《冲虚至德真经解》Vol. 3

He could not be defined in words. Confucius himself wondered whether Nangouzi was truly a sage or not.

【The world was originally at peace, and the people each lived according to their accustomed ways. Someone could not bear to see a temporary injury and hurried to put things right, only to bring about calamities in later generations that could not be remedied. Therefore, one who follows the way of rulers should view speech through the Dao. The transformations of the myriad things cannot be avoided; whenever someone speaks, there will be someone who questions them, and whenever change occurs, there will be someone who resists it. To value reputation more than the gains and losses of governing is to stray ever further from the sage’s Dao. Only someone so vast and boundless that the people cannot describe them in words may be said to approach sagehood.

Laozi said, “The Dao is constant and nameless; it has no beginning.” The Dao should not be confined by fixed names. The sage is the highest embodiment of the Dao; once something can be fixed by a name, it is not the true Dao. From Fuxi to Confucius, did they not act in response to their times and leave their names in the world? Confucius would naturally say that he did not know whether that person was truly a sage.

Yet to call someone a sage because they cannot be described is still to assign the sage a description. To call them “nameless” is already to give them a name. How could that count as truly indescribable? In the end, the true Dao cannot be captured by a name. To call it “indescribable” is merely to use a phrase out of necessity, to express the idea of what cannot be named.

So although Confucius said, “In the West there is a sage,” he ultimately said that he did not know whether that person was truly a sage. But to be indescribable does not mean doing nothing, or being empty and inactive. It means acting without being bound by the thought “I am acting”; it may seem possible to name such a person, yet no name can truly encompass them. Confucius praised Yao as “vast and boundless, beyond the people’s power to describe,” but this did not mean that he denied Yao’s illustrious achievements. When Confucius answered the Grand Steward of Shang, he first said he did not know whether that person was a sage, then went on to doubt whether he was one. At first, his traces could not be seen; in the end, his subtle mystery could not be fathomed. This is precisely what makes the sage a sage.

The Grand Steward of Shang fell silent, thinking to himself, “Confucius must be deceiving me.”

【One can speak of being deceived only when there is some opening in the other person’s words. The Grand Steward of Shang lacked the eloquence to refute Confucius, and inwardly could not accept the Dao Confucius described, so he privately concluded that Confucius was deceiving him.】

Zixia asked Confucius, “What sort of person is Yan Hui?” Confucius said, “Yan Hui’s benevolence surpasses mine.” Zixia asked again, “What sort of person is Zigong?” Confucius said, “Duanmu Ci’s eloquence surpasses mine.” Zixia asked, “What sort of person is Zilu?” Confucius said, “Zhong You’s courage surpasses mine.” Then he asked, “What sort of person is Zizhang?” Confucius said, “Zhuansun Shi’s dignified bearing surpasses mine.”

Zixia rose from his seat and asked, “If that is so, why do these four still take you as their teacher?” Confucius said, “Sit down, and I will tell you. Yan Hui can practice benevolence, but cannot in turn be unbenevolent. Zigong can speak eloquently, but cannot keep silent. Zilu is courageous, but cannot yield and show weakness. Zizhang is dignified, but cannot be easygoing and fit in with others. Even if I were given all four men’s particular strengths, I would not trade them for my own. That is why they take me as their teacher and never leave.”

【Each of the four disciples excelled in a particular virtue, like Yin and Yang, each inclined toward one side. The sage’s Dao is like the blended Qi that harmonizes Yin and Yang: this blended Qi does not show itself among Yin and Yang, yet they depend on it to move and function. Taken individually, each disciple surpassed Confucius in a particular respect. But even if their strengths were combined, they still could not take his place. Their strengths were partial, each confined to one side; what they lacked, in turn, revealed the subtlety of the sage’s Dao. That is why all four continued to take Confucius as their teacher and chose no other.】

Liezi first studied under Huqiu Zilin and later became friends with Bohun Wuren. He then settled in the southern quarter of the city and followed Nangouzi. The number of people who came to follow him grew day by day, until they could no longer be counted.

【Having grasped the Dao of two worthy teachers, Liezi rode the wind back, his ability to settle himself having reached perfection. Unable to bear keeping his teachers’ Dao to himself, he moved to the southern quarter of the city. Once Liezi entered the crowd and engaged with worldly affairs, he could not prevent followers from gathering around him; shoes piled up outside his gate.】

Even so, Liezi kept his depths concealed. His followers were with him every day, discussing everything, and there was nothing they did not hear. Liezi lived just one wall away from Nangouzi for twenty years, yet never called on him or arranged to meet. Even when they met on the road, they seemed not to see each other. Their followers concluded without a doubt that Liezi and Nangouzi were enemies.

【Calling him “Nangouzi” means that he had realized the mysteries of the Dao and, though living amid the dust of the world, remained untouched by it. That is how he could live next door to Liezi. The Dao of the two was connected and complete; their thoughts often accorded. They could respond to each other without arranging to meet, and understand each other without deliberately seeking one another out. Why, then, would they need to call at each other’s homes? They did not arrange meetings, and even when they crossed paths, they seemed not to recognize each other. For a cultivator of the Dao to understand its principles at the meeting of their eyes is already a high state; yet if they still rely on the meeting of their eyes, they have not gone beyond what can be seen and known. When the two met but seemed not to see each other, they had gone beyond discriminating thought: they clung to no outward appearance, made nothing happen deliberately, and had even forgotten the distinction between one another. Liezi’s cultivation had reached completion. To say that Liezi “kept his depths concealed” means that his inner life was subtle and profound, and that he had not departed from the Dao. Liezi spoke with people every day not because he enjoyed disputation, but because he had so many followers that he had to respond to them. Those around him saw only his conversations and arguments, and mistook his failure to visit Nangouzi for hostility between them.】

A man from Chu asked Liezi, “Between you and Nangouzi, who is superior?” Liezi replied, “Nangouzi is robust in appearance, yet inwardly clear and empty. His ears hear nothing, his eyes see nothing, his mouth says nothing, his mind knows nothing, and his body fears nothing. What could such a person do?”

【This was Liezi’s reply to the man’s suspicion. “Robust in appearance” means that he cultivated himself without his body declining. “Inwardly clear and empty” means that he forgot personal concerns and allowed nothing from the outside world to linger within him. To say that his ears hear nothing and his eyes see nothing means that he rests in hearing and seeing as they naturally occur. His mouth says nothing because his speech is not contrived. His mind knows nothing because he has reached true knowing without clinging to knowledge. His body fears nothing because there is nothing that makes him anxious or afraid. Such a person has even forgotten the distinction between teacher and disciple. What could he have any special need to do?】

Liezi then said, “Even so, come with me and see for yourself.” So he took forty of his disciples with him.

【Although Liezi had described Nangouzi’s state, he worried that his disciples might still be bewildered by the profound teaching. He therefore took them to see him, so they could verify it with their own eyes. The forty disciples went along, as a large group might accompany someone on a visit.】

When they saw Nangouzi, he seemed like a clay figure: his body was present, but his spirit was hard to approach. The disciples looked back at Liezi and felt that his spirit and body did not belong together, and that he could not get along with other people.

【A person is born when spirit and body come together. To say that his spirit and body did not belong together means that although he had a human body, he showed none of the ordinary feelings of the world, like a clay figure. A clay figure is an image of a person molded from earth. Such a person has forgotten external things and left worldly feelings behind, standing alone; he is therefore difficult to approach and unable to fit in with others.】

Suddenly, Nangouzi pointed to the disciple at the back of Liezi’s group and spoke with him. Nangouzi’s conversation was warm and fluent, yet he seemed focused and upright, with a forceful vitality. Liezi’s disciples were astonished. When they returned to where they were staying, every one of them looked perplexed.

【“Focused” refers to stillness; “upright” refers to movement. His fluent, harmonious conversation showed that he could accord with others. To be focused and upright, with forceful vitality, seemed to embody the Dao of Qian: carrying the transformations of all things and bringing them into harmony. Nangouzi suddenly pointed to the last disciple and spoke with him because he responded naturally to an encounter with something external, not because he had planned it in advance. His state in the Dao was vast, but the disciples, lacking understanding and trust, were astonished and confused. This was unlike Confucius’s confidence that his disciples would reflect on his words and conduct after leaving and thereby gain insight.】

Liezi said, “Those who grasp the meaning of the Dao do not rely on words to express it; those whose wisdom runs deep do not rely on words to express it either. To treat silence as a kind of speech is still speech; to treat ignorance as a kind of knowledge is still knowledge. Silence and not speaking, ignorance and not knowing, are all ways of speaking about speech and knowledge. One may speak and know; there may be nothing that cannot be said or known. One may also have nothing to say and nothing to know. That is all there is to it. Why be pointlessly astonished?”

【Words cannot fully express speech, and speech cannot fully express the mind’s intention. Therefore, those who grasp the mind’s intention need not cling to words. Those whose wisdom runs deep do not use words to show off; people who speak at length may not truly understand. But if one decides that silence and ignorance are the right way, one is deliberately rejecting the external world. If one clings to not speaking and not knowing, one has not yet forgotten the self. If one clings to speaking and knowing, what one gains is shallow. Neither speech nor knowledge should become an attachment.】

After studying for three years, Liezi no longer dared to think about right and wrong, or to speak of what was beneficial or harmful. Only then did Lao Shang, his teacher, glance at him. After five years, Liezi once again began to think about right and wrong and to speak of benefit and harm. Only then did Lao Shang’s brow relax into a smile. After seven years, Liezi followed his thoughts without distinguishing right from wrong, and followed his words without weighing benefit and harm. Only then did his teacher invite him to take his hand and sit beside him.

After nine years, Liezi let his thoughts and words flow freely, no longer distinguishing right and wrong or benefit and harm in his own actions and speech, or in those of others. This shows that his inner and outer cultivation had both reached great depth. At that point, his eyes seemed able to hear like his ears, his ears to perceive like his nose, his nose to taste like his mouth, and his mouth to communicate with his heart. The senses were no longer separate from one another. His mind and spirit grew still; his body seemed to dissolve, and his bones and flesh seemed to melt away. He was no longer aware of how his body conveyed sensations, how his feet walked, how his mind thought, or how words were held within him. At such a level of cultivation, nothing of the principles of things could remain hidden.

The commentary says: Beginning with “he dared not think about right and wrong or speak of benefit and harm,” Liezi’s cultivation deepened step by step, until he finally reached the sublime state of his ninth year. The phrases “what the body conveys, what the feet tread, what the mind thinks, and what words hold within” describe this state. At this point, no principle remains concealed.

As noted earlier, one who seeks the Dao should not give up striving just because the Great Dao seems lofty and beyond reach. Liezi loved to travel, so Huqiuzi used this to remind him: if you look only outward and chase after the changes of all things, you will still be pulled along by external things. If instead you begin with yourself, observe how all things change without being carried along by those changes, you reach a deeper kind of “wandering.” At this level, there is no need to fixate on where to go or what to see, because all things are everywhere and can all be contemplated. After hearing this, Liezi never went out again, recognizing that he still did not understand true “wandering.”

Longshu thought he was ill and asked Wenzhi to treat him. He said that praise did not make him proud, nor did slander humiliate him; gain and loss, life and death, poverty and wealth could not stir him. He even regarded his family and friends, and his hometown, as though they were an inn and a foreign land. For this reason, he felt unable to govern a state, associate with friends and relatives, or deal with his family and servants. Wenzhi saw that although Longshu was unaffected by external things, he clung only to his own inner stillness and could not apply the Dao in his dealings with people and the myriad things. The Dao can cultivate the self, but it should also allow one to follow change and respond to the affairs of the world. Seeking only to perfect oneself in isolation turns the Dao into a constraint.

Wenzhi asked Longshu to stand with his back to the light while he examined him from behind. He said Longshu’s mind was utterly empty and still, almost approaching sagehood, but “the mind has six openings, and one is blocked.” The commentary explains the “six openings” as the mind’s capacity to connect with the myriad things. Though Longshu could regard all things equally, he could not yet respond to the world while keeping his inner composure. True understanding means neither being stirred by external things nor refusing to respond to them.

The text next distinguishes “constant life and constant death” from ordinary life and death. To live in accord with life’s inherent nature and not cling to survival means that even when life ends, one has not truly strayed from the Dao in spirit. Facing death by accepting where it leads, without clinging to life, can also be said to accord with the constant Dao. By contrast, one who craves life and loses touch with what is right has, despite being alive, become as if dead. The commentary cites Yan Hui, who died young, and the long-lived robber Zhi to show that lifespan belongs to fortune or misfortune; longevity alone cannot determine whether someone has attained the Dao.

When Jiliang died, Yang Zhu stood looking toward his gate and sang; when Su Wu died, Yang Zhu stroked the body and wept. When servants are born or die, people often sing when they ought to weep, and weep when they ought to sing. The commentary holds that people often respond with grief or joy simply out of the habitual preference for life and aversion to death, without understanding the principles of life and death. From the perspective of one who understands life and death, all these responses are deserving of pity.

The senses and the mind, too, follow a pattern of rising to a peak and then declining. Exceptional eyesight may first become blurred; unusually sharp hearing may first grow dull. The same holds for taste, smell, physical strength, and discernment. Yin-Yang and the four seasons wax and wane, and when things reach their extreme, they turn in the opposite direction. The commentary therefore recommends restraining excessive use of the senses and mind, so that the spirit does not decline through depletion.

In the area around Puze in Zheng, there were worthy people; in Dongli, there were talented people. When Deng Xi saw Bofengzi passing by, he mocked him, saying that accepting support from others while being unable to support oneself was no different from being a dog or pig. Bofengzi did not reply. His attendant pointed out that society had many people skilled in different arts. Each had a particular ability, yet needed the ruler to assign and employ them; and rulers, lacking these people’s skills, could not do without them. Deng Xi had no answer and could only leave with his attendants. The commentary uses this story to explain that a ruler’s role is to coordinate and employ many talents, not to boast merely because he holds a high position. Nor should talented people take pride in their abilities.

Gongyi Bo was famous for his strength. King Xuan of Zhou summoned him, but seeing how frail he looked, doubted his power. Gongyi Bo said he could break a katydid’s leg in spring and bear the weight of a cicada’s wing in autumn. The king thought this was hardly great strength. Gongyi Bo explained that his teacher, Shangqiuzi, was unrivaled in strength, yet even those close to him did not know it, because he never displayed or used his strength. Shangqiuzi taught that to see what others cannot see and obtain what others cannot obtain, one must practice what others do not do. Those who learn to see should first look at a large bundle of firewood; those who learn to hear should first listen to a struck bell. If one learns to look at what is easy to see, nothing external will be difficult, and there will be no need to seek fame through strength. The commentary holds that true strength lies in knowing how to use it without showing off. Deliberately displaying one’s abilities leaves traces by which one can be named and recognized.

Gongzi Mou of Wei enjoyed associating with Gongsun Long and others, which drew the ridicule of Yuezheng Ziyu. Ziyu said that Gongsun Long was fond of argument and extravagant speech. Stories about a rear arrow catching up with the one ahead, or an arrow entering an eye without making the eyelid blink, were all deceptive. He also cited arguments such as “a white horse is not a horse” and “an orphaned calf has never had a mother,” judging them contrary to common sense. Gongzi Mou defended Gongsun Long, explaining that some claims analyze concepts, names and forms, and changes in things, and cannot be dismissed as absurd simply by the standards of everyday speech. Ziyu retorted that if Gongsun Long spoke from some other aperture, Gongzi Mou would still blindly agree with him. Gongzi Mou fell silent for a while, then took his leave.

The commentary holds that some of Gongsun Long’s statements explore principles, while others use argument to reveal people’s habit of clinging to names and appearances. Without examining their reasoning fully, it is easy to dismiss them all as deception or bizarre theories. The dispute between Ziyu and Gongzi Mou also shows that understanding an argument requires identifying what it refers to; one cannot judge it by the surface meaning of its words alone.

After ruling the world for fifty years, Yao did not know whether the people’s lives were truly secure, or whether they sincerely supported him. No one could answer when he asked those around him, his court officials, or the people in the countryside. So Yao put on ordinary clothes and walked along Kangqu, a broad road that ran in all directions. There he heard children singing: “All who nurture us, the people, follow your principles; people need not think things through deliberately, but naturally accord with Heaven’s Way.” Yao asked the children who had taught them the song. They said they had heard it from a senior official, who told them it was an old poem. Yao was delighted. He summoned Shun and abdicated the throne in his favor; Shun did not refuse and accepted it. The commentary holds that when the world is well governed, people are simply content with their everyday lives and may not even realize they are being governed. This is the sign of an age of peace.

Guanyinxi said that those who cultivate the Dao should leave no obstructions in the mind and should not let external things take up residence there. They should let things appear as they are, act like water by following the shape of the terrain, become still like a mirror that reflects things, and respond to external things like an echo, answering whenever something calls. The Dao is present throughout the myriad things. If they go against the Dao, that is a problem with the things themselves; the Dao does not go against their inherent nature.

Those truly skilled in embodying the Dao do not seek it through the ears and eyes, through strength, or through deliberate thought. The Dao has no fixed form. At times it seems right before us, then in the blink of an eye seems behind us. When put to use, it fills Heaven and Earth; when set aside, it leaves no trace. It cannot be grasped by deliberate effort of the mind, nor attained by becoming entirely mindless. Only those who comprehend it in stillness and make it part of their nature can truly attain the Dao.

Guanyinxi also said that to know without being drawn along by emotions, and to act without insisting on doing, is true knowledge and true ability. The commentary explains that human knowledge and abilities are valuable in themselves, but if one is driven by them, one becomes subject to the workings of transformation. True knowledge sees clearly and naturally, without deliberate cleverness; true ability responds to the myriad things without clinging to purposeful action. A clod of earth or a speck of dust does nothing, but though this may seem like Wuwei (non-action), it has lost its vitality and does not accord with the Dao. The sage’s Wuwei is like the earth bearing all things: it does not act deliberately, yet the myriad things continue to grow and change.

At the end, the text praises the Dao of Confucius as being like the rising sun: both the foolish and the wise can see its light, but one must combine it with the words of sages and worthies to fathom its subtlety. Confucius took office when he could, stopped when it was time to stop, stayed for as long as circumstances allowed and moved on when it was time to move quickly. He did not cling to one course. He responded to changing times without departing from the root. The commentary holds that Confucius brought together the complete form of the sages’ Dao. Later generations will find it hard to understand the realm of the sages if they cling to a single teaching or way of acting. Through its discussions of wandering in the mind, engagement with the world, life and death, and knowledge and ability, the text as a whole explains that those who attain the Dao are neither trapped by external things nor withdrawn from worldly affairs; amid the changes of the myriad things, they remain inwardly open and responsive.

Shang Tang asked Xia Ge, “At the beginning of ancient times, did the myriad things exist?” Xia Ge replied, “At the beginning of ancient times, there were no myriad things. How, then, could there be myriad things now?” Shang Tang asked, “Will people in the future say that there are no myriad things now?” Xia Ge answered, “The myriad things appeared only after Heaven and Earth took shape. They fill Heaven and Earth, and if we trace them back to their source, they all come from the same primal Qi (vital energy). The movement of Qi has no end, so the myriad things arise one after another without interruption. They keep changing, renewing themselves day by day, and people distinguish them by calling them ancient or present. In truth, the existence or nonexistence of things in the past and present has no fundamental difference.”

Shang Tang asked, “Do the myriad things have a first and a last?” Xia Ge said, “The end and beginning of the myriad things have no end. A beginning sometimes becomes an ending, and an ending sometimes becomes a beginning. How could we know their order? But I do not know what lies beyond the myriad things, before anything has happened.”

Shang Tang asked again, “Do the four directions above and below Heaven and Earth have bounds and limits?” Xia Ge replied, “Without the myriad things, there would be no bounds; once the myriad things exist, there must be limits. How do I know? Yet beyond what has no bounds, there is still no such thing as ‘boundlessness,’ and within what has no limits, there is still no such thing as ‘limitlessness.’ For this reason, I know that Heaven and Earth have no bounds or end, but I do not know how vast they are or when they will end.” The commentary explains that although Heaven and Earth are vast, they are still things with form. The phrase “without bounds or end” uses “nonbeing” to describe their vastness; it does not mean true emptiness. Since Heaven and Earth already exist, they must eventually come to an end, though their beginning and end are difficult to fathom.

Shang Tang asked, “What lies beyond the Four Seas?” Xia Ge said, “It is much like Qi Province, the central region as the ancients understood it.” Shang Tang asked how he knew. Xia Ge replied, “I traveled east as far as Ying, and the people there thought their land was just like this. When I asked what lay farther east, they said it was still the same. I traveled west as far as Bin, an ancient place name, and the people there said the same. When I asked what lay farther west, they again said it was the same. From this I infer that beyond the Four Seas, the Four Wilds, and the Four Extremes, things are probably no different.”

Things of different sizes can contain one another, without end. What can contain the myriad things is like what can contain Heaven and Earth. Xia Ge said, “How do I know there are not even greater Heavens and Earth beyond Heaven and Earth? That, too, I do not know.”

Shang Tang asked, “Heaven and Earth are themselves among the myriad things, and all things have their flaws. So Nüwa once smelted five-colored stones to repair Heaven, and cut off the feet of a giant turtle to support the four corners.” The commentary explains that Heaven and Earth, being things with form, can come into being and suffer damage. Hence the legends of repairing Heaven and supporting the Four Extremes.

Later, Gonggong and Zhuanxu fought for rule. In anger, Gonggong crashed into Mount Buzhou, breaking the pillar of Heaven and snapping the cords that held up Earth. Heaven tilted toward the northwest, and the sun, moon, and stars shifted in that direction. The southeast of Earth was too low, so the rivers and gathered waters flowed there. The commentary uses this story to explain how people’s conflicts and anger can disrupt a state that was originally whole and undivided.

Shang Tang asked whether the myriad things differed in size and length, or were alike or unlike one another. Xia Ge said, “East of the Bohai Sea, tens of thousands of miles away—I do not know how many tens of thousands—there is a deep valley with no bottom, called the Returning Hollow. Rivers from every direction, along with the waters of the Celestial River, flow into it, yet it neither rises nor falls. In the valley are five mountains: Daiyu, Yuanjiao, Fanghu, Yingzhou, and Penglai. Each is thirty thousand li around, with flat ground nine thousand li across at its summit. They stand seventy thousand li apart, like neighbors.”

On the mountains are terraces and towers built of gold and jade. The birds and beasts are pure white, and trees that bear pearl-like fruit grow in groves. Their flowers and fruit taste delicious, and eating them prevents aging and death. Immortals and sages live there, flying to and fro so often that no one can count them. The five mountains have no roots and drift with the tides, unable to stay still. The immortals worried about this and complained to the Celestial Emperor. Fearing that the mountains might drift to the western edge and leave the immortals without a home, the Emperor ordered Yuqiang to have giant turtles support the five mountains on their heads, with three groups taking turns every sixty thousand years. Only then did the mountains stand firmly in place.

A giant from the Land of Longbo took a single stride and reached the five mountains. With one cast of his line, he caught six giant turtles, carried them back to his homeland, and used their bones for divination. As a result, Mount Daiyu and Mount Yuanjiao drifted to the northern edge and sank into the sea, leaving hundreds of millions of immortals homeless. The Celestial Emperor was furious. He reduced the territory of Longbo and made its people shorter. Even in the time of Fuxi and Shennong, the people of Longbo were still several dozen zhang tall.

Forty thousand li east of the Central Plain lies the Land of Jiaoyao, where the people are said to be extremely short and stand one chi and five cun tall. Far away in the northeast is a place called Zheng, whose people stand nine cun tall. South of Jing grows the Mingling tree, which has a spring lasting five hundred years and an autumn lasting five hundred years. In ancient times there was a great Chun tree, whose spring lasted eight thousand years and whose autumn lasted eight thousand years. A mushroom that grows on decayed earth lives from dawn to dusk; tiny insects born after spring and summer rains die as soon as they see sunlight.

In the far north lies the Dark Sea, also called the Celestial Pool. It contains a huge fish called Kun, thousands of li wide and so long its length cannot be measured. There is also a giant bird called Peng, whose wings hang like clouds at the edge of the sky. Dayu saw them with his own eyes, Boyi knew their names, and Yijian recorded the story.

On the banks of the Yangtze is a tiny insect called Jiaoming. Swarms of them fly onto mosquitoes’ eyelashes without touching one another as they come, go, and settle, and the mosquitoes do not notice them. Even Liju and Ziyu, who could see clearly by day, could not see one. Even Shi Kuang, who could hear keenly at night, could not hear it. Only after the Yellow Emperor and Rong Chengzi had fasted for three months on Mount Kongtong, calming their minds and seeming to forget their bodies, could they see it through spiritual awareness, as though seeing the corner of a mountain. They could also hear it through their breath, as though hearing thunder.

Between Wu and Chu grows a kind of pomelo tree. It bears fruit in winter; the fruit is red and sour, and drinking its juice can cure sudden illness caused by anger. When the tree is carried across the Huai River to the north, it becomes a trifoliate orange. A myna cannot cross the Ji River, and a raccoon dog cannot cross the Wen River; if they do, they die. These differences are caused by the Qi of the land. The forms, lifespans, sizes, and kinds of things may differ, but each has its own complete nature. No creature lacks its nature because its body is small or its life short, and none has more of its nature because its body is large or its life long.

Mount Taihang and Mount Wangwu cover seven hundred li and rise ten thousand ren. They lie south of Ji Province and north of Heyang. At the northern mountain lived an old man called the Foolish Old Man, who was nearly ninety and lived on the mountain’s southern side. Troubled by the mountains blocking the road to the north and forcing him to take a long detour, he called his family together and said, “What do you think of our clearing away these obstacles and opening a road straight to the south of Yu Province and the southern bank of the Han River?” Everyone agreed. His wife objected: “With your strength, you could not even level the small hill of Kuifu. What can you do about Taihang and Wangwu? And where will you put all that earth and stone?” They replied, “We will dump it by the Bohai Sea, north of Yintu.”

So the Foolish Old Man led his children and grandchildren in digging rock and earth, carrying it to the Bohai Sea in baskets. A widow from the neighboring Jingcheng family had a child who had just lost his baby teeth; he ran over to help, too. They made the journey once in the course of each change from summer to winter and back. The Wise Old Man of the river bend mocked the Foolish Old Man, saying that he was old and weak, unable to move even a blade of grass on the mountain, let alone the earth and stone. The Foolish Old Man sighed and said, “Your mind is too stubborn to change. You are less wise than the widow’s child. Even when I die, I will leave a son; my son will have a son, and his son will have a son. Our descendants will never end, but the mountains will not grow any higher. How could we fail to level them?” The Wise Old Man had no answer. The spirit who held the snakes heard of this and worried that they would never stop digging, so he reported it to the Celestial Emperor. Moved by the Foolish Old Man’s sincerity, the Emperor ordered two sons of the Kuafu clan to carry the mountains away: one was set down east of Shuofang, and the other south of Yong Province. From then on, no mountain blocked the land south of Ji Province or the southern bank of the Han River.

Kuafu overestimated his abilities and wanted to chase the sun. Near the Valley of Sunset, he grew thirsty. He drank the Yellow River and the Wei River dry, but it was not enough, so he set off for the great northern lake to drink. He died of thirst before he got there. The walking stick he left behind grew into a forest of peach trees, nourished by his body, stretching for thousands of li. The commentary explains that Kuafu’s deluded fixation made him pursue the sun. The stronger his desire, the harder it was to satisfy, until it finally exhausted him.

Dayu said, “Between Heaven and Earth, within the Four Seas, the sun and moon shine, the stars move, the seasons change, the years are marked by Jupiter, and the myriad things created by spirits take many forms. Some live briefly and some long; only sages can understand the principles behind them.” Xia Ge said, “There are also beings that are not born through the agency of spirits, do not take shape through Yin-Yang transformations, do not shine by the light of the sun and moon, do not die through killing, and do not live long through being tended. They eat no grains, wear no silk or cotton, and travel without boats or carts. They follow the natural Way; they are not something a sage must make a special effort to understand.” The commentary says that a sage can understand the patterns of the myriad things. But natural processes and events that happen spontaneously do not need to be studied deliberately.

While governing the waters, Dayu lost his way and entered a country north of the North Sea, countless tens of millions of li from Qi Province. It was called Zhongbei. It had no clearly defined borders, and no wind, rain, frost, or dew. There were no birds, beasts, insects, fish, grasses, or trees. The land was flat in all directions and surrounded by lofty mountains. The commentary describes this as a place beyond direction, Yin-Yang change, and dependence on external things.

In the country stood a mountain called Huling, shaped like a roof tile. At its summit was a circular opening called the Zihole, from which issued a spring called Shenfen. Its fragrance surpassed that of orchids and Sichuan pepper, and its taste was better than fine wine. From one source, its waters divided into four streams and flowed throughout the country. The climate was mild and harmonious, and there were no epidemics. The people were gentle, followed the myriad things, and neither fought nor envied one another. Old and young lived together, and men and women gathered freely. There were no rulers or subjects, and no concern with matchmakers or betrothal gifts. People lived beside the water and neither farmed nor wove cloth. The climate was warm and pleasant, so they had no need for clothes. They died at a hundred, without premature death or illness. Their population flourished without end. They rejoiced without knowing age, grief, or pain, and often took one another’s hands and sang in turn. When hungry or tired, they drank Shenfen and became calm and strong in spirit. If they drank too much, they became drunk and did not wake for more than ten days. Bathing in Shenfen left their skin smooth and fragrant, and the scent lasted more than ten days. The commentary says Shenfen nourishes both the inner and outer person, symbolizing a force that pervades all things and brings people peace.

King Mu of Zhou traveled north and passed through Zhongbei. He stayed there for three years, so delighted that he forgot to return. When he eventually went back to Zhou, he longed for that life and felt dazed and bereft. For several months he ate neither wine nor meat and summoned none of his consorts. Only later did he recover. When Guan Zhong urged Duke Huan of Qi to seek Zhongbei near Liaokou, Xi Peng tried to dissuade him. “Why would you abandon Qi’s vast territory, great population, rich resources, complete rites, and fine clothing to pursue a distant country of foreigners?” Duke Huan then gave up the idea. Guan Zhong, however, said that Xi Peng did not understand that place, and that his concern was its unfathomable nature. What was there to cherish in Qi’s prosperity, and what was there to fear in Xi Peng’s words? The commentary uses this story to say that people confined to what they see before them often cannot understand things beyond their own experience.

People in the south went bareheaded and unclothed; those in the north wrapped their heads in cloth and wore fur; people in the Central Plain wore caps and robes. Some people in each region farmed, others traded, hunted, or fished. They wore fur in winter and hemp cloth in summer, traveled by boat on water and by cart on land. These were ways of life that had naturally developed in each place. East of Yue was the Land of Zhemu. When a firstborn son was born, the people killed and ate him, believing this benefited his younger brothers. When an old man died, they carried away his wife and abandoned her, saying that a ghost’s wife could not live with them. South of Chu lay the Land of Yan. When a relative died, the family shared and ate the dead person’s flesh, then buried the bones, believing this was the mark of a dutiful child. West of Qin lay the Land of Yiqu. When a relative died, the family piled up firewood and burned the body, letting the smoke rise to Heaven. They called this “ascending far away” and also believed it showed filial devotion. These customs became local laws and traditions. Though different from those of the Central Plain, they were ordinary ways of life for the people there.

As Confucius traveled east, he saw two children arguing and asked what the dispute was about. One said, “I think the sun is closer to people when it first rises and farther away at noon.” The other said, “I think the sun is farther away when it first rises and closer at noon.” The first child said, “When the sun rises, it looks as big as a carriage canopy, but at noon it looks no bigger than a bowl. Doesn’t that show that distant things look small and nearby things look big?” The other said, “When the sun first rises, it feels cool, but at noon it is as hot as putting your hand into hot water. Doesn’t that show that it is closer when hot and farther away when cool?” Confucius could not decide. The two children laughed and said, “Who says you know so much?” The commentary says that the sun’s distance and size are hard to judge by intuition. Confucius’s refusal to settle the matter does not mean that he truly knew nothing; he left the question open.

To regard all things in the world fairly is the most fundamental principle of all. Things are connected in similar ways. If a bundle of hair is tied evenly and weight is hung from it, the hair will not break as long as the force is distributed evenly; it breaks only when the force is uneven. People think this impossible, but those who understand the principle know that it is indeed so.

Zhan He used a single silk thread for fishing line, a thorn of cogongrass for a hook, and a stem of thorn bamboo for a rod. With a grain of millet for bait, he caught fish large enough to fill a cart from a hundred-ren-deep river of surging water. Yet his line did not break, his hook did not bend, and his rod did not curve. The King of Chu summoned him and asked how he managed it. Zhan He said, “I heard from my elders that when Pu Qiezi shot birds, he used a weak bow and a fine string. He took advantage of the wind and, with a single shot, hit two birds flying high in the sky. He succeeded because his intention was focused and his movements were even. I followed the same method to learn fishing, and it took me five years to master its essential principles. When I hold my rod by the river, my mind is free of distractions and thinks only of the fish. When I cast the line and sink the hook, I use neither too much nor too little force, and outside things cannot disturb me. The fish sees the bait and swallows it without suspicion, as if it were dust and foam. That is how I use a small, weak tool to draw in great strength.” The King of Chu said, “Excellent.” The commentary says that using the weak to control the strong and the light to draw in the heavy depends on understanding how things work, so that great force can be turned to one’s advantage.

Gong Hu of Lu and Qi Ying of Zhao suffered from the same illness and asked Bian Que to treat them. When they recovered, Bian Que said, “Your earlier illnesses came from outside and entered your internal organs. Medicines and stone needles could cure them. Now, though, you have a condition that grew along with you, and I can treat it for you.” The two men first asked what the treatment would do. Bian Que said, “Gong Hu has strong resolve and weak force, so he makes many plans but rarely decides. Qi Ying has weak resolve and strong force, so he thinks little and acts rashly. If I exchange your hearts, each of you will be balanced.” Bian Que gave them a medicinal drink that made them unconscious for three days. He opened their chests, took out their hearts and exchanged them, then revived them with a miraculous medicine.

When the two men returned home, Gong Hu went to Qi Ying’s house, and Qi Ying went to Gong Hu’s. Each man’s wife and children failed to recognize him. The two families began arguing, but when they asked Bian Que to explain, the dispute was settled. The commentary says that a person’s body and mind are constantly changing, though the everyday changes are so slight that people do not notice them. Sudden change is shocking. The myriad things continually pass through life and death, and people may not even know why they have become what they are.

When Bo Ya played the qin, birds danced and fish leapt from the water. Shi Wen of Zheng heard of this and left home to study the qin under Shi Xiang. He plucked and hooked the strings, but after three years still could not play a tune. Shi Xiang told him to go home. Shi Wen put down the qin and said, “It is not that I cannot pluck the strings or form a tune. My thoughts and intentions have not yet become one with the sound of the qin, so I dare not play. Please give me a little more time.” Later, Shi Wen visited Shi Xiang and said that he had grasped it, then asked to play. He followed the seasons and played a different melody for each one. In spring, he played the Shang tone, and cool winds rose as trees and plants set fruit. In autumn, he played the Jiao tone, and warm winds swirled as plants blossomed. In summer, he played the Yu tone, and frost and snow fell as rivers and ponds froze. In winter, he played the Zhi tone, and the sun blazed as solid ice melted. At last, he joined the four strings in the Gong tone. A gentle breeze arose, auspicious clouds appeared, sweet dew fell, and springs welled up. Shi Xiang exclaimed that his own skill, the pure Jiao music of Shi Kuang, and Zou Yan’s pitch-pipe music could not match Shi Wen. The commentary says that Shi Wen first grasped the principles behind the music, then expressed them through his fingers and strings. True learning comes from one’s own understanding; it cannot consist merely of copying a teacher’s techniques.

Xue Tan studied singing under Qin Qing. Before he had finished learning, he thought he had mastered everything and took his leave to go home. Qin Qing did not try to stop him. At the edge of the city, as he saw Xue Tan off, Qin Qing beat time and sang sadly. His voice shook the trees and seemed to stop the clouds as they drifted by. Xue Tan apologized and asked to stay. From then on, he never again spoke of going home. The commentary says that some learners grasp things for themselves before the teacher explains them, while others mistakenly think they have finished learning. One must therefore pay attention to a student’s attitude toward study.

Qin Qing told his friends that Han E had once traveled east to Qi. When she ran out of food, she passed through Yongmen and sang in exchange for a meal. After she left, the lingering sound of her voice circled the rafters for three days. The people at the inn thought she had not yet gone and chased after her to insult her. Han E burst into tears. The old men and women nearby heard her and wept with sorrow; for three days they could not eat. When people went after her and brought her back, she sang a long, flowing song. Everyone immediately began dancing with joy and forgot their earlier sadness. They sent her off with generous gifts. It is said that the people of Yongmen have been skilled at singing and weeping ever since, imitating the melodies Han E left behind. The commentary says that although singing can move the heart, true joy and sorrow come from genuine feeling; copying a voice does not mean possessing the same emotion.

Bo Ya was skilled at playing the qin, and Zhong Ziqi was skilled at listening. When Bo Ya played with a high mountain in mind, Zhong Ziqi said, “Well played! It is like a lofty mountain.” When Bo Ya thought of flowing water, Zhong Ziqi said, “Well played! It is like a great river in full flow.” Whatever Bo Ya imagined, Zhong Ziqi could always hear. Once, while traveling north of Mount Tai, Bo Ya was caught in a sudden rainstorm and took shelter beneath a rocky overhang. Filled with sadness, he began to play, first performing a piece called “Raining Continuously,” then one that evoked a mountain collapsing. Each time, Zhong Ziqi understood the meaning. Bo Ya put down his qin and exclaimed, “You listen so well! Your imagination matches my thoughts exactly. Where could my music hide from you?” The commentary says that Zhong Ziqi’s ability to discern Bo Ya’s intentions from his music was rare and precious. Yet Jisha, in listening to music, was even better at understanding what it expressed.

King Mu of Zhou traveled west, crossed the Kunlun Mountains, and turned back before reaching Mount Yan. Along the way, someone presented him with a craftsman named Yanshi. King Mu asked what he could do. Yanshi said that he was willing to be put to the test and asked the king to return the next day to see his work. The next day, Yanshi brought a puppet that could perform. It walked and bent its body like a real person, sang in tune, danced to the beat, and changed its movements in countless ways, as it pleased. King Mu took it for a real person and invited his favorite consorts and attendants to watch. As the performance ended, the puppet winked at a maid standing beside the king. Enraged, King Mu ordered Yanshi put to death. Yanshi was afraid and immediately took the puppet apart for the king to inspect. Inside it had a liver, gallbladder, heart, lungs, spleen, kidneys, and intestines, while outside it had all the tendons, bones, joints, skin, hair, and teeth. Everything was made of wood, leather, glue, lacquer, and paint. Once reassembled, the puppet returned to its former state. King Mu tried removing its heart, and it could no longer speak; he removed its liver, and it could no longer see; he removed its kidneys, and it could no longer walk. Only then was the king pleased. He marveled that human skill could rival the creative power of nature, which brings the myriad things into being. The commentary says that even Yanshi’s ingenious craft only made external objects. Yet people, while alive, often fail to understand the creative power within themselves and instead admire the puppet’s cleverness.

Gan Ying was a skilled archer of ancient times. When he drew his bow to its full length, wild beasts crouched and birds fell from the sky. His student Fei Wei learned archery and surpassed his teacher. Ji Chang then studied archery under Fei Wei. Fei Wei said, “First learn not to blink; only then can we talk about archery.” Ji Chang went home and lay beneath his wife’s loom, staring at the loom’s treadle. After two years, he did not blink even when the tip of an awl fell by the corner of his eye. He told Fei Wei, who said this was not enough. He had to learn to see small things as large and unclear things as distinct. Ji Chang hung a louse in his window and faced south to look at it. After ten days, the louse seemed gradually larger; after three years, it looked as big as a cartwheel, and everything else looked like hills. He took a bow made from horn from Yan and arrows made from northern hemp stalks and shot the louse through its heart. Yet the hanging thread did not break. Fei Wei beat his chest in admiration and said, “You have learned it.”

After mastering all of Fei Wei’s techniques, Ji Chang thought Fei Wei was the only opponent left in the world and planned to kill him. The two met in the open country and shot arrows at each other. Their arrowheads collided in midair and fell to the ground without even raising dust. Fei Wei ran out of arrows first, while Ji Chang still had one left. Fei Wei blocked it with the tip of a thorn, with scarcely a hair’s breadth to spare. The two men wept, put down their bows, bowed to each other, and became father and son. They cut their arms and swore never to teach archery to anyone else. The commentary points out that Ji Chang’s skill served almost only to harm others. If one learns with a corrupt heart, one may turn against one’s teacher. What a gentleman should learn is a skill that does not require harming anyone.

Zaofu’s teacher was called Taidou. When Zaofu first began to learn how to drive a chariot, he was respectful and attentive to proper conduct. Taidou taught him nothing for three years, and Zaofu became even more careful. Taidou told him, “An ancient poem says that in a household skilled at making bows, the son first learns to weave winnowing baskets; in a household skilled at smelting metal, the son first learns to make leather garments. First watch how I walk. Once you can walk just like me, then you can learn to drive.” Taidou set up pieces of wood as a path, only wide enough for one foot. He placed each step carefully and walked back and forth at a run without once stumbling. Zaofu learned it completely in three days. Taidou praised his quickness and said that driving a chariot was the same: first bring the feet into accord with the mind, then learn to handle the reins. When driving, harmonize the reins with the horse’s mouth, gauge the horse’s pace, fix the direction in the mind, and maintain the right measure in the hands. Once the mind grasps the essentials, the outward movements respond to the horse, and advancing, turning, and stopping all follow the rules. In driving, the bit first connects with the reins; the reins then respond to the hands, and the hands finally respond to the mind. One need not keep one’s eyes fixed on the road or drive the horse with a whip. The six reins remain in order, and the twenty-four hooves land precisely. The wheels and hooves avoid every obstacle, and steep valleys and level ground appear no different to the driver. The commentary says that learning a skill often begins with practicing something that seems unrelated. Zaofu first learned to walk because he had grasped the foundations of driving.

In the state of Wei, Hei Luan killed Qiu Bingzhang out of resentment. Qiu Bingzhang’s son, Lai Dan, wanted to avenge his father. He was fierce and openly emotional, but ate little and could walk against the wind. Though angry, he lacked the strength to take up a weapon and avenge his father. He was ashamed to rely on anyone else and swore to kill Hei Luan with his own hands. Hei Luan was extraordinarily strong, with the strength of more than a hundred men and sinews, bones, and flesh unlike those of ordinary people. He faced swords and arrows; blades bent, but his body was unmarked. Relying on his strength, he treated Lai Dan like a fledgling bird.

Lai Dan’s friend Shentuo said to him, “You hate Hei Luan to the utmost, and Hei Luan has treated you very badly. What do you plan to do?” Lai Dan wept and asked for advice. Shentuo said, “I have heard that the ancestors of Kong Zhou of Wei received the precious swords of the Yin Emperor. A child wearing one could drive back three armies. Why not go and ask him for a sword?” Lai Dan traveled to Wei, approached Kong Zhou with the deference of a servant driving his carriage, and offered to entrust his wife and children to Kong Zhou before making his request, as proof of his sincerity.

Kong Zhou said, “I have three swords, and you may choose one. None of them can kill. Let me first describe them. The first is called Hidden Light. Its blade cannot be seen, and when it is swung, you cannot feel anything there. It passes through an object without the object noticing. The second is called Shadow-Bearing. At dawn or dusk, you can just make out its shadow by looking north, though its shape remains indistinct. When it touches an object, it makes only the faintest sound, and the object is not harmed. The third is called Night Practice. By day, you can see only its shadow, not its gleam; by night, you can see its gleam, not its blade. When it touches an object, it passes through at once, and the object closes up again. It is possible to sense the contact, but no blood is drawn. These three precious swords have been passed down for thirteen generations. They have never been put to use, and have remained in their case, unopened.” The commentary compares the three swords, respectively, to the formless and effortless Dao (the Way), to the Dao at the hard-to-grasp boundary between Yin and Yang, and to the Dao through which all things continually come into being without being harmed.

Lai Dan said, “Even so, I still want the last one.” Kong Zhou told him to return home and bring his wife and children, then fast for seven days. At dusk, he knelt and handed him the third sword. Lai Dan bowed again, took the sword, and went home.