky. I behold the Three Marvels, mount a drifting radiance, and fly to a remote and lofty realm. In the air, cinnabar essence glows with golden light, giving rise to upright, vigorous Qi. Whoever wishes to transform the mortal body must return to the face of an infant. (Poem Five)

At dawn, the Gate of Heaven takes shape amid the Great Rosy Clouds, and a Jade Chamber rises straight into the clear, bright sky. I behold the Three Marvels, mount a drifting radiance, and fly to a remote and lofty realm. In the air, cinnabar essence glows with golden light, giving rise to upright, vigorous Qi. Winds from the eight directions stir brocade sashes, while jade-green trees shine upon the Four Spirit Beasts, guardians of the four quarters. Beneath the canopy gleams a light like orchids. With purple reins in hand, I urge on a blue-green carriage. I bind myself to sincerity and commune with the spirits; by extending insight from one thing to another, I respond to Heaven’s sincerity. Why be moved by appearances from the outside? One should behold the wondrous beauty of jade for oneself. (Poem Six)

The three celestial signs flourish in the mysterious realm, their radiance illuminating the eight directions. Cinnabar-colored clouds appear above the lofty heavenly palace, and I ride the numinous wind, roaming at ease. Beating my wings, I mount the pure breeze and gaze toward the Jade Terrace. The blue-green canopy enters Xiechen, a sacred place in the celestial realm; the blue-green carriage makes for Kongtong, a lofty immortal realm of Daoist lore. I salute the Eastern Forest Emperor, then ascend to pay court to the Sovereign of the Great Void, a revered deity who dwells in the Great Void. The Jade Host cuts open phoenix brains, a rare delicacy at immortal banquets, and we drink the juice of flying leaves. The music of Yunjun, the celestial instrument or its sound, echoes through the winding bedchambers, where a thousand melodies ring clear and sweet. Brocade banners summon fierce beasts, and splendid standards flutter up and down. The Spirit Mother bends to sing as purple smoke rises and curls around the beams of the palace. I gather the reins and arrive at the lofty, clear Gate of Heaven; I unhitch the carriage and enter the dwelling of the lovely immortal.

In ancient times, before the workings of transformation had appeared, numinous change was already moving in accordance with the breath. The mind and spirit reached distantly toward the borders of the mysterious, and the lifespan grew with the years accumulated, enduring like the ancient scholar tree. The mortal body is stained by dust and grime, delights in foul tastes, and has lost stillness and natural ease in every movement and repose. My friend is truly unlike this, having long since forgotten honor and disgrace. (Poem Seven)

A crimson fairy realm emerges in the shadowed dawn. A purple carriage travels onward through clouds of mist. I lean back and pass beyond the green pass, then look down upon the city of vermilion fire. Dawn light spreads across the east, and the radiance of the spirits illuminates the Seven Powers. Light and shadow intertwine, shining over the Three Realms of Light; they flow without end, as the natural world joins with the netherworld. A clear breeze winds through the boundless cosmos, while fragrance and immortal music rise in time with the rhythm. I dance with the Weaver Maiden, then come with her to the courtyard where the Gourd star is found. The banner of blue plumes wheels to the left, and the ornate canopy tilts with the clouds.

I dwell in ease at a celestial feast beyond the nine heavens, no longer troubled by the rights and wrongs of the world. Embracing the true Dao, I abide in a realm of utmost stillness, and the Golden Essence gained through cultivation grows day by day. How could I live trapped in sin and defilement, consumed by sorrow and without a place to turn?

Banners on all four sides light up the sky, as a vermilion carriage flies toward the numinous mountain. A jade canopy veils the radiance of the Seven Luminaries, and immortals beat their wings and rise into the heights. Nine kinds of immortal music sound in the purple sky; the notes of jade ao zithers resound through the realm of emptiness. I feast and chant in the Palace of the Three Dawns, singing aloud and calling to my companions. Before I know it, spring has arrived—how could I attend to the turning of the sun and moon? Though my immortal companions have forgotten worldly affairs, they have not yet let go of every care. The great forest is indeed suited to quiet cultivation; in its secluded depths lie many pleasures.

I climb north to the Gate of Dark Truth, joining hands with my companions as we ascend to a lofty place. Fragrant smoke spreads through the eight directions of the celestial realms, and a wondrous, dark breeze stirs crimson waves. I gaze up at the crossing of the Lang Garden and down at the slopes of the Cloud Mound. A jade flute sounds among the clouds, and the cry of the phoenix carries far away. Riding on Qi, I drift through the heavens; why should I still climb the ridges? The Golden Standard gives orders to the feathered spirits of heaven, summoning troops to subdue the myriad demons. Together we absorb the radiance of the Two Dawns. A thousand springs pass, yet we remain youthful. To lose one’s true nature and plunge into a place of strife—what could be more bewildering?

I gaze up at the Palace of Great Rosy Clouds, where golden towers shine in the purple celestial realm. Its splendid halls reflect the realm of Great Simplicity, and all four sides are lined with windows of fine vermilion jade. I leave the carriage wheels behind and ride into the ford of the hollow, open realm; I draw in the reins and dance along the azure celestial path. The Jade Radiance Immortal rides in beneath a cloud canopy, while the Queen Mother of the West waves her brocade banner. Suddenly I leave the turbid world behind and, in an instant, arrive at the celestial court where the beautiful one dwells. Good ties accumulated in the past draw a True Immortal to appear; what I prayed for has long since received a hidden response. Then, riding the wind and making music, I fly toward the realm of the Cloud Dawns and raise a cup among the cinnabar forests. The rank of a duke or lord is ultimately small—how could such people understand the numinous wonders of a perfected one?

At dawn, I draw in crimson clouds and gather primordial Qi, wandering high in the heavens. Riding an immortal carriage, I roam and tread across the winding waves; then I see the sorrows of the people below. The meaning of the verse wells up of its own accord, gathering among the cliffs of Three-Flower Mountain, never to fade. Why not roam through the wondrous immortal realms and play the ao, a Daoist musical instrument, to delight you? Where are the bounds of your state of mind? What I seek is an inner emptiness, free of attachment.

At dawn, I harness the light of the sun and moon and ascend into the clouds, feasting and reveling at Canglang Palace. I gather clouds that swirl around the vermilion mists, while numinous Qi spreads across the eight directions of the sky. The High Perfected chant in halls of jade, and lofty immortals sing in pavilions of precious stone. Nine phoenixes sing out vermilion melodies; the xujie pipes and feather bells sound in turn.

At dawn, I harness the light of the sun and moon and ascend into the clouds, feasting and reveling at Canglang Palace. I gather clouds that swirl around the vermilion mists, while numinous Qi spreads across the eight directions of the sky. The High Perfected chant in halls of jade, and lofty immortals sing in pavilions of precious stone. Nine phoenixes sing out vermilion melodies; the xujie pipes and feather bells sound in turn. The immortals dwell together in the Golden Court and join with me as companions in the hidden realm. We drink jade nectar, the immortals’ fine wine, and in an instant return to the state of infants. Why squat watchfully at the crossroads of the human world, letting sickness and faults grow heavier with each passing day?

At dawn, I tour Taosu Palace, riding in a carriage to view the Jade River. At dusk, I feast in the remote, tranquil heavens; at dawn, I take in the radiance of the full moon. I play the ao at the Northern Cold Terrace, where the radiance of the Seven Spirits shines upon the purple clouds. Hosts of lofty immortals gather and ascend, while people of the dusty world flock together. Amid the clamor and confusion of the mortal realm, lingering and roaming, one should surely have few faults and burdens.

Harnessing the clouds, I race in my carriage and climb Daiting Mound at dawn. Crimson Ford meets the mountains; clear waves surge and drive the deep currents. I travel through the air, viewing the Nine Celestial Lines, and have already roamed all eight regions of heaven and earth. For a while I feast and wander in the Three Golden Blossoms, a numinous place among the immortals, and visit companions who have resolved to cultivate the Dao. Diligence and laxity cannot cancel each other out; that is why so many worries have accumulated.

Treading across the waves of Canglang, I suddenly arrive at Golden Mountain. I look around and roam all day, yet rarely meet an immortal like me, dwelling among the clouds.

Purple clouds and laxity cannot conceal one another; that is why so many worries have accumulated.

Treading across the waves of Canglang, I suddenly arrive at Golden Mountain. I look around and roam all day, yet rarely meet an immortal like me, dwelling among the clouds.

The purple palace in heaven stands above the distant, open void, while its mysterious halls rise straight into the lofty winds. In the sacred garden, precious jades of every kind are laid out; flowers bloom and crystallize into luminous jade. I race my chariot past the Canglang Ford, where winds from the eight directions stir the immortal music “Cloud Shao.” Wearing a feathered robe, I raise a fan to shield myself from the northern wind. I hold a tally and sound a golden flute. Phoenix-like music rings out with a thousand bells, while immortal youths of the West sing the morning rites and music. My heart opens wide, rising beyond the void—how clear and far-reaching my spirit feels! I whirl and dance among the ridges of the great void, while the Six Qi—the Yin, Yang, and other energies moving between Heaven and Earth—circulate in the deep and lofty reaches. How could ordinary people ever find my traces? I would have you remain forever undiminished and deathless.

Mysterious waves shake the vast sea, and the mighty ford gathers waters from every stream. Riding a sun-bright chariot, I gaze out across the empty reaches in all six directions and imagine wandering there with my beloved. No one answers my lovely songs; to whom can I send these clear, ringing notes? I race along in a jade wheel through the clouds. Why keep rushing about in the dusty world?

Pines and cypresses grow on secluded, mysterious mountains, lush and upright, the finest trees in the winter forest. Flowers bloom beside frigid waters, unafraid of the white snow. In a troubled age, I withdraw to range after range of mountains, keeping my path of practice pure. I set out in this light chariot, following the distant tracks of recluses. If even the rank of duke or marquis can be renounced, why can I not leave the dusty world altogether?

Quiet cultivation is what draws me to the eastern mountain; where the sunlight falls dimly, I can dwell in a spirit grotto. The courtyard is still and empty, with dense green woods and plants growing in profusion. Bright sunlight shines through the south window, and a red wind enters the secluded chamber. I sit with hands clasped in the quiet room, waiting to meet with fellow seekers and together open the mysterious art of cultivation. My mind and spirit are clear as I look from afar toward the mysterious Dao; inwardly calm and at ease, my spirit too unfolds freely.

Let my spirit roam to the numinous ford. I raise the reins and drive a vermilion chariot. Why is my beloved so slow to arrive? How long must we wait for the Dao and De to be cultivated to completion?

The truths entrusted to allegory must surely be useful; to leave them unused is to be without feeling or principle. How can I drive swiftly along the tracks of a chariot and seek these immortal beings in the sky? Subtle words truly hold deep meaning. When you hear them, receive them with care and do not take them lightly. Let things unfold in accordance with wondrous timing; guard yourself, and you will see an age of peace.

Driving swiftly in pursuit of the sunlight, I skim over the Canglang Waters and soar across the Qinghai Ferry. Red clouds at sunset blur the sun; the feathered canopy of my carriage rises high, as though leaning over the ninth heaven. A cloud chariot floats through the sky, and in an instant reaches the banks of the Canglang Waters. I have come to seek a like-minded companion in the Dao, to join hands with him in serving the Emperor of Dawn, the celestial god of morning. The Jade Master, an honorific title for an immortal, assists the luminous De, and together we welcome worthy Jade Immortals. Looking down, I behold the Palace of Eight Rivers; looking up, I dwell on the summit of Xilin. I drink the essence, like purple jade nectar, and only then understand how hard and polluted the roads of the mortal world are. Where is my beloved now? Only through diligent cultivation can I draw near to him.

The red palace towers into the vast heavens. Clad in crimson clouds, I ascend to the Chamber of Radiance, an abode of immortals. Purple banners flutter amid the clouds and rosy mists, while feathered immortals—those who cultivate the Dao and attain immortality—dance on the winds from the eight directions. I pause beneath the carriage canopy to bathe in emerald streams, then go to Moon Branch Peak to gather its numinous treasures. I chew the Three Numinous Essences and breathe out the Nine Divine Radiances. My life endures like the great chun tree, without end; following the courses of sun and moon, I gradually cultivate a nature of pure sincerity. Hand in hand, we arrive at the Hall of Bright Truth, gazing up in hope toward the Supreme Sovereign, the highest celestial emperor. The Northern Jun, celestial music, begins the feathered immortals’ song; in the realm of Jade Mystery, the worthy assembly shines resplendently. Why remain amid the mortal world’s waves and let gain and loss unsettle the heart? Stretching my neck to peer out from a noisy courtyard, I open my heart and long to break free of the mundane. Once accustomed to a life of honor and disgrace, one can seldom enter the immortal palace of Xilin. Why regard quiet cultivation as hardship? Why not leave the mortal world and go see the Canglang Waters?

Though the treasures of the world are fragrant and abundant, the Dao’s central purpose is to meet in the mysterious heavens. I straighten my robes and cap and set out to seek the place where true immortals cultivate; then I turn my carriage back toward the dust and turmoil. Those of noble De reflect a mysterious radiance; their outstanding gifts shine brilliantly. Secret teachings bring blessings, while those who are tranquil and unattached prize the true Dao above all. One should follow the two forms of Yin and Yang, joining hands in harmony and keeping close company. Why remain amid the turmoil of worldly affairs, breeding worries day after day?

I once meant to agree with Fuzi, saying I would go gather the Five Zhi, five kinds of immortal lingzhi. But the zhi plants may not be found, and you may not come. If you do come, there may be a chance to find them, and I will give them to you to eat.

Six Eulogies on the Scripture of Wisdom by the Perfected One of the Supreme Ultimate

Those who study the path to immortality should put an end to worldly vanity and distracting thoughts, allowing each thought to grow gradually still. A mind full of scattered thoughts unsettles the heart and spirit, stirring the Shen and making it difficult to find peace. Remove distracting thoughts and let the heart and spirit rest in emptiness and stillness; then one can enter the realm of tranquil emptiness. Study the scriptures with the urgency of someone seeking food and drink when hungry and thirsty, and hold fast to your resolve as firmly as metal and stone. Only then can you preserve yourself, walk the wondrous path of ascent, and, through the power of the Five Spirits, pass beyond the celestial barriers recorded in the registers of talismans.

I practiced the Six Perfections, the six virtues of cultivation, and thereby freed myself from the Three Bonds, the restraints and obstacles spoken of in Daoism. I purified my heart through fasting and paid reverence to Grand Simplicity, the primal Qi. Through breathing practices—exhaling turbid Qi through the mouth and inhaling pure Qi through the nose—I nourished the Cloud Sprouts. Thus I wandered freely through the Golden Palaces of the immortals and made the Jade Capital my home. The Seven Treasures came to me naturally, and all sat upright upon lotus flowers. I raised my head to taste the sweet dew of the Mysterious Capital, and lowered it to take in the immortal substances of the Grotto. My countenance shone like ten suns; why concern myself with the number of years and kalpas? I beat the Dharma Drum to summon the celestial immortals and rang the bell to call forth the great demons.

Spirit winds stirred the fragrant blossoms, and flowers burst into brilliant bloom. The Perfected One of Great Truth played the Cloud Ao, a celestial instrument, while the immortals performed on spirit zithers. Above the Three Heavens, they sang songs of noble elegance; in the Jade Flower Grove, they spread the light of wisdom. As a result, seven generations of my ancestors ascended to the Hall of Blessing, and I too set out on the wondrous immortal path. If one has not accumulated enough virtue in past lives, it is difficult to encounter this scripture. If one’s faith in the Great Dao is not steadfast, seeking ascent to immortality with single-minded urgency may instead lead to ruin. Whether the Supreme Dao of Wuwei (non-action) can be proclaimed depends on what is in your heart.

The study of the Dao must be rooted in pure and steadfast faith. Serve your teacher as you would your closest kin. Pay homage to the immortal Perfected Ones, draw near to the realm of purity and emptiness, and cultivate diligently, making progress day by day. Until everyone else has crossed over to liberation, I should not seek my own liberation first. The great vows one makes will in time bring abundant blessings; wondrous virtue will ultimately be rewarded. To commit evil in secret is a grave offense, and when retribution comes, it follows one after another like the turning of a wheel.

Learning the Dao is indeed arduous: from morning until night, one must continually accumulate merit. Building up De is like planting a tree: the deeper its roots, the more fruit it bears. If you can devote yourself wholeheartedly to the wondrous Way, you can rise with ease into the bright, clear heavens. To cultivate this path of Wuwei (non-action), you should also form ties with good deeds. The Most High expounds the deepest principles and wrote The Chapter on Wisdom. Through great wisdom, one removes suffering, leaves worldly concerns behind, and realizes the true Dao. Such a gifted and refined nature is rare in the world, radiant as a lotus in a deep pool. (Part Five)

Each person has their own foundation, connected to the deeds accumulated in past lives. De should be established early, and vows should be put into practice. Good and evil always arise in relation to one another; the principles by which they depend on and transform into each other are inexhaustible. The wise follow the teachings and admonitions. In cultivating the Dao, one must forget both external things and one’s attachments. To understand this is great wisdom. Having completed the cultivation, one may ascend to become a Taiji Lord, a title for a Daoist celestial official. Then a jeweled canopy will be joined to a jade carriage, driven by a charioteer who commands nine dragons. Golden blossoms will raise the Cavern Scripture, a Daoist classic, while immortal youths present incense. Songs and cries will ring through the Dark Capital, the palace of the Daoist heavens; jade pendants will chime, and the jade bells will be struck.

A Portrait Inscription and Two Poems by Wu Zilai for Fei Xuanzhen, with Preface

Fei Xuanzhen was a Daoist at Xing Tang Monastery in Shuangliu County, Chengdu. In the final years of the Dazhong era, during Emperor Xuanzong’s reign in the Tang dynasty, a Daoist who called himself Wu Zilai came to stay at the monastery for more than a year. He cultivated himself by regulating his breath and abstained from grain, drinking wine only occasionally. He was easygoing and unrestrained, with no particular plans or schemes.

One day, he suddenly said to Xuanzhen, “I would like to paint your portrait. May I?” Xuanzhen replied with a laugh, “If you want a true portrait, you should paint yourself first.” Wu Zilai did as he suggested: he looked at himself in a mirror, prepared his brush, and painted a remarkably lifelike portrait, finishing it quickly. He then wrote an inscription for the portrait and composed two poems, leaving them for Xuanzhen. Whether writing the inscription or composing the poems, he gave no deliberate thought to what he was doing.

The inscription says:

My name is Wu. My abilities are ordinary, but I understand how to follow the course of fate and preserve my true nature. I value the mysterious and the simple, and my heart delights in quiet and frugality. I have traveled across many mountains, wandering freely on my own. My studies have not yet brought me to an understanding of the Great Dao; I seek only to care for body and mind. I make my home among mountains and waters, with only my own shadow for company. I wear coarse cloth and a grass-cord belt, a cap of deerskin and a gauze headwrap. I eat pine nuts and drink from mountain springs. I have passed through Shu and traveled on through Qin. The Great Dao is deep and subtle—but where, then, is my teacher? I think of the people in the world below and long for those exalted guests who have transcended it—that is, the accomplished adepts. My mind is open and no longer clings to the self; I draw close only to the Dao, elusive and unfathomable.

The poem says:

All day I dwell in my thatched hut,

and the fresh breeze comes and goes.

No worldly affairs trouble my ears;

at ease, I watch the clouds.

When I drink wine, I think only of the moon;

I never tire of mountain life, even eating pine nuts.

I chant the Inner View (Neijing),

the Daoist classic of cultivation known as the Huangting Neijing Jing,

and naturally help preserve my youthful appearance. (1)

For this whole life, these things are enough.

White stones and green pines are my home.

Facing the moon, reclining among clouds,

I roam freely like a wild deer,

often buying wine and sleeping drunk amid mist and rosy clouds. (2)

He wanders quietly on his own, at ease and self-possessed. He drinks dew that falls from magnolia blossoms and clothes himself in feathers and fur shed by birds and beasts. He seeks no profit in the human world and does not fish for fame under heaven. Such is the Daoist who dwells in the mountains.

When he had finished writing the inscription, he shook the dust from his clothes, gathered his belongings, and left. No one knew where he went.

“A Poem Presented by an Immortal to Bai Yongnian” (with preface)

Bai Chunfu, courtesy name Yongnian, was from Hengyue in Hunan. From childhood, he had lofty aspirations and devoted himself to the Way of the immortals. On each of the Three Primes days and the Eight Festivals, important observances in Daoist practice and the traditional calendar, he would go to a Daoist temple on Mount Heng to help burn incense and observe purification rites, pay homage to the gods, and ask others about profound scriptures and the principles of realizing the true Dao. For this, he earned the admiration of accomplished practitioners. He carried firewood and hauled water, seeking out a master through arduous journeys, and never slackened in his efforts. Later, he acquired from a book of alchemical methods the arts of swift footwork, verification, and driving out evil spirits. After practicing them for twenty years, he used these skills to aid people and heal the sick, punish demons, and dispel illness. Many people benefited from his help.

When the Chao rebels entered the capital, the emperor journeyed west, and war spread throughout the land as order and discipline broke down. Powerful and violent leaders in various regions set up their own forces and ignored the law. Yongnian consistently used the right way to restrain and instruct them, and many came over to his side. At the time, a local strongman whose name is unknown was holding sway in the area. On the day before his son’s wedding, a youth suddenly arrived with more than ten mounted attendants. No one knew where they had come from. The youth barged straight into the hall, sat cross-legged, and berated the people there: “I was going to marry this young woman first. Why have you taken her away from me?” Everyone was terrified, but no one dared answer. The youth ordered his attendants to bring out red silk, a lamb and geese, green cash, bolts of silk, and other betrothal gifts, returning them in the quantities required for a wedding. He still meant to force the woman to go with him. Suspecting that he was a ghost or demon, and unable to resist him, the strongman sent his swiftest runner more than a hundred li to summon Yongnian.

Just before dawn, Yongnian was about to arrive. At first the youth showed no fear. After a while, however, he muttered to himself, “Venerable Master Bai has indeed come!” Then he began to weep, leapt onto the roof, shouted several times, and vanished. All the things he had brought remained behind, and Yongnian distributed them among the poor and sick. He then explained to the strongman the consequences of following the right way and acting against it, patiently guiding him. The leader recognized his wrongdoing, disbanded the fortified camps, laid down arms, returned his followers to the civilian households recorded in the registers, and accepted the authorities’ rule. The regional commander praised what Yongnian had done. Throughout the Xiang River and Mount Heng region, people of every station praised his De and revered his teachings.

One day, a woodcutter knocked at his door and said, “Immortals are gathered among the rocks on the western peak, discussing matters. Master, please go there.” Suspecting that they might be mountain demons, Yongnian studied the woodcutter’s eyes to judge whether he was righteous or evil. As he adjusted his clothes and prepared to set out, the woodcutter said, “Master, your merit and practice have already become well known, and your name is entered in the registers of the immortals. What evil spirit would dare harm you? Still, even if you fall short by only a little, do not regret it.” With that, the woodcutter left by another path.

The master set out in search, leaning on his staff. By the time he arrived, night had fallen. He saw a light on the cliff face and looked closely. There he found a poem, its ink still wet. It read:

“On a clear autumn day, with nothing to do,

I ride the mist toward the farthest sky.

At the woodcutter’s word, I have come to keep our tryst,

We promised to spend long ages together.”

When he had finished reading, the writing vanished from the cliff, and the light disappeared.

◎A Poem by Li Gongzuo’s Immortal Servant, with Preface

After Li Gongzuo passed the jinshi examination, he served as an assistant official in Zhongling. He had a servant of humble birth who worked diligently and tirelessly, conducting himself with respect and care day and night. Nearly thirty years passed this way, and Li Gongzuo never realized that the servant was a person of extraordinary nature. One day, the servant took leave and left behind a poem:

“I keep a precious pearl within me, and do not mind my clothes being covered in dust.

I know the Way of long life, and do not reject this body subject to life and death.

Jiangnan is a place where immortals gather; I will blend into it and return to my true nature.

I do not mind the bustle of the marketplace; I am willing to come among the people and help them.

Su Dan’s traces have long since faded (the reference here is to Su Dan), yet you, Zhuanmeng, may still draw near to his example (Zhuanmeng was Li Gongzuo’s courtesy name).

Do not say that the Eastern Sea will turn into mulberry fields; between Heaven and Earth, the Way of eternal spring remains.”

After that, the servant departed. Once he had gone out the door, no one knew where he went. The neighbors saw him leap up and fly through the air.

◎Two Poems Left for Luan Hunzhi by Shu Haoran, Who Drifted in an Empty Boat, with Preface

Master Luan’s given name was Qing and his courtesy name was Hunzhi. He was fond of Daoist arts and shared a friendship free of worldly concerns with Xu Kan of the Eastern Sea, whose courtesy name was Xuanzhen. The two traveled together through Jiangnan and moored their boat by the water. After the rain stopped, a gentle breeze arose. They heard a clear, piercing whistle from upstream, so they went together against the current to investigate.

They saw two people sharing a boat. They neither paddled nor rowed, but simply drifted along with the wind and current. Master Luan rowed over to meet them and noticed that their boat held a brush, an inkstone, lotus leaves, and wine vessels. Each of the two lotus leaves bore writing. Master Luan brought his boat close and questioned the two visitors, but they did not answer. When he pressed them again and again, they smiled, picked up the lotus leaves, and handed them to him, saying, “Read the writing on these carefully and commit it to memory. Tomorrow you will naturally know who I am; there is no need to ask again.”

An inscription titled “Unfurling the Vast Spirit” was written on a lotus leaf. The poem began with these words… Mr. Luan pressed him sternly for an explanation. Smiling, the man picked up the leaf and handed it to Mr. Luan. “Learn this poem by heart,” he said. “Tomorrow you will understand me naturally. There is no need to ask more.”

The poem titled “Unfurling the Vast Spirit” reads:

As I walk, I keep the clouds for company; when I sit, wine is my friend. My belly is filled with the transformations of Heaven and Earth and the natural world; my clothes seem stitched from clouds and rosy mists. The tyranny of King Zhou and the benevolence of Emperor Yao alike, in the end, are sadly reduced to decay.

Another lotus leaf was inscribed with “Drifting in an Empty Boat.” The poem reads:

With no need for oars, I drift at ease in a little boat like a floating duckweed leaf. In the morning I float in the radiance of the rising sun; at dusk I bathe in the glow of the clear moon. Those who toil for fame and achievement will, in the end, become mud and sand.

A little later, the man offered Hun Zhi a cup of richly fragrant wine. After Hun Zhi had drunk it, the man took his leave. Hun Zhi rowed after him, but could no longer see where he had gone. In an instant, wind and waves rose in a sudden fury, and the two men crouched in alarm inside the boat. After a long while, the storm subsided, and the lotus leaves had vanished.

Luan Da, drunk, arrived at the fisherman’s house at dusk. In the middle of the night, he tossed about uneasily, crying out for a long time, then vomited several dou of matter. Xu Sheng hurriedly got up and raised a candle to look. It was Luan Da’s internal organs, rotten and black, all fallen onto the ground. Yet the Master rose joyfully, clapping his hands and singing:

I drank Mr. Shu’s wine, then boarded Mr. Shu’s boat. My spirit and body felt clear and bright, free and unrestrained, with not a worry left in my heart.

After finishing the song, he let out a long whistle in response. Its tone was clear and far-reaching, unlike anything he had learned before. A few months later, Luan said to Xu Xuanzhen, “While drunk, I lost the nine-inch mirror I used to wear. The Dragon Boat Festival is nearly here, so I plan to cast another. Go buy some wine, and keep the money from selling it to cover the expenses.” He opened a chest and took out two sheng of medicinal powder. He mixed it with ten shi of water, and between the hours of Yin (3–5 a.m.) and Wu (11 a.m.–1 p.m.), the water turned into wine. He loaded the wine onto a boat and sold it along the shore, though he had no idea where he was headed.

Xu Xuanzhen was acquainted with a traveler named Zhu Fang, and the two met in Jiangnan. Xu Xuanzhen moored his boat and went ashore to talk with Zhu Fang. Before they had finished speaking, a violent storm broke out. When the rain stopped, Xu Xuanzhen and his boat had vanished. Later, someone saw a drunkard lying in a cave on a cliff at Mount Lu, clutching a wine jar. Those who knew Xu Xuanzhen guessed that it was him, since he had always loved drinking. It was the fourteenth year of the Zhenyuan era under Emperor Dezong of the Tang (798).

Five Poems of Spiritual Resonance, with Preface

The Dao De Jing says, “Look for it and you cannot see it; listen for it and you cannot hear it; try to grasp it and you cannot catch it.” On close examination, the original intent of Lord Lao (Laozi) was to speak of ordinary people in the world, not those who cultivate life and seek the Dao. The Perfected Yin (an immortal in Daoist tradition) says in the Scripture of Sectioned Explanations, “Those who turn their gaze inward see the light of Shen; one cannot say they do not see. Those who listen inward hear the voice of Shen; one cannot say they…”

One might say that it is “without sound.” Yet the practice of wogu—clasping the hands tightly to keep the spirit within—allows the spirit to gather in the body, so it cannot be said to be “without form.” All who cultivate the Dao should contemplate forms that cannot be seen, listen to sounds that cannot be heard, and grasp names and concepts that cannot be grasped. Only one who comprehends all three can be called a follower of the Dao.

For a long time I have admired the Great Dao, yet I have never succeeded in cultivating it. I have pondered this day and night, tormented as though carrying a load of thorns. Once, in a spare moment, I privately read in the Scripture of the Three Pure Ones that practitioners should enter three periods of seclusion—long, intermediate, and short—to refine Shen and Qi and to replenish and extend their lives. The long seclusion lasts three hundred days, the intermediate two hundred, and the short one hundred. Though my native ability is limited, my resolve is sincere. With the aid of the spirits, I made a solemn vow and first attempted the short seclusion.

So, on the first day of the first month in the wuwu year of the Kaicheng era, 838 CE, I shut myself away to cultivate. I had no dealings with other people, and set a term of one hundred days, after which I would leave my meditation chamber. Throughout that time I completely gave up eating the five grains, yet continued cultivating the Five Qi. Fortunately, I did not grow thin or weak, nor did I feel hunger or thirst. In less than a month, divine light illuminated the space before my eyes, and the sounds of the hundred spirits filled my ears. My mind became clear and alert. When all three of these responses appeared, I knew that what the secret books of the immortals said was no falsehood. Without cultivation, one cannot know through personal experience. Not knowing, people readily believe what others have said before them. Later practitioners say that the teachings of the immortals are nothing but deceit; this misunderstanding, passed down from ancient times to the present, has never ceased. As one who was among the first to experience these things, I have written these words to dispel the doubts of those who come after. I therefore composed five pieces, each of four lines, and gave them to those who share my aspirations, to record these profound and wondrous principles. The verses are as follows:

This is no ordinary sound; my heart knows it comes from the numinous immortals. It has never left my ears, its pitch rising and falling like the cry of autumn cicadas. (First poem)

At night the sound grows loud; by day it grows faint. The spirits drive away all evils and, together with me, reveal their might. (Second poem)

This wondrous sound never ceases, turning without pause through day and night. How could it have arisen by chance? It was sent expressly from the realm above. (Third poem)

How can one tell whether the spirits have responded? This requires a medium to guide and communicate with them. From the moment the spirits’ voices descend, it is as though perfected beings have come to one’s side. (Part Four)

If visualization—the inward contemplation of the spirits—continues without interruption, the spirits will specially send a messenger. (Part Three)

How can one tell whether the spirits have responded? This requires a medium to guide and communicate with them. From the moment the spirits’ voices descend, it is as though perfected beings have come to one’s side. (Part Four)

Visualization remains in the heart without pause; thoughts turn back and forth without end, and the heart’s sounds and breaths never cease. What a lovely, clear night: quietly listening to the autumn cicadas singing. (Part Five)

Five Poems on the Immortals’ Steps through the Void

The immortals drift lightly up the cloud road, entering the high, remote heavens. The star palaces and the sun gradually recede, as though separated by vast eons. I admire the virtue of the immortal perfected, yet cannot see their golden faces; my heart longs for them as I wait and wait for the divine wind to blow. May I ride a carriage lit by rosy clouds, burn incense, bow in homage, and pay court to the immortal perfected. (Part One)

The mysterious wind propels the flying carriage canopy, while purple Qi envelops the immortal carriage. It floats through the air, needing no driver, and in an instant rises into the realm of nothingness. The immortal host lingers, moved by compassion for the world below, and looks back upon its people. Once the Three Origins—the Daoist celestial, terrestrial, and aquatic officials and the sacred cycles they govern—have completed their transformation, they suddenly enter the Great Void. (Part Two)

All manner of Qi rises and floats in the air; a thousand rays of light gather in Taiwei, the celestial region of the palaces. From the heights, I gaze toward the canopy of flowers; in the void, I look about for robes of rosy clouds. The immortal perfected’s presence enters the cloud road, and a perfect circle of light flies with the wind. May I meet with the Three Origins, so that the golden faces of the immortal perfected may return in accord with the course of Heaven. (Part Three)

Auspicious light surges up as purple Qi, and the road to the heights stretches toward Cinnabar Heaven, the celestial realm. Banners rise and fall as fragrant winds swirl; ornate canopies sway, passing over wisps of smoke. Within the Dao, one finds a deeper Dao; within the mysterious, a deeper mystery. True light has no bounds, and the Great Dao is ultimately formless. The Dharma Wheel, symbol of the turning of the Dao’s teachings, turns ceaselessly of its own accord; the most subtle, hidden sound cannot be heard. Quietly and serenely, in emptiness, one awaits the Three Treasures, the precious foundations of Daoist cultivation; in still emptiness, one can then hear the scriptures of the Cavern Heavens. After seven transformations, the wandering soul can return; all manner of Qi comes to rest, extending a life worn down by age. (Part Four)

Fragrant winds stir the feathered canopy, and flowing Qi propels the flying carriage. Cool and remote, it ascends the cloud road; deep and dim, it enters the vast sky. Looking back with compassion upon the people in the dusty world, it follows the course of time to impart numinous scriptures. Today, at last, the wondrous fruit is attained, secretly united with the Way of Nature. (Part Five)

A Poem Often Chanted by the Celestial Lord of the Azure Youth

If you wish to plant the root that leads to deliverance from death and rebirth and the state of stillness, you must pull up the roots and shoots of the cycle of birth and death. If you only linger in thought and hesitate, you will eventually sink with your life into the Yellow Springs. Such conduct is merely attachment to, and cherishing of, the physical body.

A poem often chanted by the Celestial Lord of the Green Lad

If you wish to plant the root that leads to deliverance, you must pull up the roots and shoots of the cycle of birth and death. If you only linger in thought and hesitate, you will eventually sink with your life into the Yellow Springs. Such conduct is merely attachment to, and cherishing of, the physical body.

A poem by the Lady of Mount Heng, written to Xu Changshi

The lovely waters of the Spirit Valley lie deep and still, in accord with the natural Dao. Hidden among the mountain rocks and dressed in coarse cloth, I am the equal of one in an imperial dragon robe; with a plain sash at my waist, I am as graceful as one adorned with jade. My body dwells in a remote and expansive place, while my spirit rises to the Court of Great Rosy Clouds. Above the clouds are sages; from the heavens come the voices of Perfected Ones. I look up toward Qu Chen’s realm of ascension and follow the talismanic commands within the Green Chariot. Looking down across the eight directions of heaven and earth, I cannot help but lament the turmoil of worldly dust. Cast off the worldly entanglements that surge like waves, and ascend to this distant, wondrous height. Worries and troubles will end when the Three Fords run dry; if you continue to chase after the world, you will exhaust your allotted years.

A poem by the Lady of Mount Heng

Mysterious communion transcends visible forms; harmonious sounds answer one another of their own accord. Writings from the clouds gather amid the Purple Dawn, while a clear breeze scented like orchids sweeps over the green carriage. The High Perfected Ones feast on the Jade Terrace, and from afar become models for the earthly immortals. The aim is to rise beyond the dusty world and reach the heights; thus one stands apart from the crowd. Behold the Eight Writs, and, with the Dao cultivated to completion, enter at the outset the lofty and mysterious realm. How could worldly affairs bring peace of mind? They will gradually deplete your body and original Qi.

Scroll One Hundred: Biographies, Section One

The Imperial Preface to the “Chronicle of the Primordial Heaven,” composed by Emperor Zhenzong

It is said that what is unfathomably deep yet able to communicate with the transformations of creation is called divine achievement; what assists and governs all things between heaven and earth is the work of the sage. The four quarters of heaven and earth have no bounds, and the generations continue without end. People look up to them as they look up to the sun, moon, and stars; they follow them as they follow the square and the compass. After emperors ascend to heaven, they continue to assist Heaven in the unseen realm. Auspicious signs appear without cease, sustaining and extending the great enterprise. Therefore, one should recount and carry forward the glorious achievements of the ancestors, proclaim them to all, and supply what remains doubtful or unclear in the Five Canons, so that this book may stand at the head of the Six Classics.

When the Sacred Ancestor—the imperial deity honored as the forebear of Daoism—first established his teachings among the people, the world was still in its primordial state, just after Heaven and Earth had opened, with social order yet to take shape. Governance was therefore simple and unadorned. He gathered Jing and Qi amid the vastness of Heaven and Earth and nurtured the peoples of the eight directions. Following the course of the times, he dwelt at the center and spread his teachings far and wide, bringing clarity to the workings of Heaven and Earth and to the order of government and instruction. He awakened before others and used that insight to teach all things. He governed himself, brought order to the people, and ruled over the spirits.

He marshaled troops at Zhuolu and went to war, helping the people put an end to calamity and disorder. At Mount Liang, he performed the Feng and Shan rites to commemorate his achievements, honoring Heaven’s mandate and declaring his work complete. In accordance with ritual, he went to Mount Tong to pay homage, showing reverence for the profound and mysterious Dao. Later, he shed his mortal weight and ascended from Ye Valley to the Purple Empyrean, the heavenly realm. People feared and revered his divine power, and the people carried on his teachings. The states of the Nine Provinces recorded his deeds in their histories, while the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties traced their lineages back to him.

Thus, though bamboo and silk records recount his great achievements, they cannot fully describe them. Across all lands reached by the passage of chariot tracks and the circulation of written script, the people revere the traces he left behind. How could his accomplishments be compared only with Tang Yao’s harmonious governance of the myriad states, King Wen of Zhou’s flourishing lineage, Fuxi’s creation of the Eight Trigrams, or Gaoxin’s ordering of the Five Phases?

Though I am of meager worth, I have inherited this exalted imperial throne. Auspicious heavenly signs have appeared, and I have deeply received Heaven’s abundant grace. The divine carriage has arrived, allowing me to hear earnest instruction. I have thereby understood that the founding of an enterprise has its source, and that the accumulated merit of successive generations is boundless.

Accordingly, I presented the jeweled seal cord, conferred an honorific title upon the Sacred Ancestor, and repaired the old ancestral temple. By day and by night, I dare not set aside my devotion to the Sacred Ancestor; the court ministers, too, are ever more mindful of how to accord with this virtue. Wang Qinruo, Privy Councilor, Investigating Grand Commandant, and Tong Pingzhangshi, was skilled in advising the court on its decisions and widely learned in history and literature. He revered the auspicious signs bestowed by Heaven and followed the decree to honor the Sacred Ancestor. He studied and collated old texts in depth, doing his utmost to establish the correct readings of writings preserved in the Lu wall—the wall of Confucius’s former residence, said to have concealed ancient texts in archaic script. He also led a group in diligently correcting the texts, hoping to rectify errors in the stone-carved scriptures at Henei from the Jin dynasty. Even the jade cases that held precious books…

I collected precious classics, bamboo slips, and books, traveling far to seek them at famous mountains and nearby to consult them where books were stored. I then arranged and compiled them by category, probing their hidden and profound meanings, and finally completed a book. I strove to omit none of the discussions of those who came before me. I sealed the manuscript and submitted it, above all to express my loyalty, hoping that the book might benefit generations to come and serve as the opening of this work.

I reflected on the great virtue and achievements left by our ancestors, and sought to spread the illustrious deeds recorded in the histories, thereby revealing the plans by which later generations carried forward the aspirations of their forebears. Though I knew my writing to be shallow, I nonetheless set down these fine accounts passed down from the past. I therefore gave the book an elegant title, calling it The Annals of the Primordial Heaven, in the hope that it would bring honor to the reputation of the generations and exalt the imperial clan.

Words such as those of the Longmen scholars, who supplemented the works of literature and learning, have indeed proved worthy of transmission through the ages. And even the worthy men who entered the hall at Kongzi’s birthplace in Que Li to receive instruction would find it difficult to pass judgment on them. Such is the meaning of these words.

◎ The Basic Annals of Xuanyuan

Xuanyuan was the Yellow Emperor, whose surname was Gongsun. The commentator holds that Gongsun emerged as a surname only after the Zhou dynasty established the five ranks of nobility. Since Xuanyuan was the Yellow Emperor and grew up beside the Ji River, he should, in principle, have borne the surname Ji. The basis for what the ancient histories say, however, can no longer be known.

The Yellow Emperor was the second son of Shaodian, ruler of the state of Youxiong. According to legend, Fuxi fathered Shaodian, and Shaodian fathered Shennong. Later, the Yellow Emperor inherited the imperial throne and was enfeoffed at Youxiong. His mother was Fubao, daughter of the Xiqiao clan. One night, Fubao dreamed that a great flash of lightning encircled the Northern Dipper, and that its pivot star illuminated the countryside. She conceived as a result. The legend says that the pivot star descended, which is why the Yellow Emperor was also called the Celestial Pivot. After carrying the child for twenty-four months, Fubao gave birth to Xuanyuan at Shouqiu, a place outside the eastern gate of the state of Lu.

The Yellow Emperor showed signs of spiritual power from birth. As a young child, he was cheerful and quick-witted; he could speak while still young, and grew into a kind and perceptive person. As an adult, he was exceptionally intelligent. He had an extraordinary appearance, with a dragonlike face, a sun-shaped brow, deep-set eyes like a river, a high forehead, a blue-gray complexion, and broad shoulders. He first studied at Daxiang and later excelled beside the Ji River.

At fifteen, the Yellow Emperor was clear-minded and understood almost everything. He then inherited the rulership of Youxiong and took up its fief. According to legend, the fief was in Xinzheng County, Zhengzhou. He made chariots, clothing, and ceremonial headgear, and so was given the name Xuanyuan. Because he ruled through the virtue of Earth, he was called the Yellow Emperor.

The Yellow Emperor appointed Shelun to govern the East and Zhurong to govern the South. The commentator explains that the Heart constellation belongs to Fire and lies in the South, where it symbolizes brightness. Rong means “brightness,” and the official in charge of Fire was called Zhurong. The South corresponds to noon and represents light, in contrast to the darkness of the North. The Yellow Emperor also appointed Huofeng to govern the West. The text uses “You” to explain the West: You corresponds to the Rooster, which faces east when crowing at dawn while its body remains in the West. “Half of You” points toward the West. The Yellow Emperor further appointed Houtu to govern the North. The North belongs to Yin, and the word “north” also carries the sense of turning one’s back. The scripture then explains the names of the four directions: the East carries the meaning of “movement.”

When the sun rises, all things begin to stir. The character “east” is made up of “sun” and “wood.” Seen from the direction of sunrise, it looks as though the sun is passing through the branches of the Fusang trees. The place where the sun rises lies hundreds of thousands of miles east of Fusang.

The Yellow Emperor married a woman of the Xiling clan, named Leizu, who lived in Daliang. Leizu was his principal wife, and she bore him two sons, Xuanyao and Changyi. At first, the people of the world embraced the Yellow Emperor as their leader. He cultivated the right Way, nurtured life, followed nature, and sought peace for himself, bringing the people back to simplicity and harmony. This was the scene in the age of Honghuang: the people lived together in concord as one. In those days, people improved themselves without being urged and gladly did good without expecting rewards. Their hearts were joyful and sincere; their actions were simple, without deliberate embellishment. This was called the beginning of the age of Great Purity.

Those who farmed did not encroach on their neighbors’ field boundaries, and those who fished did not compete for the banks. At the market, buyers needed no bargaining, and no barriers or checkpoints were set up. Merchants and travelers yielded to one another in matters of property, and households left their doors unbarred at night. This was called “Great Unity.”

After ruling the realm for fifteen years, the Yellow Emperor grew concerned that the people were living in hardship and that government affairs were poorly managed. He used all his intelligence and ability to work for the people’s security, while constantly cultivating his De (Virtue/Power). He assessed merit and virtue, and worked to put appropriate laws and teachings into practice.

At that time, the Yellow Emperor’s primary consort, Lady Xiling, who is said to have pioneered silkworm raising and silk production, began raising silkworms for their silk. The Book of Rites records that the empress was to perform rites for Lady Xiling, the first to raise silkworms. Ge Zhichuan’s Records of the Western Capital also says that an altar to the first silkworm was set up in the palace. Five worthy ministers, including Tianlao, assisted the Yellow Emperor in governing the realm and promoting instruction.

The Yellow Emperor took the trigrams of Fuxi as his model and drew on the meanings of the sixty-four hexagrams arranged by Shennong to develop the theory of the Eight Trigrams, calling it the Eight Cords. He used it to explore the meanings of doubled hexagrams. At that time, his minister Cao Hu made the upper garment, Boyu made the lower garment, and Yu Ze made shoes. On this basis, the Yellow Emperor established the system of caps and ceremonial headwear. The mian was one type of cap, with a shape that rose at the back and dipped at the front. From then on, people no longer made clothes from animal skins. This is what is meant by “the Yellow Emperor draped garments over the people, and the realm was brought to order”: once a system of clothing and headwear had been established, the realm could be governed.

The Yellow Emperor also used caps and clothing to distinguish rank, and decreed that men and women should live in separate quarters. In doing so, he followed the meaning of Qian and Kun—the trigrams for Heaven and Earth in the Book of Changes—which represent Heaven as exalted and Earth as humble.

When the Yellow Emperor saw that floating leaves could carry things, he thought of building boats. Three ministers, including Gonggu and Huadi, helped make boats and oars. This is the saying, “Hollow out wood to make boats; sharpen wood to make oars.” The principle comes from the Huan hexagram in the Book of Changes. Huan means dispersal and free passage; boats help people cross barriers of water and travel freely.

The Yellow Emperor also observed how tumbleweed turned in the wind and invented the cart. At that time, a supernatural horse appeared in a marsh, so it was called the Marsh Horse. It was also called Jiguang or Jiliang, and was said to come from the state of Dafeng, an ancient polity east of what is now Bozhou. The horse had white markings on its body and a vermilion mane. Those who rode it could live for a thousand years. According to legend, it appeared at the destined time whenever a sage ruled. The Jiliang stable in the Flying Dragon Office was said to have originated for this reason.

Xue Zong believed that Jiliang and Tenghuang were the same extraordinary creature, though they came from different states. Ge Zhichuan, by contrast, said that Tenghuang was a horse and Jiguang a beast, and that they were distinct. Here, Jiguang is taken to be a horse, while Tenghuang is a beast. Tenghuang is a yellow divine creature shaped like a fox, with two horns and dragon wings on its back. Another account says it has dragon wings and a horse’s body, and that it is also called Chenghuang or Feihuang.

Some accounts call it the “Ancient Yellow,” and also the “Green Yellow.” They say it came from the state of Japan, lived for three thousand years, and could travel ten thousand li in a day. Anyone who rode it could extend their life by two thousand years. Other accounts say it came from Japan and lived for two thousand years. The Six Statutes records that the Song, Qi, Liang, and Chen dynasties all had an official position responsible for the “Chenghuang.” Today, the Imperial Stud Administration has a Chenghuang Office, continuing this same function.

After the Yellow Emperor obtained the Chenghuang, he rode it as he traveled through the four quarters of Heaven and Earth. The ancient books’ account of “riding an eight-winged dragon to roam the world” refers to legends of this kind. Thus, the Yellow Emperor moved from place to place without settling anywhere permanently. He also began teaching people to ride horses, while his minister Gai invented the ox-drawn cart. The Hereditary Records says, “Yoking oxen and riding horses, they carried heavy loads and traveled far.” This means using oxen and horses to transport heavy things over long distances. People took the meaning of the Following Hexagram as a guide, using each thing according to what suited it.

The Yellow Emperor’s minister Huang Yongfu was the first to invent tools for pounding grain. He cut wood to make a pestle and dug into the earth to make a mortar, helping people process grain. This was understood to take its meaning from the Small Exceeding Hexagram. “Small Exceeding” refers to going somewhat beyond the ordinary so that things can proceed.

The Yellow Emperor established cooking hearths and set rules for their use. He also began having people cast pots and make zeng—vessels for steaming rice—so they could steam rice and cook porridge. This changed the former way of life, when people ate raw meat and drank blood. The Yellow Emperor’s minister Hui began making bows, and his minister Yimou made arrows. The Book of Changes says, “They bent wood into bows and sharpened wood into arrows.” This means bending wood to make a bow and sharpening it to make an arrow. The Records of the Grand Historian attributes these inventions to the Yellow Emperor. The power of bows and arrows could be used to awe the world; the text understands this as drawing on the meaning of the Opposition Hexagram. “Opposition” means estrangement and refusal to comply.

The Yellow Emperor began building houses and palaces to provide shelter from heat and cold, dryness and damp. “Palaces and houses” are places where people live. The Book of Changes says, “They set up the ridge beam above and the eaves below to protect against wind and rain.” This was understood to take its meaning from the Great Power Hexagram. “Great” means grand, while “power” means strength and vigor. The Yellow Emperor also ordered people to build walled towns, giving them settled homes and changing the ancient way of living in trees or caves. He set up successive gates and had people patrol at night, beating wooden clappers to guard against thieves and unexpected dangers. This was understood to take its meaning from the Enthusiasm Hexagram.

Later, people also changed the ancient practice of wrapping the dead in straw for burial and began burying them in coffins and outer coffins. The text understands this as taking its meaning from the Great Exceeding Hexagram.

The Yellow Emperor observed purification rites in the Central Palace, then went to the banks of the Luo River and sat in the stone chamber at Xuangu. There, with Rong Guang and others, he gazed out at the river. Suddenly, a great bird flew before him carrying a diagram in its beak. The Yellow Emperor bowed twice and received the diagram.

The bird resembled a crane. It had a chicken’s head, a beak like a luan bird’s, a turtle’s neck, a dragon’s body, wings held together, and a fishlike tail. Its body bore five colors and three sets of markings arranged like writing: “Guard Virtue” on its head, “Trustworthiness and Righteousness” on its back, and “Benevolence and Wisdom” on its chest.

Tian Lao explained: “This bird has the forepart of a qilin and the hindquarters of a deer. Its neck is like a snake’s, and its back bears dragon patterns. Its steps are measured, and its tail carries a majestic force. It has nine attributes, known as the ‘Nine Envelopments’: first, it contains the impulse of life; second, its thoughts accord with the law; third, its ears are keen and perceptive; fourth, its tongue can bend and extend; fifth, its colors are complete; sixth, its crest is sharp as a hook; seventh, its eyes shine like gold; eighth, its call is clear and high; and ninth, its belly is broad.

“This bird is also called the ‘ou.’ The male is called the feng, and the female the huang. It stands five or six chi tall. Its call at dawn is called ‘Ascending at Dawn’; its call by day, ‘Auspicious Ascent’; its call at dusk, ‘Returning Prosperity’; its call at twilight, ‘Steadfast Constancy’; and its call at night, ‘Preserving Longevity.’ Each of its calls accords with the lü-lü system of pitch used in ancient times. Tradition says that when this bird appears, peace comes to all under Heaven.”

The Yellow Emperor said: “When the world falls into disorder, this bird departs and dwells among the Nine Yi, the ancient collective name for the peoples of the East. It appears in the eastern land of noble people and on Mount Danxue.”

One of the ministers was named Ju Song. Cang Jie observed the tracks of birds and created writing; this is said to be the origin of written characters. Early Confucian scholars did not agree on the origin of writing: some held that it began with the Three Sovereigns, some with Fuxi, and others said that writing arose at the same time as Heaven and Earth. Here, following the accounts of Sima Qian, Ban Gu, Wei Yan, Song Zhong, Fu Xuan, and others, Cang Jie is recorded as a minister of the Yellow Emperor. The various accounts of Cang Jie, however, are not supported by any single conclusive or consistent source.

The Yellow Emperor diligently cultivated Virtue (De) and benevolence and righteousness, bringing great order to the realm. One day, he summoned Tian Lao and said, “I dreamed that two dragons were carrying a white chart up from the Yellow River and presenting it to me. What does this foretell?”

Tian Lao replied, “This is a sign that the River Chart and the Luo Writing are about to appear. Perhaps Heaven intends to bestow them upon you. First, undertake a purification fast, then watch carefully.”

The Yellow Emperor fasted in his palace, dressed in yellow and wore a yellow ceremonial hat. Riding in a carriage adorned with yellow dragons and holding a banner with intertwined dragons, he toured the area around the Yellow River and the Luo River with Tian Lao and five worthy men, searching for the chart from his dream. They found nothing. The Yellow Emperor then sank a jade disk into the Yellow River. A thick fog immediately spread over the river and lasted for three days.

Later, when they reached the banks of the Cui Gui Spring, they saw a large perch swimming upstream from the Yellow River. The Yellow Emperor offered a sacrifice of the three animals—a cow, a sheep, and a pig. Heavy rain then began to fall, continuing for seven days and seven nights. A yellow dragon emerged from the Yellow River bearing a chart on its back. The Yellow Emperor asked Tian Lao and the five worthy men, “Do you see what has appeared in the river?” Tian Lao and the others stepped forward, knelt, and received the chart. It displayed all five colors. Its white surface resembled an orchid leaf, and its designs were vermilion. The Yellow Emperor unrolled and examined it, named it the Green-and-Variegated Chart, and ordered his attendants to copy it and circulate it throughout the realm. He called the chart the River Chart and Writing.

In the autumn of that year, after receiving the dragon-and-phoenix charts and writings and the script created by Cang Jie, the Yellow Emperor began to make written characters, replacing knot-tying as a means of record keeping. He also used writing to make contracts—documents for recording matters or establishing proof. This practice is said to have taken its model from the Decision hexagram of the Book of Changes (Yijing). “Decision” signifies making determinations and symbolizes judging and handling affairs of every kind.

The Yellow Emperor then assigned names to all things and established a system of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), which he called the Eight Cords. He was also known by titles such as Lord Hong and the Returning to the Storehouse Lord. He called the book he compiled the Book of Returning to the Storehouse, saying that it was the origin of the Changes.

The text also explains that nine undertakings, from wearing robes to creating written characters, were accomplished. Huangfu Mi’s Chronicle of the Successive Emperors attributes all nine to the Yellow Emperor, while the account in the “Great Commentary” of the Book of Changes holds that these undertakings extended from the Yellow Emperor through the reigns of Yao and Shun. According to the first account, the Yellow Emperor established these institutions, and later sages carried them on and refined them in the time of Yao and Shun.

After the Yellow Emperor began wearing clothes and a crown, he made ceremonial robes decorated with dragons and painted the sun, moon, and stars on them to symbolize the heavens. Thus there came to be the “Hymn to the Dragon Robes,” a song praising these garments.

The Yellow Emperor took Nüjie as his consort. Later, Nüjie saw a great star, rainbow-like in appearance, fall in the region of Huazhu. Deeply moved, she joined with it and gave birth to Shaohao. A clarification is necessary here: the Dai Records identify Nüjie as Leizu, but this is incorrect.

The Yellow Emperor also took as a wife a woman who was not especially beautiful, whom he called Momu, and charged her with teaching the women of the palace. Momu was virtuous and worthy, and so there came to be the “Hymn to the Six Virtues,” a song praising six kinds of virtue. The Yellow Emperor also took a woman of the Feixiu clan as his consort.

At that time, the people ate to their satisfaction, dressed in comfort, and lived happily…

At that time, people lived in peace and contentment, without thoughts of envy or greed. Neighboring states could see one another, and the sounds of cocks crowing and dogs barking could be heard across the distance. Yet people did not visit one another, even into old age, because they had nothing to ask of each other. This was said to be the age when the Yellow Emperor governed the world in accord with the people’s wishes—a time when governance had reached its utmost perfection.

Then the wind passed through the branches without making them rustle. This was called the harmonious wind that brought joy to all under Heaven. When rain fell, its drops did not even break up the clods of earth. A light rain came every ten days, in response to the world’s civil virtue; a heavy rain came every fifteen days, its timing guided by the changing leaves.

People ate “fine grain” (jiahe), stalks of grain that grew exceptionally tall and bore ears unlike ordinary ones. They drank “sweet spring” (liquan), water said to taste as sweet as wine and to prolong life. They also prized the fragrance of the “Five Sacred Fungi” (wuzhi), spirit-like plants regarded as medicines of the immortals. In their gardens grew such wondrous plants as zhi blossoms, purple fungi, and golden and black fungi—all said to be superior medicines used by the immortals.

At that time, aquatic creatures also appeared in great numbers, while the hills and wilds were filled with “mountain chariots” (shanche), marvelous creatures believed to be auspicious signs. These wonders were seen as Heaven’s response to virtuous conduct, and so an auspicious sign known as the “Yellow Star” appeared. This unusual celestial body was shaped like the moon and seemed to add brilliance to it. It was called the “Radiant Star” (jingxing).

There were also red and blue-green square clouds joined together. Two stars appeared within the red cloud and one within the blue-green cloud, making three stars in all.

A strange plant also grew in the courtyard. On the first day of each month it put forth one leaf, and by the fifteenth it had grown fifteen. From the sixteenth day onward, it shed one leaf each day, until all had fallen by the thirtieth. In a short month, the final leaf sheath remained instead of falling. This plant was called “mingjia,” or “calendar pod,” and legend held that its leaves revealed the date. The Yellow Emperor therefore cast bronze mirrors to imitate it, making fifteen sacred mirrors, precious treasures known as divine mirrors.

At this time, Da Nao was able to investigate the patterns of the Five Phases (wuxing) and observe the directions indicated by the Northern Dipper and the Heng star. He then created the ten Heavenly Stems, such as Jia and Yi, to mark the days, and established the twelve Earthly Branches, such as Zi and Chou, to mark the months. He also paired birds and beasts with the twelve branches, forming cycles of sixty. This was the creation of the Jiazi system for recording years.

The Yellow Emperor observed how Fuxi used three horizontal lines to form trigrams. By combining the Eight Trigrams, he divided the year into twenty-four solar terms, then established a calendar to determine the years. The Yellow Emperor honored Da Nao as his teacher. He then paired each direction with three periods of the day, naming them Meng, Zhong, and Ji, meaning first, middle, and last. From this came the principles of Yin-Yang.

When the Yellow Emperor heard of this, he put on yellow robes, tied a yellow sash around his waist, and wore a yellow cap. He fasted in the central palace. At that moment, a phoenix flew down, darkening the sun. The Yellow Emperor descended the steps, turned east, and bowed twice, touching his head to the ground. He said, “Heaven has bestowed great favor. How could I dare refuse its mandate?” The phoenix then alighted in the Yellow Emperor’s eastern garden and perched in a parasol tree. It built a nest atop a high pavilion. It ate only bamboo seeds and drank only sweet spring water. As it drank, it sang and danced, its voice like that of the sheng and xiao flutes.

The Yellow Emperor then sent Ling Lun west of Daxia to Xie Valley, a legendary valley north of the Kunlun Mountains, ten thousand li from Chang’an. Ling Lun gathered Zhonglong bamboo and selected bamboo tubes whose walls were evenly thick around their openings. He cut two sections and made pipes at intervals of three cun and seven fen, then played the note Huangzhong. Huangzhong is the pitch for the eleventh month, corresponding to the winter solstice, when Yang begins to grow, and symbolizing the beginning of all things. This followed the principles governing the movement of Heaven and Earth to imitate the vital energy that circulates between them.

The Yellow Emperor was said to have regulated the courses of the sun and moon, harmonized the Yin-Yang energies, and established the twelve lü and lü pitches: six Yang pitches and six Yin pitches. The Book of Jin records: “The pitch pipe is one chi long and has six holes, used to correspond to the pitches of the twelve months. Pitch pipes are made of bamboo because of its naturally round and regular shape.”

Xu, referring to the Xu lunar mansion, symbolizes emptiness; jade symbolizes steadfastness and gentle luster. At that time, Rongcheng of the Nuwa lineage, who was skilled in music, began to establish musical pitch and the calendar. The calendar’s era began in the Xinmao year. He also calculated which lunar mansion the Sun occupied at the winter solstice: the mansion behind the Southern Dipper. Rongcheng consulted Tianlao and received books on the Celestial Origin, the Sun, Moon, and stars, along with records of astronomical observations and the times marked by the clepsydra, which he used to measure time. Huangdi’s minister Lishou was skilled in calculation and began to devise the art of counting with rods. Another minister, Linglun, established standards for weights and measures: weights were determined with the steelyard, and measures with vessels such as the dou and hu.

After Huangdi obtained Chiyou, he began to understand astronomy. According to the Guanzi, Chiyou understood the arts of calculation and divination, and only later rebelled. Huangdi also obtained a precious tripod, and from then on observed the Sun’s course and calculated the calendar. Following the patterns of Heaven and Earth, he studied the Sun, Moon, and stars extensively, made a gaiti instrument for observing the heavens, and used it to chart the divisions and degrees of the lunar mansions. He assigned the twenty-eight lunar mansions—ancient groupings that divided the celestial region—to the twelve celestial sectors along the ecliptic: Jiao and Kang belonged to the Shouxing sector; Fang and Xin to the Dahuo sector; Ji and Dou to the Ximu sector; Niu and Nü to the Xingji sector; Xu and Wei to the Xuanxiao sector; Shi and Bi to the Zizui sector; Kui and Lou to the Jianglou sector; Mao and Bi to the Daliang sector; Zui and Shen to the Shichen sector; Jing and Gui to the Chunshou sector; Xing and Zhang to the Zhuhuo sector; and Yi and Zhen to the Chuwei sector.

Huangdi established the positions of the central and outer stars and compiled a book for observing the Sun and Moon. This became the method of observing celestial phenomena. These methods were all derived from the Hetu. He also instructed Xihe to observe the Sun, Changyi to observe the Moon, and Guiyuqu to observe the stars. Huangdi founded the practice of divination by celestial signs and compiled a book for divining from the Sun, to discern good and ill fortune.

Huangdi’s profound De (Virtue/Power) drew perfected beings to wander at the Jade Pool; this was the result of supreme De. Auspicious creatures appeared in his park: they were divine beasts of the Xuanxiao direction. The divination methods and book for divining from the Sun recorded in the Shangshu Zhonghou were used to distinguish good and ill fortune.

The Yellow Emperor’s De (Virtue/Power) was profound. It drew a perfected being to visit the Jade Pool—an auspicious response brought about by supreme De. A lucky beast appeared in his park, known as the Beast of Xuanyao. The Book of Documents, Central Portents records that it resembled a deer, had a cow’s tail and wolf-like hooves, and bore a single horn tipped with flesh, symbolizing that it would not harm living creatures. Its call matched the pitch of the Yellow Bell, and its markings were elegant and orderly. The female was called qi and the male lin. Born of Fire and active in Earth, it called in spring to foretell the harvest being brought into storage, in summer to foretell the young crops receiving support, and in autumn and winter to foretell that people would keep their word and live in stability.

The Yellow Emperor also discovered tiny creatures called gulou, some as large as sheep and others as large as oxen. There was also a creature called yin, as large as a rainbow. These strange appearances were interpreted as signs that a ruler embodying the virtue of Earth was about to rise. Another beast, called yang, resembled a lion and could eat tigers. It usually behaved predictably and was friendly toward people; at times it even entered their homes. People feared it and regarded it as a source of trouble. The Yellow Emperor therefore reported it to Heaven and had it moved to a remote wilderness in the north.

Because of the auspicious, radiant clouds and celebratory clouds that appeared, the Yellow Emperor named his offices after clouds, giving rise to the office of Jinyun. Another account says that auspicious Jinyun clouds appeared when the Yellow Emperor refined the Golden Elixir, and that he therefore called himself the Jinyun clan; “jin” means predominantly red with a little white. The Yellow Emperor established offices and assigned duties using cloud names: in spring, officials of the blue clouds; in summer, officials of the Jinyun clouds; in autumn, officials of the white clouds; and in winter, officials of the black clouds. The Yellow Emperor took clouds as his teachers. At that time, the descendants of the Flame Emperor bore the surname Jiang. Jinyun, it is said, were the Yellow Emperor’s auspicious clouds: unlike ordinary clouds, they resembled neither smoke nor clouds, and were neither red nor purple.

Another account says that the Yellow Emperor once refined elixirs at the Hall of Jinyun in Wuzhou, and that these auspicious clouds appeared as a result.

The Yellow Emperor appointed four record keepers: Ju Song, Cang Jie, Li Shou, and Kong Jia. They were responsible for maps and records—that is, maps of the state’s territory and registers of its households. The Yellow Emperor also placed Cang Jie in charge of ritual. Kong Jia began making plates and basins to replace the simple practice of drinking from concave pottery vessels, and wrote the Panyu Pian, which recorded admonitions inscribed on plates and basins. The Yellow Emperor established rules for objects such as headcloths and small tables, and entered the relevant material in the records. His historical writings conveyed the principles of things and were called the Fen; “fen” means “great.” Kong Anguo, however, said that these books were lost when the Qin dynasty burned books, leaving later generations unable to know their contents.

The Yellow Emperor’s minister Shi Wang began creating pictures. Gong Yudai, a man from Jinan, presented a diagram of the Yellow Emperor’s Mingtang Hall. It depicted covered passageways and pavilions, with the pavilions entered from the southwest; this was said to mark the beginning of pavilion architecture. The Yellow Emperor built according to the diagram and called the structure the “Hegong.” He used it to observe people’s conduct and established a system of deliberation in the Mingtang to assess the abilities of worthy people.

At that time, an immortal appeared below Mount Qi and was known as Qibo. He was familiar with the properties and flavors of medicinal plants and became a great physician. The Yellow Emperor asked him to oversee prescriptions and medicines. The Yellow Emperor organized the knowledge of Shennong, who had tasted hundreds of herbs and distinguished their properties and flavors in order to treat illness, compiling it into the Nei Wai Jing. Lei Gong later wrote the Paozhi Fang, assessing the relative medicinal qualities of substances after processing. Two ministers, Bian Que and Yu Fu, compiled the Mai Jing to treat the people’s illnesses. The Yellow Emperor also discussed pulse diagnosis with Bian Que and wrote the upper and lower sections of the Mai Shu. In the Han dynasty, Chunyu Yi of Yangli Gong was able to diagnose the pulse and judge whether an illness would prove fatal by consulting the Mai Jing.

The Yellow Emperor asked Qibo about pulse diagnosis and then compiled works such as the Suwen and the Neijing. The surviving Suwen and Lingshu each consist of nine scrolls and were later edited. According to the preface to the Suwen, Qibo wrote it; its number of scrolls may now be incomplete, and its “Eighty-One Difficulties” were added and revised later. Another account says that the Plain Maiden descended from Heaven to treat people’s illnesses. The Yellow Emperor sought her instruction, and the Suwen was written as a result.

The Yellow Emperor asked Shaoyu about needling and acupuncture, then compiled the Zhen Jing and established the Mingtang diagram and methods of moxibustion. This account traces the origins of acupuncture and medicinal treatment to the age of the Yellow Emperor.

When the Yellow Emperor governed the world, he first chose his title according to the color associated with the central direction among the Five Directions. He initially lived in the state of Youxiong, so he was called the Emperor of Youxiong. This was similar to Zhuanxu, called the Emperor of Gaoyang; Emperor Ku, called the Emperor of Gaoxin; and Tang Yao, called the Emperor of Taotang. The Yellow Emperor disliked warfare.

At that time, Yugang, the eighth ruler of the Shennong clan, had grown old and weak, and the feudal lords began to encroach on one another. The Yellow Emperor took the color of the central direction as his title, while lords in the other four directions also arrogated titles to themselves, each adopting the color associated with their own direction. Although the historical records do not list their specific titles here, the four directional emperors named in the text are: the Azure Emperor Taihao, the Red Emperor Shennong, the White Emperor Shaohao, and the Black Emperor Zhuanxu. Among the descendants of these four emperors, some also violated ritual propriety by presumptuously claiming the title of emperor. They all plotted against one another, and border towns lived in daily fear.

The Yellow Emperor therefore halted construction of lofty terraces and towers, cut spending on luxurious decoration, reorganized his troops, and built fortifications. He went to Mount Shouyang, in Hedong Commandery, to make inquiries, and ordered people to gather metal ore from Mount Shou. He began casting swords and making crossbows.

Later, someone discovered a strange beast on Liubo Mountain in the Eastern Sea. It was shaped like an ox, dark blue-green all over, without horns, and had only one leg. It could enter and leave the water; when it spouted water, wind and rain arose. Its body shone like the sun and moon, and its cry sounded like thunder. It was called the Kui ox. The Yellow Emperor ordered it killed and its hide stretched over a drum. When struck, the drum’s sound could be heard five hundred li away.