《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 22

Even something as small as a speck of dust does not lie outside this single mind. Therefore, when the mind can be settled in one place and kept unified without scattering, the work of fusion (in Daoist inner refinement, the merging of Jing, Qi, and Shen into one) is complete, and true nature is fulfilled. It is not only Daoism that speaks of fusion; Confucian cultivation must also take shenhua—transformation into a realm too subtle for ordinary reckoning—as its ultimate aim. The Zhongyong says: lesser virtue flows like streams, each in its proper course; greater virtue is deep and thick, transforming and nurturing the ten thousand things. It also says: when there is movement there is change; when change reaches its extreme there is transformation—and only one whose sincerity reaches the utmost can transform. Mencius says: great and yet able to transform—this is called sagehood; sagehood so profound it cannot be fathomed—this is called spirit (shen). Whether Confucian or immortal’s path, cultivation must reach shenhua before it can be said to have reached the furthest point.

The encomium says: This principle is truly subtle; it can be cross-checked against the sage’s learning. Shenhua and fusion—these are rare and delicate teachings from antiquity. Neither clinging to emptiness nor clinging to fullness, the utmost Dao is contained therein. Without bias, without leaning, without altering the constant—therefore we turn toward Mount Ni (the birthplace of Confucius, here standing for Confucius himself).

Hui Che says: In light of what was said above, sagely learning and the profundities (here, Daoist learning) are originally one principle. Why then did earlier worthies reject Buddhism and Laozi, holding that they could not serve all-under-heaven and the state? If they truly could not serve, yet for more than a thousand years the three teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) have stood together under heaven—and not one has perished—how is that?

Master Lei said: Laozi, Shakyamuni, and Confucius were all sages. What Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism teach is one and the same: the Dao. There is not a second principle to the Way—only the teachings divide into three schools. The people in those three traditions are the same kind of human beings; everyone has this same heart-and-nature and this same heavenly principle. Principle is not twofold, and mind is not twofold either. Confucianism speaks of preserving the mind and nurturing nature; Daoism speaks of rectifying the mind and refining nature; Buddhism speaks of illuminating the mind and seeing nature. All three cut to practical work on heart-and-nature. Each, carried to its limit, has stood side by side for a thousand years and more because the paths differ while the destination is the same.

In study we need discernment and a resolve that we will surely succeed. First be clear what you are studying: if you study Confucianism, you must not stop until you reach the level of Confucius and Yan Hui; if you follow Buddhism or the Way, your practice must reach the level of Shakyamuni and Laozi before you rest. With firm purpose and genuine cultivation, day by day you will advance and inwardly grasp the subtlety of what you study. What must be avoided is one doctrine in the morning and another at night, changing whenever you see something else, abandoning your own path to fuss over others (sheji yunren), and rashly judging right and wrong in past and present. One measure of practice yields one measure of learning; one measure of learning yields one measure of insight; only then can you recognize one measure of the ancients’ attainment. Without that insight, to comment at random—and later, when learning deepens and insight rises, to regret your earlier judgments—is already too late.

Only a sage may say that “Buddhism and Laozi’s teaching cannot be applied to the realm and the state.” We must never say it lightly. You need learning as real as a sage’s and the proven ability to put it into practice for realm and state before you may say Buddhism and Laozi cannot govern. Ordinary people’s views are shallow; they cannot even order their own body and mind—how could they order realm and state? If you cannot manage yourself, why ask whether Buddhism and Laozi can? Besides, even if Confucian learning can serve realm and state, not everyone who studies Confucianism can take it and govern the world. Confucian learning in earnest runs from investigating things and extending knowledge all the way to ordering the state and pacifying the realm—layer by layer, from probing affairs to peace under heaven—solely to fulfill oneself and complete others, until all under heaven is at peace and nothing is out of place. What power, what achievement that is—and how easily said! First recognize your own heart-and-nature clearly and test it at every turn in daily affairs: see whether it truly applies. Otherwise you may wear the scholar’s robe all your life yet fail even between father and son or among brothers—let alone under heaven.

The ancients said: Buddhism stresses compassion, Daoism stresses resonance (heart in mutual attunement with heaven and earth), Confucianism stresses loyalty and forbearance ( exhausting one’s heart and extending it to others). The three teachings were always this one mind. Once you see what mind is as mind, where is there still “three,” or still “one”?

The praise verse says: The ultimate principle is one; the paths are three. Loyalty and reciprocity and compassion interpenetrate one another; in this, what Confucianism emphasizes is loyalty and reciprocity. “The Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—are originally one mind. Once you see clearly what mind is as mind, where would ‘three’ remain, or ‘one’?”

Another praise says: The ultimate principle is one; the paths are three. Loyalty and reciprocity and compassion connect; stimulus and response (mutual answering) interweave and join. Mind mirrors mind (hearts in accord), and the ten thousand things each receive and hold. Meihua Wendiao is a guide for acting in accord with innate nature. The colophon is a note appended after the main text.

The key to reading lies in doing it yourself; in practice, the finest points depend on truly grasping them in the heart, not letting the written words block you. Only then do you have real gain, and only then does the reading not go to waste. This Master Xue, inheriting oral instruction from Master Xiao Gen (Min Yide), gathered the heart-method into one fascicle, the Plum Blossom Question-and-Answer Compendium, forty chapters in all. Every sentence accords with original nature; every word is the gist of the Golden Elixir (Neidan). The book begins with rectifying the mind and making the will sincere, opens the way to settling essence and life, and within fulfilling Heaven’s mandate makes the teaching something one can actually follow. Open it and apply it—there is nowhere it does not reach. It is truly the plumb line of sage learning, and it probes the root of Wuji (the source of all things). Even writing that is naturally true could hardly surpass it.

Laiyi is extremely dull by nature; he only likes to read books old and new and, between them, insert his own thoughts to seek the essential meaning. So besides standing in attendance to seek instruction, he often received pointed guidance. Even when Master Xiao Gen leaned on his staff for a stroll or had idle moments, he would discuss supreme principle with him. I recall the spring of the bingxu year, when the master first wrote a couplet at the Yalu Studio: “Fearing a thin heart yet worshipping Buddha; only because my learning is small do I wish to seek immortality.” He also granted the lines: “Nurture my vast, upright qi; do not lose the heart of the newborn child.” The first pair means: fearing that affection is too thin yet turning the heart to Buddha, only because study is insufficient and one still wishes to seek transcendence. The second pair means: cultivating great upright qi and guarding the infant’s true heart. Again and again I received this deep grace and was shaped by the master craftsman; my gratitude truly has no bound.

Yet these more than ten years, my learning has not advanced in the least. Turning inward, I only feel dark grief, fearing I have failed this layered, heavy kindness. In spare time I have skimmed the main lines of the Sanfen and Wudian, examined the subtlety of the Jiuqiu and Basuo, and down through the hundred schools of Han, Jin, Tang, and Song—none compares to exhausting the Four Books and taking them as the measure for cultivating the person. The Fen, Dian, and Suo are close kin, yet their language is more archaic still. The Lianshan (an ancient Yi text) pushes inquiry back to before the wandering spirit has yet to shine clear—there is already a state of dim obscurity while original nature still holds. It also says: Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) is the parent of Heaven and Earth. It also says: after Taiji comes Taiyi; Taiyi’s number is two. Seen this way, it is finer still than the Zhouyi. Yet when you look at how it is applied, it still does not go outside “the ten thousand things ripen into fullness”—the scope in which Heaven and Earth unite and the myriad things thicken into completion.

Again it is said: The Chaos Master occupies what I call the position of subduing the dragon, taking the people alone as sovereign. From the perspective of the transformation of nature, the number of Supreme Taiyi (the primordial state before the cosmos had differentiated) is two. Seen this way, this goes deeper than what the Book of Changes (Yijing) sets forth. Yet when one looks at how it is applied, it still does not go beyond the scope of “the myriad things ferment into essence” (the union of Heaven and Earth and the birth of the ten thousand things).

Again it is said: When the Chaos Master stands in the subduing-dragon position and governs only through the people, he has already expounded the root of nature and life (xingming) and the essentials of the Golden Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy) with great precision. The two “Fen” texts on qi and on form, though very much to the point, lean even more toward affairs of state. Again it is said: To preserve life through nature, to safeguard birth through life, and to fulfill longevity through birth—this is what the Book of Changes calls “exhausting principle, exhausting nature, and thereby reaching destiny (ming).” Take one step further on “destiny,” and one converges with the path of the celestial immortal.

As for the classic documents, they reveal the gist through “refined unity and holding the center” (jingyi zhizhong—purity, singleness, and steadfast moderation). Though Zuo Qiuming (Master Zuo) alone excelled in literary craft and also knew military strategy, he never slackened in regard to the ultimate Way. In the passage on Duke Zhuang of Zheng and his brother Duan, when they meet through the tunnel and joyfully part, it is as if the vigorous life-force of thunder in the hexagram Zhen were being gathered back into earth—is this not a supreme demonstration of “Thunder within Earth, Return” (Dilei Fu, the hexagram Fu), where through return one sees the heart of Heaven?

As for the Book of Rites, it includes the Great Learning and the Doctrine of the Mean—Confucian rules that run through the whole tradition, comparable to the orthodox precepts of the celestial immortals. Beyond that, Zhuangzi, Liezi, and other schools each speak of the subtleties of the Way, but in practice their drawbacks are often greater. Broadly speaking: Han learning clung to ritual and law; Jin learning lost itself in emptiness; by the Six Dynasties, people leaned further toward karma and retribution; in the Tang, though some wished to join Buddhist insight with the Way, within the school of nature and principle only Han Yu (Changli) stood out, and he still met slander from time to time—his effort was arduous. After the Song, Neo-Confucian learning flourished, Zhu Xi and the two Chengs rose in succession, and sage learning prospered—yet each founded a gate and became a specialist in his own right. Su Shi (Su Yuju), though he did not style himself a master of nature and principle, often drew blame through his rhapsodies and prose—his effort was equally arduous.

After the Song dynasty, Neo-Confucianism (lixue) flourished greatly. Zhu Xi followed Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, and Confucian sage learning prospered—yet scholars again each raised their own gates and became specialists in their own schools. Su Shi (known as Su Yuju because he once served as superintendent of the Yuju Guan) did not present himself as a practitioner of the learning of nature and principle (xingli), yet he often let that spirit show in his prose and poetry. He said: water flows on, yet in truth it has never truly gone; the moon waxes and wanes, yet in the end it has never truly grown or shrunk. Is this not in wonderful accord with “no going, no coming, thusness (ruru—the unchanging suchness of reality)”? He also said: when I write, it is like ten thousand piculs of spring water—where it must flow, it cannot but flow; where it must stop, it cannot but stop. Again he said: a true inkstone is never ruined, a true hand ever remains. Here not only is the huohou (the measured advance and retreat of cultivation and refinement) already clear, but true qingjing (purity and stillness) is also attained; is not the master within the heart precisely here?

Again, Huang Gongwang (style name Zijiu) painted all day long and suddenly on Tiger Running Rock attained the Way and became a xianzhen (immortal perfected one). He had never belonged to a lineage; that he could reach such a state without a gate was because his daily effort lay entirely in what is neither biased nor leaning, constant and unchanging. Hence “the noble person applies himself to the utmost in everything”—this principle is vast. The Four Books (Sishu) simply unfold this doctrine of applying oneself to the utmost; beyond that they intend nothing else. Confucius said: Give me a few more years; when I am fifty and study the Yi, I can be free of great fault. What is “great fault”? What is “fifty”? When learning had reached Confucius, why did he still wish to borrow years of study to avoid great fault? Was it not because beyond fully realizing one’s nature and fulfilling one’s mandate (jinxing mingming), there is something still more essential? In the end it comes to this: use xing (nature) to nourish ming (life-mandate), use ming to preserve this life, use life to complete one’s natural span.

Nowadays, as soon as people speak of Neo-Confucianism, they first erect barriers and divide into schools to repel heterodoxy; those who exhaustively investigate the subtlety of the Dao often look down on Neo-Confucianism as chasing minor branches. Both sides are wrong and do not repent until death. This Questions and Answers was compiled in compassion for that situation, to open the crucial passages for the time being. If realization can fulfill the great path of the Golden Elixir (jindan dadao—the fundamental way of Neidan, internal alchemy), when applied to human affairs, how could one not cultivate the person, regulate the family, govern the state, and bring peace to all under heaven? The hinge within is truly the most subtle and the most essential.

Since the body can be cultivated to completion, what could the Golden Elixir Way—the fundamental method of internal alchemy for refining essence, qi, and spirit and completing one’s original nature together with body and mind—not achieve in self-cultivation, ordering the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world? The crux is at once most subtle and most vital; it may be read alongside the two scrolls of the Huangting Jing (a Daoist scripture on the inner landscape of practice) and the five thousand words of the Daode Jing. These questions I respectfully submit to my teacher, and I earnestly hope for instruction. Your disciple at sea, Xie Laiyi, bows one hundred times and respectfully writes this postscript.

Elucidating the Subtle Meaning of the Huanyuan Pian

Preface to the Immortal Lineage Study of the Huanyuan Pian

Can immortals be investigated? They cannot—not in the sense of fixing ranks on emptiness, for an immortal’s traces are like clouds gathering and scattering. Yet clouds have no mind, while immortals leave writings; writing is trace, so how can we say they are beyond study? The Wood Lord and the Metal Mother (Dongwanggong and Xiwangmu, exalted deities said to precede Heaven and Earth) lie far before Heaven and Earth, and their deeds are already remote. The lineage of the Dao and De split into southern and northern schools; only the Southern School passed down through writing to later ages. Patriarch Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) first composed the Wu Zhen Pian; by the time of Master Qiongguan, literary grace grew even richer. In my usual wide reading and deep reflection, I feel that among those who grasp Qiongguan’s intent and trace back to Ziyang’s Way, none surpasses Zhu Yuanyang’s single volume Wuzhen Chanyou. Master Min received the mind-seal of Master Taixu and annotated the second patriarch of Xinglin’s (Shi Tai of the Southern School’s second generation, styled Xinglin) Huanyuan Pian, clarifying every fine point—beauty and goodness both fulfilled. Only I, Ni, failed to enter the chamber and receive face-to-face teaching, and could not grasp that untransmitted meaning within words and beyond speech; my teacher has already retired to the Dao mountain (passed away)—the greatest regret of my life. The art of the Golden Elixir: speaking its essentials, one thread runs through all—one extra word is too many; speaking its details, even three thousand three hundred items would still feel sparse. Layer upon layer, turn upon turn—it cannot be handled by guesswork like examination “tiekuo” essays. Recalling my teacher’s final demonstration before transformation, a spirit announced: take clarity, stillness, and naturalness as your application. These seven characters were originally Qiongguan’s teaching and are precisely the theme of the Chanyou. My teacher’s compassionate warning was truly kind. From then on, holding this golden needle that points to the vital aperture, I may roughly avoid great error. This book took my teacher three winters and summers: selecting the abstruse, lifting the essentials, with clear punctuation. I could not bear to lock it in a chest, so I publish it for all. May people of discerning mind throughout the world and for ten thousand generations receive one petal of Xinglin’s teaching in the Great Void—not seeking by outer form and trace. That is my teacher’s wish. I also heard that the original compilation by Taixu contains Xinglin’s biography and eulogy; I specially rubbed the stone image to supply it. Thus from the Jingai Xindeng I excerpt the biography, then add the eulogy to the image of Taixu that my teacher venerated; I also venture to include the biography of our teacher written by Master Tang, followed by portrait and praise, gathered as the Xiankao (Immortal Lineage Study). The main text Chanywei entirely follows my teacher’s imitation of Zhu Yuanyang’s Chanyou in form—I dare not alter it slightly; I only add these pages beforehand so readers may first meet the person and comfort the world’s mountain-high reverence for the Dao model. This is not merely dreaming to Heaven while bent on books and antiquity—it is also to continue the lamp that Jinfeng passed at midnight. On the upper si day of the third month, eighteenth year of the Daoguang reign, attendant of Jingai, Caiyang Ni, washes hands, burns incense, and respectfully composes.

The Biography of the True Person of Apricot Grove

The true person’s surname was Shi, given name Tai, style name Dezhi. He was a Daoist of Xinglin Post in Fufeng County, Fengxiang Prefecture. During the Xining era of the Song, the true person Zhang Pingshu (Zhang Boduan) met an extraordinary man at Tianhui Temple in Chengdu and received the secret formulas for Neidan (internal alchemy) medicinals and huohou (timing of firing in the cauldron)—the essentials of drugs and timing in alchemical practice—and was told: if someone later frees you from the hardship of bonds and shackles, pass this method on to him. Later Pingshu was punished for transmitting it rashly; the prefect of Fengzhou was angered, investigated the matter, and sentenced him to mian (facial tattooing) and exile. When they passed the border of Binzhou, heavy snow fell; he and the escort drank in a village tavern. The true person passed by, saw the company merry while Pingshu had not yet been served, and invited him to the same table. When the wine had warmed them, he asked the reason and thought: the prefect of Binzhou was an old acquaintance, fond of doing good and not clinging to rank. Pingshu said: if you would condescend to go there, this yinyuan (karmic tie) might spare the journey. He begged the escort to agree, and they went together to Binzhou; the true person had already pleaded on his behalf, and Pingshu was pardoned. Pingshu felt gratitude and said: not to repay such kindness would be unworthy of a human being—and besides, he had long received that charge. He therefore transmitted to him the concise, practicable danfa (elixir method). The true person cultivated by it, verified the Dao, and wrote the Huanyuan Pian (Return to the Source) for the world; people call him the second patriarch of the Nanzong (Southern School of internal alchemy). Shen Yibing, a later student of Longmen (Longmen lineage of Quanzhen), compiled this with reverence.

The Biography of the Master of Great Emptiness

The biography of the Master of Great Emptiness.

Master Shen, given name Yibing, courtesy name Zhenyang, also styled Guyin, with the sobriquet Qingyunzi (Master of Light Clouds). After his ascension he was known as the Master of the Great Void (Taixu Zhuren). At birth, the lines on his palm formed the four characters "Ruling the Great Void." He lost his father in childhood and the family was poor; he herded sheep while studying. A gentleman took pity on him and came in person to teach. When they reached the Analects passage on "wearing a worn-out cotton robe without shame," he said with delight: "A person of resolve should be just like this." When they came to Yan Yuan's question about benevolence, he said: "I too must keep to the 'Four Don'ts' (do not look, listen, speak, or act contrary to ritual) if I am to become a true gentleman."

At sixteen, at the foot of Mount Jingai, he met the ancient immortal Li Niyan. They sat on the ground and talked until dawn, after which he retired to Jingu Cave in Wulin (present-day Hangzhou) and studied under Patriarch Gao Dongli, who bestowed upon him the name he bore thereafter. Daoist Master Dai Tingyun, who was Gao Dongli's fellow disciple, also transmitted to him the Three Major Precepts (the Chuzhen, Zhongji, and Tianxian ordination platforms of the Longmen lineage). He traveled to Gaochi and Mount Hua to seek the Dao, and the perfected one Bei Changji also passed on to him the essentials of cultivation.

The Master's aspirations differed from those of ordinary people, and even his fellow disciples could not fathom his depth. He sat with the solemnity of one at a sacrifice and stood with the stillness of one in fasting. Seen from afar he was majestic; up close he was gentle. Whether with elders or juniors, he treated all as honored guests, and for decades he never slackened. The saying that one should be reverent yet at ease could truly be seen in him. He once went to Qufu and obtained a piece of the scholar tree planted by Confucius's own hand, which he cut and fashioned into a cap ornament he wore. This was indeed the proper path of the Longmen lineage (a branch of Quanzhen), where Confucian learning and immortality cultivation are one.

In Gucheng (the ancient name for Huzhou) he prayed for rain; in the government offices he prayed for clear skies; in Qiantang he brought snow; in Qingpu he captured a fox; on Mount Zhongnan he subdued a tiger; on Mount Taibai he tamed a wolf. All of these he did only when there was no alternative, and they are not to be taken as displays of supernatural wonder.

His mother, Lady Qian, had prayed for a son at Kaihua Temple in Gui'an, and so in his later years he restored that temple and made it his residence. At the moment of his passing, celestial music was soft and gentle, and the neighbors all heard it. He lived to seventy-nine and was buried at Jinzuping on Mount Dadi.

I, Min Yide, was fortunate to share his county and lineage, and later took him as my master. Regrettably, in midlife I held office far from home and could not receive his instruction face to face or glimpse his subtle teachings. Yet in daily life I think of him as though he were present, and in dreams it seems he comes to instruct me. The Master's realm cannot be measured! Throughout his life he was plain and unadorned, pure and without admixture, never self-satisfied or pretentious, until the moment he let go and departed. This is why he was able to attain spiritual verification of the Great Void.

The Master wrote no books. When asked why, he said: "I fear being laughed at by a craftsman who truly knows how to carve wheels." (Meaning that books cannot transmit real skill, and to write them would only invite ridicule from those who truly understand.) His handwritten annotations to various texts have all been lost. Only one poem survives, prefixed to the Huanyuan Pian (Return to the Source): "Ten thousand volumes of alchemical scripture — in the end they all come down to one thing: the root of Xingming (nature and life). When heart and Shen (spirit) are calm and clear, that is the fundamental work. Guard the alchemical furnace carefully; do not let the fire burn too fiercely. If the adding and withdrawing of the firing process is done with deliberate effort, it will lack the fullness of unobstructed flow."

Written with reverence by Min Yide, a fellow disciple and later student, in the latter part of the tenth month of the Bingwu year of the Qianlong reign (1786).

The appended note states that in Neidan (internal alchemy), there is no doctrine that men and women follow different paths. Once the furnace is complete and the elixir has matured—that is, when the body has served as the cauldron and the inner elixir is fully formed—the Governor and Conception vessels connect, and a thread of light will naturally appear at the brow as confirmation. In the dark, with eyes closed and the lids slightly lowered, this light can be as clear and bright as the moon.

The Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) says: If you wish the valley spirit (Gu Shen, the subtle original spirit) to endure without perishing, you must establish your foundation in the mysterious female (Xuanpin, the source from which yin and yang arise). When true gold returns to the golden chamber (essence and elixir revert to the Dantian), that single spark of spirit-light will never depart. It also says: Lead the White Tiger (an inner-alchemy image) back home to nourish it, and you can produce a pearl as round and bright as the full moon. Whether man or woman, this kind of vision may occur.

Biography of the Jingai Mountain Hermit is the life story of the Jingai Mountain Hermit (Min Yide, a Qing-dynasty Daoist master).

At the foot of Jingai Mountain in western Zhejiang (a famous Daoist peak near Huzhou), there lived a recluse. He spoke slowly and with care, conducted himself with propriety, and others could not fathom how deep his cultivation ran.

I heard from Cai Sheng that the recluse came from an old family in Wuxing (the Huzhou region of Zhejiang today). As a child his legs were weak; after treatment under Master Gao Dongli of Tongbai Mountain he recovered, and in the Longmen branch of Quanzhen Daoism he received the Daoist name Yide (“Single Gain”). Returning home, he studied on Jingai Mountain. An ancestral hall for eminent recluses still stood there; he restored it and made it his home. The place was secluded and quiet, with bamboo shadows and spring sounds especially fine, so in the “three spare moments” (winter, night, and rainy days) he could devote himself to learning and his spirit flourished.

At that time there was an extraordinary man named Shen Taixu, also a disciple of the same lineage, whose cultivation was especially profound. He came visiting in slippers; the recluse received his transmission and wished to wander with him, but his parents were still alive, so he did not go.

The recluse excelled at writing and was skilled in divination and numerology. He traveled briefly in southern Yunnan; as soon as word came that a parent had died, he returned to observe mourning. After that he devoted himself to the study of human nature and the Way of Heaven (xingtian zhi xue), and for forty years did not leave the mountain.

The luster of pearls and jade, the breath of a fine sword—such presence is naturally unlike ordinary people. In every age among the multitude there have always been outstanding figures. Longmen Daoists such as Jin Huaihuai, Bai Ma Li, Li Toutou, Wang Xiuhu, and Jizu Sou all exchanged friendship and gathered for long talks. The circle at Jinfeng could also be called flourishing.

The recluse once said to Cai Sheng: Such men were already what the world looked up to and could hardly reach. Yet when one spoke with them of Taixu, Taixu too was someone the world looked up to and could not attain—why? Because Taixu was endowed with the clear qi of Heaven; one could not seek him as if diving into the Red River to fetch the mysterious pearl (as in the Zhuangzi). It was a pity his full transmission was not preserved. The recluse therefore taught Cai Sheng with the principle that “a long journey begins with a short step”—words plain, yet with lingering flavor.

I have often sighed: the recluse had a lineage in learning and measure in conduct; his future seemed wide open, yet he died suddenly. Was he weary of the dusty world and used death to show that all things are illusion—or did he have some other purpose?

The recluse wrote extensively. Cai Sheng treasured his final commentary on Huanyuan (Return to the Source); the autograph still survives. He wished to add a biography before the book and make it public. Weeping, he begged: My talent is dull; I was taught on Jingai; now Jingai has declined and no one in the world knows Jingai anymore. All his life on Jingai he had many companions among mist and clouds (fellow recluses of like mind). Please, teacher, write an essay so that my master may not perish.

I smiled and said: I too am the recluse. For a recluse to write of a recluse should not make the green hills laugh. Though the man is hidden, the writing need not stop. I have followed your request and briefly recorded his life.

The recluse’s surname was Min, given name Shanfu, style name Buzhi, sobriquet Xiaogen; he was a man of Wuxing, lived eighty-nine years, and was buried on Jingai Mountain, where disciples offer sacrifice. On the fifteenth day of the second month of the eighteenth year of the Daoguang reign, Tang Zhisu, Daoist of Xishan, respectfully composed this.

Preface to the Huanyuan Pian (Return to the Source Chapter)

I, Shi Taide, have long revered the authentic transmission of the Dao, traveled to renowned places, sought out and received the orthodox teaching, and set my heart on benefiting the world. I devoted myself to guarding the One and nurturing the Three Treasures—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—with special regard for nurturing life. The ancients said: the clouds of delusion veil the moon of wisdom, and the winds of karmic habit stir the sea of meditative stillness. That is to say, learning the way of immortality is not inherently difficult; the difficulty lies in one’s unwillingness to let go. Leaving the dust of the world is not inherently hard; the difficulty lies in failing to act—how lamentable. In those days I met my late master, the Purple Yang True Person Zhang Zhenren (Zhang Boduan), at a post station. With less than half a terse sentence he awakened me, and the proof appeared in an instant. Then I knew the immortal path could be learned, and joy rose in my heart. When the golden fluid had joined and the sacred embryo was fully formed, I composed the Huanyuan Pian in eighty-one sections, each section in four lines of five characters, to pass it on to later students. I hoped they would awaken early to the true meaning and not wait until old age, when lead is empty and mercury is scarce—when innate essence and Qi are exhausted. They must rouse themselves suddenly: seek a teacher, ask about the Way, refine the Golden Elixir, and together attest the immortal ranks, transform and ascend—that is my wish. Shi Taide of Xinglin wrote this preface after receiving the transmission.

Main Text

Lead and mercury join into the real foundation; yin and yang meet and fuse into the primordial Taiyuan (the original beginning before form). Once you understand how to practice according to the “twenty-eight” balance—lead and mercury each in equal measure, yin and yang evenly poised—you can refine the Golden Elixir. Mercury is the marrow of the Green Dragon; lead is the fat of the White Tiger. Gather them into the cauldron—the place within the body where refinement is carried out—but in gathering you must know the right season.

The Maiden (Chà nǚ, the image of yin essence) rides the lead tiger; the Golden Elder (Jīn Wēng, the image of yang breath) mounts the mercury dragon. When the hours of Jiǎ and Gēng are clearly aligned, the furnace is refined until one blaze glows red throughout. The snake’s soul draws in the dragon’s marrow; the turtle’s soul restrains the tiger’s essence. In the divine water of the Flower Pool, a jade-like cream is born.

White snow flies toward the jade garden; yellow sprouts issue from the jade orchard—both are images of the elixir. If you can apply it with the restraint of the waning moon, why seek elsewhere to refine cinnabar lead? When the medicinal ingredients first open, primordial chaos unfolds; when firing and timing are applied, Hongmeng (undifferentiated origin) is awakened by a touch. Like ten months of gestation, the embryonic immortal takes form—then you know the merit of the nine revolutions.

Just when the dragon hides its pearl and the cock broods the egg, who would know that lead and mercury have joined—and that it is precisely then one may swallow the knife-grain of elixir (the tiniest measure of the perfected medicine)? Bathing relies on the nourishing Kun water; blowing and warming rely on the Xun wind. The infant (the sacred embryo thus formed) is free of all attachment and dwells alone in the Palace of the Great Subtlety.

Go to the Purple Mansion (the clear void at the crown, the upper dantian) to seek the Li Maiden (heart-fire, true mercury) and match her with the Kan Male (kidney water, true lead) in the Crimson Hall (the southern fire domain). Where the Yellow Old Woman (the true intention that mediates in the center) brings them together, mercury and lead have united and you may take the knife-and-grain dose (a trace of the inner elixir sprout—the refined essence within the body, not mercury taken from outside). “Bathing” (a phase when the fire neither advances nor retreats, but warms and nurtures) relies on Kun water; gentle blowing relies on Xun wind (soft, even breathing). The infant (the formed elixir embryo) has nothing to do and rests alone in the Taiwei Palace.

Again go to the Purple Mansion to seek the Li Maiden and pair her with the Kan Male of the Crimson Hall. Where the Yellow Old Woman joins them, Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) of itself holds all three. The Qian horse drives through the metal gate (the gate of lung metal); the Kun ox enters the wood palace (the palace of liver wood). Who is it that marries the Radiant Maiden (mercury, likened to a young woman) to the Old Man of Gold (lead, likened to an old man)?

The Radiant Maiden is in her prime at “two-eight,” the Old Man of Gold at “nine-three.” From the bridal chamber rises auspicious qi; in their union is born the first boy. Last night on the bank of the western river, toad-light (moonlight, standing for yin essence) shone on jade-green waves. Gather it and send it into the jade chamber; day after day it is refined in the cauldron (this body as furnace and vessel).

Li and Kan are not ordinary worldly coupling; Qian and Kun by nature generate and transform on their own. Whoever understands this principle finds a single seed of truth dropping into the Yellow Court (the middle dantian). The elixir valley produces spirit-water; within the Yellow Court is the Great Storehouse (the stomach). When hunger and thirst no longer arise, one goes straight toward the land of immortals.

The mind-horse returns to the spirit chamber; the heart-ape guards the bridal chamber. Spirit, soul, ethereal soul, corporeal soul, and intent—the five—turn into purple-golden frost. One aperture opens through the three passes; the three passes stand at the gate of the vital path. In a moment, with a light turn, spirit-water circulates by itself; without hunger or thirst, one walks on into the land of immortals.

Subduing the corporeal soul is not done by the heart forcing it down; holding the ethereal soul is not done by intent grabbing it. Keep only spirit and qi, and in an instant the mysterious pearl forms. The oral instructions are not many; refining the elixir is all in this moment. The fire is kept warm and steady; in ten months the infant is born (as when a full term of gestation brings the elixir to maturity).

Husband and wife at first unite in joy; as days pass their bond grows deeper. From the bridal chamber rises auspicious qi; not a day passes without a spring breeze. Like a sudden rain beating paper butterflies, a jade peony opens in the golden furnace. At the third watch crimson light blazes; in the sixth month it is cold as white frost has fallen.

From the seabed golden fire flies up; on the mountaintop the earth spring turns. In a brief moment union is complete; blue smoke rises from the jade cauldron. Bore open the aperture of profound origin; burst through the pass of chaos. Once you know how to cook and refine water and fire, let the dragon and tiger coil as they will.

At Suo Jie—the legendary place where fire hides in water—there is fire in water, yet waves surge on Kunlun Mountain, the sacred peak of Daoism. Who can grasp how this is to be applied? The crux lies in Huang Po, the mediating intent that harmonizes lead and mercury. The medicine must be taken from innate Qi, pre-heaven vital energy; the fire must seek the essence of Taiyi. Once you know how to take the medicine and how to tend the fire, in deep stillness you will see the elixir complete.

How is primordial Qi to be taken in? True essence need never be shifted about. True essence and primordial Qi are the root of the great elixir. Confucian teaching clarifies nature and principle; Buddhist practice goes no further than stubborn emptiness, a barren void—and neither understands the immortal’s art. The work of the Golden Elixir is accomplished in a single instant.

In the Slanting Moon Furnace—the cinnabar vessel shaped like a crescent moon, often the lower Dantian—mercury is refined; in the cinnabar tripod, lead is refined. That strand of true Qi born when tortoise and serpent unite arises from the pre-heaven realm. Seek your timing at new moon, full moon, the quarters, and the dark of the month; adding and subtracting medicine and fire follows the moon’s waxing and waning. Without knowing true creation and transformation, you cannot recognize true lead.

Qi is the life of the bodily form; mind is the spirit within original nature. To know the openings where spirit and Qi dwell is to be one who has attained the Way. Cook the golden tripod with wood marrow and let spring water fill the jade furnace. Who will spend three hundred days and slowly build the work?

The jade tripod cooks the lead fluid; the golden furnace nurtures the mercury essence. “Nine returns” means nine revolutions; gentle nurturing is like the stars completing their round. Jade liquid moistens the spirit chamber; the golden embryo forms at the hub of Qi. Seek the medicine only within your own body—there is no need to leaf through alchemy books.

Fire dates have no pits by nature; how could the crossed pear—immortal fruit paired with them, symbolizing pure essence—leave any dregs? All day one works by the fire phases, irrigating the golden flower with divine water. Those who only refine Qi toil in vain; those who only preserve spirit also exert themselves for nothing. Where would one learn the wonder of the elixir secret? It is to savor empty stillness throughout the day.

To refine pre-heaven Qi, you must first still the living quicksilver—the restless, scattering mind-spirit. When the sacred embryo is fully formed, thunder sounds as the crown gate opens. The arising of Qi does not depend on the kidneys; the abode of spirit is not the heart. Spirit and Qi are elusive, yet what is transformed is a mass of gold.

There is one opening called the Mysterious Female, the gate through which spirit and Qi pass; within it are stored Qi and spirit.

There is an aperture called the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin)—the gate of life—within which Qi and Shen are concealed. Who can recognize this aperture? All the more reason not to seek the true outside yourself. The spleen and stomach are not the chamber of spirit; the bladder is merely an appendage of the kidney. I urge you not to cling rigidly to such mistaken views—they are not the ladder to the elixir (dantī, the path to forming the pill).

The inner landscape holds a thousand poems; the Central Yellow Court (Zhonghuang) holds a cup of wine. Free and unburdened by things, beyond the body lies its own Heaven and Earth. The crow and rabbit (sun and moon) stew each other; the turtle and snake (water and fire) coil of themselves, condensing into a single pill, gently nurtured into an embryo immortal (taixian, the immortal fetus).

All things that live must die; the primordial spirit (Yuanshen, innate original spirit) dies and is reborn. When spirit returns to the qi cavity (where qi gathers), the way of the elixir completes itself. When spirit and qi return to the root and body and mind recover life at the source, such a genuine aperture is one that few can know.

Within the body is the Mysterious Female of its own; in the heart there is no defiling dust. Who knows how to recognize it? Within a single aperture truth is contained. Li and Kan (fire and water) are the true dragon and tiger; Qian and Kun are the proper horse and ox (Qian as horse, Kun as ox). Everyone is fully endowed with this from the start—why not know how to cultivate?

Hun and Po (soul and corporeal soul) govern the heart; essence and spirit are embraced by intention. Steadily, like suchness, apply the firing process (huohou, the rhythm of inner alchemy); silently turn the first line (chuyao, the starting yao). Below the heart and above the kidneys, liver to the west and lungs to the left—right at the center; neither intestine nor stomach—one breath circulates on its own.

Subtle function has nothing to do with deliberate intent; the true mechanism does not depend on clock hours. Whoever knows this aperture should not indulge in empty non-action (wuwei). There is something, yet it is not mere nothing; non-action aligns with purposeful action (youwei). Transformation does not occur in the stomach and bowels—one breath circulates by itself; the power to transform returns to your own hands, and crow and rabbit congeal into golden essence (the condensed body of the elixir).

The tiger roars on the western mountain; the dragon sings east of the northern sea. Once captured, they must pass through field combat (the struggle of dragon and tiger); they are lodged in the palaces of Gen and Kun (the trigram positions). The hexagrams Fu and Gou govern dark and light; Dun and Meng face dawn and dusk. In the elixir furnace snow-white essence forms, and the monkey heart (the restless mind) has nowhere to hide.

Black mercury yields yellow leaves; red lead opens purple flowers (mercury and lead are the medicines of water and fire). You must still apply the firing process; in the cauldron cinnabar sand forms. Wood-fluid must guard against the rabbit (mao hour); metal essence all the more shuns the rooster (you hour). Adding and subtracting belong in the bathing stage (muyu, gentle warming without firing)—precisely when the moon is full.

Ten thousand sounds—as wind first rises; a thousand peaks—the moon just round. Urgently issue the true command, and you may circulate the full orbit (zhoutian, the cycle of qi). Medicinal ingredients differ in age and tenderness; the firing uses addition and subtraction. One pill’s light flares; the cold toad (the moon) shoots its beam onto the jade eaves.

The pearl in the clam’s belly appears only when the shell is opened; eggs in the hen’s nest are easier to find. The true medicine lies in your own body—there is no need to seek it outside. In “nothingness,” quickly practice the correct method, and you can turn the microcosmic orbit (qi cycling along the Ren and Du channels). The ingredients must be distinguished as mature or tender; the firing must be mastered through withdrawal and addition (advancing, retreating, adding, and reducing). When a single grain of cinnabar light rises, the cold toad (the moon) sends its rays to the jade eaves.

It is still the image of opening the clam for the pearl and searching the nest for the egg: from nothing, one thing is produced; spirit and qi unite on their own. Spirit and qi are not mother and child; body and mind are not an ordinary husband and wife. Only when you align with the heavenly mechanism do you know where the elixir forms.

When the elixir’s first node has formed and the medicinals have congealed, the dragon and tiger (figures for original spirit and original essence) contend with each other, while the Lord of the East (the sun deity and spring deity—a figure for the ruling mind) remains wholly unaware. Side paths, petty methods, and talk of strange arts are not the true way. Golden fluid returning to elixir has only this one gate; there is no second road.

Whether high or low in rank, husband and wife or brothers—whoever has the affinity to cultivate immortality may read the elixir scriptures. A broken house is easy to repair; withered medicine is not hard to revive. Once you understand the method of return and restoration, gold and treasure can pile up like mountains. Hun and po merge into the three natures; spirit and essence unite the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). From this arise the Four Images (Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, Black Tortoise), gathered and knit into embryonic essence. Those with affinity may still read the elixir scriptures: the house is easy to repair, the medicine easy to regenerate—with one flash of clarity in return and restoration, gold and treasure stand like mountains.

Set your will to seek lead and mercury (figures for true yin and true yang—not the metals of external alchemy). With the heart like dead ashes, go seeking earth and gold, and you will know the one true aperture. This principle is deep and subtle; few recognize it.

Creation has nothing you can seize as a fixed root; yin and yang each have their own source. In this genuine wonder, even father and son cannot pass it on by word alone. Keep mercury in the golden cauldron; send lead into the jade pool (both are figures for the inner vessels of Neidan (internal alchemy)). Do not fix host and guest to left or right—simply learn to recognize the infant (the newly formed elixir embryo).

The Yellow Granny (Spleen intention, who brokers yin and yang) is full-breasted on both sides; Old Ding (the one who warms and guards) is wholly kind-hearted. There is no other art to nourishing by warmth: only in nothingness is this “child” raised. The azure phoenix flies at the crimson threshold (a figure for the palaces of the body); the jade toad is nourished in the Dantian (energy center). Inside the pot there is no night; fine white snow drifts down.

The zither and lute are already in harmony; the succession (achievement, like a son inheriting the family craft) is sealed at that very moment. There is no need to apply firing further—only take care not to harm the infant. The eldest son (Zhen) has just entered Dui; the maiden then returns to Qian. The palace of Xun and the position of Earth lock themselves of their own accord, and the white snow still falls, fine and light.

Those who cultivate the Golden Elixir must understand: what is called “Winter Solstice” does not fall in the Zi hour (eleven at night to one in the morning); what is called “Bathing” is not the Mao and You hours (roughly dawn and dusk). Mercury and lead—the two “medicines” of Neidan (internal alchemy), not common metals—are not nasal discharge, saliva, essence, fluids, qi, blood, or other bodily liquids. “Seven returns” means returning to the root; “nine reversions” means turning back to the source. Gold essence and wood fluid unite when they meet earth; dragon, tiger, horse, and ox have no fixed physical form. As the master Zhang Boduan’s Wuzhen pian (Classic on Awakening to Reality) says, “The key to the Golden Elixir lies in the divine water and flower pool (shenshui huachi)”—that pool is precisely where lead and mercury meet. Once you know where lead arises, you know where mercury is produced; knowing lead and mercury, you know the divine water and flower pool; knowing that pool, you can refine the Golden Elixir. The achievement of the Golden Elixir can be completed in an instant; one must not rigidly cling to a nine-year or three-year schedule, nor bind the practice to fixed years, months, days, and hours. Zhongli Quan said that the four greats (earth, water, fire, wind) and the entire body all belong to yin—therefore one cannot seek it in the physical body alone, but must look for that single point of yang essence within. That yang essence is hidden in one aperture, which ordinary people cannot fathom. That aperture is the Mysterious Female Gate (xuanpin zhi men) of Laozi—the divine water and flower pool. Knowing this, one can gather, unite, refine, bathe, separate the embryo, and still must nurture with warmth; these are the stages of Neidan cultivation. When the elixir is complete, how could someone who cannot tell rivers from their sources, who does not know weights and measures, or who fails to recognize the proper times achieve it! Since receiving transmission from his master, Shi Tai has known that this body can avoid death and that this elixir can surely be refined; now that the great work is in hand, he speaks thus to those who will seek immortality in the future. Shi Tai of Xinglin, after receiving the transmission, also wrote this preface—the Preface to Elucidating the Subtle Meanings of the “Return to Source” Chapter.

I have been back in the mountains for more than forty years. For the first twenty I devoted myself wholeheartedly to inner contemplation alone. I did not dare put the great Dao my late master had transmitted into writing, for fear of betraying its true intent. In the wuwu year of the Jiaqing reign I entered biguan—closed retreat, cultivating solely in a quiet chamber—for three years. My study and practice grew somewhat pure, and I gradually grasped the subtle meaning of scriptures and ritual formulas. Later I went to the river region; questions and answers and casual talks with fellow practitioners were collected in one volume. After that, seekers of the Dao from near and far came to see me—some with their teachers’ explanations, some with the texts they had been studying. In my spare time I often corrected mistakes on the spot. Disciples later printed these materials one after another, mostly adapting to the person and the place, only to clarify their understanding and clear away absurd misconceptions.

Only the lineage of the “Heart Transmission of the Celestial Immortal” helped me break free of the old routines of the Neidan (internal alchemy) schools. I compiled into one book the practice formulas I had personally verified, hoping to guide students. Alas, few grounded themselves in what is real, or nurtured spirit and mind in what is subtle and hidden. Some merely sighed at the vastness before them; some took empty talk for real cultivation, like drawing a cake to still hunger. Even when something they learned looked similar, they still missed the true meaning—deeply regrettable.

The year before last I carefully revised the alchemical book by Mr. Li of Hengyang, ordering the stages of Neidan practice so that one could advance step by step from youwei (deliberate, intentional cultivation) toward wuwei (effortless non-action). Yet I still clung to the original book’s formulations and did not set out the entry-level formulas clearly enough, and I remained unsatisfied.

This summer in the yimi year I came to Jinling (present-day Nanjing) with my grand-nephew Yang Lin and stayed in the home of Qu the Observer of Zhishan (Qu Zhishan, who held the rank of observer). Morning and evening we discussed the teachings of body, mind, nature, and life (xingming). Then, presuming on what I had heard directly from my late master over the years, I ventured to comment on Shi Zi’s Huanyuan Pian (Return to the Source, an Neidan classic by Shi Tai), explaining the origin of human life and the stepwise path of return: transforming temperament as the entry practice, and restoring life, restoring nature, and merging with the primordial origin as the ultimate Way. From the first lecture I made it clear that upright mindfulness should hold the center, and that nurturing the formless aspect should run through to the end. I tried to make each stage precise and thorough; as for Shi Zi’s concise formulas, I only added a modest clarification.

Yang Lin copied this work into a book and gave it the title Return to Source Chapter: Elucidating the Subtle, meaning to unfold teachings that are pure, still, and profoundly subtle. From it he extracted the sequence of steps and oral formulas for elixir cultivation, explaining them clearly and in fine detail; compared with Shi Zi’s simpler regimen of formulas, it adds only a little of his own commentary. Those formulas in fact reduce to four words: “pure, still, lead, and mercury.” Here lead and mercury are not the metals of external alchemy (Waidan), but the qi within the body and the jing (essence) within the heart, as described below.

Before one has attained the method, take purity and stillness as the root and the guarding of “lead and mercury” as the practice. When first applying the method, gather lead and mercury as the medicinal ingredients and use purity and stillness to govern the “fire phases”—the rhythm and measure of refinement. After attainment, stillness and purity remain primary while one holds fast; lead and mercury are placed in the guest position and quietly nourished. When the work is fully complete, the pure and still mind gives rise to a vast vow; the qi of lead and mercury ceases, and one ascends into the broad, even transforming realm of Hongjun (the cosmic furnace). Nothing more than this.

What Daoists call purity, stillness, lead, and mercury is what Confucius called “purifying stillness and subtle refinement.” On this basis the book further explains: gathering the seven apertures into one is called “pure”; the seven apertures returning to one is called “still.” Qi generated in the body is called “lead”; jing that arrives in the heart is called “mercury.” Without selfishness and without contrivance is the “body” (ti); knowing what is to come and holding what has passed is the “function” (yong). Seeing the moment and gathering in union is the “medicinal material”; withdrawing to refine is the “fire phase.” Making manifest the rightful master is the “host”; storing and nurturing what has no form is the “guest.” The radiance of original nature settled in peace is the “heart”; emptiness in the void without obstruction is the “qi.”

This is the utmost skill of learning the Way, and what the former masters could accomplish—nothing beyond fulfilling one’s own portion. From start to finish there is no other clever method; whether one grasps it in the heart depends entirely on the practitioner. Therefore this text is placed at the head of the volume with annotations added, for mutual verification among fellow practitioners. On the Dragon Boat Festival of the yimi year of the Daoguang reign (1845), Min Yide (style name Xiaogen), legitimate eleventh generation of the Longmen lineage, respectfully inscribed this at Hanxu Studio in Jinling (Nanjing).

This is an explanatory text orally transmitted by Min Yide, eleventh-generation master of the Longmen (Dragon Gate) lineage of the Northern school (the northern branch of Quanzhen Dao), recorded by his disciple Min Yanglin and collated by Cai Yangni.

Returning to the Source (Huanyuan Pian) comprises eighty-one chapters and was written by the Stone Real Person of Xinglin, Shi Tai, in the Song dynasty. Xinglin was a disciple of the Zhang Real Person of Ziyang, Zhang Boduan, and is regarded as the second patriarch of the Southern school (the internal alchemy Southern lineage). He lamented that people sought the Way only through reading and could not realize it from their own bodies, so he composed this work to state again and again the teaching of returning to the root and restoring the source.

To return to the source, one must first hold fast to right mindfulness: in daily conduct, restrain anger and still desire at every turn, be sincere and not deceitful, and act according to ritual propriety—this is called refining the self (lianji). Then, in secret, one works to clarify thought and forget emotional entanglements, so as to open the Governing and Conception vessels and the three passes (the main channels and three barrier points in the inner alchemical body map), and from solitary caution move further toward inward gathering and deep concealment—this is called laying the foundation (zhuji).

Then a point of true yang vital force naturally arises in the body, and a point of true yin utmost essence naturally flows from the heart; the two mingle and congeal into the elixir—this is the seed of the elixir (dantou). From then on the heart can keep sincerity of its own accord, and qi can circulate of its own accord. Over time, the heart is stored in the heart without showing outward, and qi is stored in qi and cannot be fathomed; in stillness one is empty and numinous, in movement upright; breath is fresh and spirit clear—this is called completion of the body (wantì).

Going further, one feels the three times—past, present, and future—open as one, all conditions purified, the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) quiet, and the heart empty and bright. If one maintains this for a full month without straying, the medicinal materials (the nourishing resources generated within practice) will also come in steady supply. Always applying them with pure stillness and naturalness, one can return to the source and restore the root, unite with the Dao—this is called Complete Perfection (Quanzhen).

The essentials of the Golden Elixir are no more than this, but one must first recognize the single aperture within the body before one can begin. That aperture is the window of spirit and the root of nature and life. Chasing branch tips scatters infusion into the seven orifices; returning to the root gathers all back into one aperture.

Only those who constantly gather the body with focused attention understand how to investigate the principles of Heaven to the full and fulfill their own nature; only those who constantly harbor the spirit within the body can fulfill their nature and thereby reach their destiny. Heart and body are what Xing and Ming (nature and life) rely upon; Xing and Ming are the root of heart and body; Jing and Qi are the functions that heart and body express; heart and body are where Shen and Qi gather and are stored. Therefore, when one uses the heart to gather Qi within the body, Shen returns to the Heavenly Valley (the mud pill at the crown, the Upper Dantian), and one can investigate principle to the full and fulfill nature; when one uses the body to contain the Shen in the heart, Qi returns to the Crimson Palace (where the heart resides, the Middle Dantian), and one can fulfill nature and thereby reach Ming (life-destiny). When principle is fully investigated, desires become pure; when nature is fulfilled, emotions are forgotten. With desires pure and emotions forgotten, the inner mind is free of disturbance, and one rests solely in “establishing life in deep stillness and secrecy” (ji ming you mi)—then one feels a single aperture suddenly open; this is called opening the pass. When one sees this place as empty yet inexhaustible, and with a single movement it ceaselessly wells forth, changing with the occasion and entirely following nature, this is what the Documents of the Kings means by “the mind of the Dao is subtle; be pure and single; sincerely hold the center”; it is also what the Classic of the Way and Virtue means by “the Valley Spirit does not die; this is called the Mysterious Feminine (Xuanpin); the gate of the Mysterious Feminine is called the root of Heaven and Earth.” Returning to this root is returning to destiny; returning to destiny is returning the elixir (huandan)—condensing and restoring what was lost of the pre-heaven. How can a person not trace from the branch back to the source and first return to the very beginning when one received breath at birth? Returning to the beginning, the Valley Spirit can be undying; being careful at the start to preserve the end, the Golden Elixir (jindan) will surely be achieved. In my foolishness I received from my late master Master Taixu the exposition of this chapter and guidance on the meaning of superior-grade lead and mercury (the pre-heaven true yin and true yang—not mineral substances of external alchemy). I reflected in silence and dared not add arbitrary interpretations; through a single phrase of the teacher’s instruction I suddenly understood completely. The method of returning to the source can be grasped from the sequence of this chapter: from gathering and taking, joining and binding, refining and cooking, bathing, to separating the embryo, nurturing with warmth, elixir completion, and liberation from the shell—every formula and oral instruction repeats the theme of returning to the root and restoring the source, from the subtle to the vast. If a person cultivates accordingly, they may enter the hall of sages and worthies and ascend the ladder of immortals and buddhas.

The karmic conditions are now ripe. In reverent compliance with my master’s instruction, I have expounded the subtle meaning of the scripture as follows, and directed my grand-nephew Yang Lin to record it.

“Lead and mercury form the true body; yin and yang unite in Great Primordial Unity.” The master said: lead refers to the body, and mercury to the mind—this is one stage on the path of cultivation. In neidan (internal alchemy), lead and mercury are metaphors for body and mind, not physical substances. When body and mind merge in harmony, the authentic embodiment is realized; when yin and yang interweave and unite, Great Primordial Unity—the root source of the Dao—is attained.

The master said: Lead refers to the body, and mercury refers to the heart. When the time is right, the two meet and return to their original root—this is the superior path of Neidan (internal alchemy).

As I understand it: Before birth, at the moment one first receives vital breath, a single aperture forms within, holding Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) blended into one. They ferment and transform there, growing day and night. When the ten months of gestation are complete and fetal Qi is full, the first cry at birth opens the original aperture at once; it connects with the seven apertures of the eyes, ears, mouth, and nose, and breathing begins.

Then the body has three valleys: the upper is the celestial valley, the mud pill (Niwan) at the crown—the upper Dantian (energy center) where Shen is stored; the middle is the responding valley, the crimson palace (Jiangong) in the chest—the middle Dantian where Qi is gathered; the lower is the empty valley, Guanyuan—the lower Dantian, which later becomes the storehouse of Jing.

At this point, original Jing has already spread through the solid parts of the body and circulates; original Qi has already collected in the middle valley, the crimson palace, as the anchor of life (ming); original Shen floats up to the upper valley, the mud pill, as the resting place of nature (xing).

Before long, original Qi stirs and generates Yang. It first flows down to the lower valley, Guanyuan, and turns into Jing—hence the lower valley is also called the sea of Qi (qihai). Yet this Jing is still original Jing; it still moves with Qi and often circulates through the body. Whenever there is deep stillness, the seven apertures close back into one aperture, and a point of true Yang Qi rises within and ascends toward original Shen. In the alchemical language of the elixir path, this is called true lead—so the master identifies the body with lead.

Original Shen generates Yin in stillness and also spreads into the middle valley, the crimson palace, turning into Qi—hence the middle valley is also called the chamber of spirit (shenshi). Yet this Qi is still original Qi; it still merges with Shen and constantly produces fluid to nourish the heart. Just as Yang Qi is about to stir and the one aperture is on the point of opening into seven, the heart first releases a trace of true Yin essence to meet the Yang Qi. In the alchemical language of the elixir path, this is called true mercury—so the master identifies the heart with mercury.

When lead-Qi receives mercury-essence, it circulates, and the physical form can fully mature—hence “lead and mercury complete the true body.” When Yin essence carries Yang Qi upward in mutual ascent, original Shen congeals and settles—hence “Yin and Yang knit the Supreme Ultimate (Taiyuan).”

What is called “lead” refers to the Qi within the body; what is called “mercury” refers to the Jing in the heart. These two are how the pre-heaven Yang Shen and Yin Jing appear in post-heaven form—like Kan and Li (Water and Fire trigrams) still concealing within them the pre-heaven Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth trigrams). Here “Yin” means that Yin Jing rises together with Yang Qi, and the primordial spirit (Yuanshen—the mind-spirit one is born with) then congeals; hence it is said that “Yin and Yang bind the Great Origin.” On another level it is also said: Yin means the Qi in the “sea” (the Qi of the Qihai), and Yang means the Shen in the “chamber” (the Shen of the spirit chamber)—this is post-heaven lead-Qi and mercury-Jing returning to the pre-heaven state, as if post-heaven Li and Kan were restored to Qian and Kun.

Once Kan and Li are thus inverted and one returns from post-heaven to pre-heaven, Shen is housed in the heart and is imaged as Qian, while Qi rests in the body and is imaged as Kun. Kun governs generation and transformation, so it is called the “body” or substance (ti); Qian governs origination and initiation, so it is called the “origin” (yuan). “True body” (zhenti) indicates that this substance has not yet leaked—that it is still the body of the true One; “Great Origin” (taiyuan) indicates that this origin has not yet been diluted—that it still partakes of the origin of the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). Both were naturally completed and naturally congealed when one received life and took form; at first they did not depend on human contrivance.

This chapter opens by stating its theme and especially points to the root source: the body formed from Jing and Qi is what the primordial Ming (life-destiny) relies upon; the heart formed from the congealing of Shen and Qi is where primordial Xing (nature) is entrusted. Once body and mind are in place, Xing and Ming are whole, Jing and Qi are daily nourished, and both the “medicine” and the “fire phases” (yaowu and huohou—the alchemical ingredients and timing) are complete—then the person need only return to the true One.

Once one knows how to carry out the “two eights” (erba—the rule of matching half a jin of lead with half a jin of mercury), one can cultivate the Golden Elixir (Jindan).

When a person possesses this body-mind and nature-life, spirit rests upon the heart and belongs to Qian (the image of innate pure yang); qi clings to the body and belongs to Kun (the image of innate pure yin). If one can constantly preserve clarity and stillness, so that the seven orifices long remain gathered into a single orifice, and spirit does not scatter through the ears, eyes, mouth, and nose, then one is still a fully formed Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); nature and life do not leak away, whole and intact like a single pellet of perfectly formed Golden Elixir. At that point one need only return to emptiness and merge with the Dao, merge with true primordial vitality—why insist on deliberate cultivation and seek the trouble of restoring nature and life?

Only after birth, when there is a body, do the seven orifices each gain their own awareness and fail to stay united in one orifice. Chaos then splits open and becomes sensation; sensation turns into consciousness—that is, the discriminating mind. From then on, when the heart is moved by outer things there is liking and disliking; when the body meets outer things there is joy and anger. The essence in the heart is enticed by external objects, no longer governed by original nature (yuanxing); it constantly chases outward and fails to nourish the heart, and original nature loses its dwelling and sinks into turbidity. The original spirit (yuanshen), which at first took its image from Qian, now grows hollow in the middle and becomes Li (the Fire trigram, with yin in the center line). The qi in the body is stirred by yin essence and no longer circulates according to original destiny (yuanming); it constantly leaks outward and cannot fill the body, and original destiny, having nothing to rely on, grows shorter day by day. The original qi (yuanqi), which at first took its image from Kun, now grows solid in the middle and becomes Kan (the Water trigram, with yang in the center line).

Original spirit was originally full, but because it constantly chases qi, it grows more hollow each day. Original qi was originally empty and subtle, but because it constantly drains away as essence (jing), the trigram image instead appears solid. In the end the hollow grows hollower and the solid loses its solidity, and the afflictions of old age, sickness, death, and suffering follow. This is not because root and source are bad in themselves, but because the root chases branch tips and the source turns into side streams. When spirit loses fullness, the heart’s image becomes Li; when qi loses empty subtlety, the body’s image becomes Kan. Thus, in the post-heaven Kan body, that bit of yang is the pre-heaven original qi; by the virtue of the trigram it is like fire hidden in water, and so it is called yang qi.

In the Later Heaven Li trigram, the single yin line is the innate primordial spirit (Shen)—the awareness you originally have. In the Later Heaven Kan trigram, the single yang line in the body is the innate primordial Qi—the life-force you originally have. As for the virtues of the trigrams: Kan images fire hidden in water, so it is called yang Qi; Li images water hidden in fire, so it is called yin essence.

“Two-eight” (erba) is spoken in terms of the images and numbers in the hexagrams. Kan water is water already formed, with an Earth number of six; the fire within that water is fire just arising, with an Earth number of two. Six and two both belong to Earth, together forming “one-eight on the ground”—that is, my innate primordial Qi arising from the body, likened to lead (qian). Li fire is fire already formed, with a Heaven number of seven; the water within that fire is water just arising, with a Heaven number of one. Seven and one both belong to Heaven, together forming “one-eight in heaven”—that is, my innate primordial spirit arising from the heart-mind, likened to mercury (gong). Therefore whenever one speaks of the medicine and the fire, one must call them “two-eight”; no other numbers will do.

Saying “practice the two-eight” is the master’s teaching of “sometimes gathering the origin (hui yuan).” In application, one takes only clarity, stillness, and naturalness as the standard. Now that you know the faults of the downstream path and wish to return to the source, if you refuse to restrain anger and block craving, you absolutely have nowhere to begin. When desire is blocked and anger is set aside, then unite these two eights in practice: spirit is the fire, Qi is the medicine. When gathering, it is called medicine—still the Later Heaven yin essence and yang Qi; when refining, it is called fire—and then it belongs to the Before Heaven: spirit is yang, Qi is again yin. Once you understand using spirit to command Qi, that is using fire to refine the medicine, and you can accomplish the Golden Elixir Great Returning Pill (the completed inner elixir). “Refining” includes guarding against danger and watching for error; in practice it is again only clarity and stillness and what is natural.

The yang qi within our body has just returned from the temporary lodging places and empty valley points where it was held; if we do not use shen (spirit) to hold it fast, we must guard against this qi drifting away and being lost. The yin essence in our heart-mind has just returned from its lodging place and the corresponding valley point; if we do not also use qi to stir and carry it, we still fear this essence sinking and vanishing. Only by constantly preserving clarity and stillness, and establishing the root of the Dao, can we obtain true lead and true mercury—the metaphors in internal alchemy for the genuine yang in the kidneys and the genuine yin in the heart, not literal metals—and employ them as the functioning of the Dao. When lead and mercury meet in the original source, they form a single right mindfulness; then they withdraw and are stored within, settling into great stillness, with no thought within thought. In an instant they can coalesce, returning to the moment when this body first received the innate primordial qi. What Confucius meant by “essence and qi become things” is surely this true body condensed from lead and mercury. What Laozi meant by “there was something undifferentiated and complete” is surely this Supreme Origin (Taiyuan) where yin and yang coalesce. What the Purple Yang Immortal Zhang Boduan meant by “grasp the foundation of Kan and Li, and the three realms return to one body”—Kan and Li standing for water and fire, heart and kidneys—is surely the crux of refining the golden elixir according to the “two-eight” proportion, with lead and mercury each half and yin and yang evenly balanced. Thus we know lead and mercury are yin and yang; when yin and yang unite as one, that is the Supreme Origin, and the Supreme Origin is the true body. The true body and the Supreme Origin are our innate source that is “one yet contains two”; when the time comes for them to meet, they become “two returning to one.” At this point one can suddenly awaken and understand.

What is recorded above is Chapter One. This chapter is the general outline of the entire work. It states that body and mind, nature and life (xing and ming), spirit and qi (shen and qi), and “medicine” and “fire” (the inner alchemical substances and timing of practice) are all complete from the very beginning of human life. For this reason the author repeats himself at length, explaining the origin of human life clearly so that students can verify it in direct experience. The remaining eighty chapters all expound on this first chapter.

The next seven chapters explain step by step the methods of gathering, union (yin-yang joining), and refining. Chapters nine through fifteen teach the essentials of how to begin practical cultivation. Chapters sixteen through twenty-four clarify the passes and openings, discuss refining in detail, bathing (midway cessation of firing, quiet nurturing), guarding against danger and anticipating peril, and the principles of separating the embryo, nurturing warmth, and forming the elixir. Chapters twenty-five through forty-eight restate the central message, unfold the genuine key points, and dispel doubts after reading. Chapters forty-nine through seventy-eight clearly instruct one to return post-heaven refined essence and qi to pre-heaven spirit and qi to form the valley spirit (the responsive spirit of empty subtlety), then refine the valley spirit into the yang spirit, refine the yang spirit back to the original spirit (yuanshen), and with the original spirit return to the truth of the limitless—becoming a true person (zhenren). This is union with the Dao in truth. The logic of the Golden Elixir is explained thoroughly here, directly revealing the aim of the ancient sages: investigating principle, fulfilling nature, and reaching life (ming). The text warns again and again with detailed steps. The final three chapters cite the heart-transmission of ancient sages as confirmation and again urge that spirit and qi, body and mind, and nature and life must all be united as one—thus summing up the whole work. If a student’s work in refining the self (first settling body and mind) is truly deep, if qi can be unified and spirit can return to oneness, if one uprightly holds the single clear thought that alone abides, then measured against this text one will naturally find the method very simple and can sit in stillness at once and enter the Dao.

Mercury is the marrow of the Green Dragon (a symbolic image in Neidan).

The yin essence in the heart originally seeps from the crevices at the root of xing (nature). It is called “Azure Dragon Marrow” (qinglong sui) because inner alchemists liken the azure dragon to the hun (ethereal soul): in the pre-heaven arrangement its place is Li in the east, so Master Zhang called it “the wood of the eastern hun.” Pre-heaven hun stays concealed in Qian and does not stir; in the post-heaven shift, Qian’s middle line empties and becomes Li. Li sits in the south and belongs to fire, so Zhang also named it “the fire of the southern shen (spirit).” Hun resides in the liver; its direction is still east, but the figure has turned to Zhen, whose nature is prone to anger. Its function depends on the heart to become shen—the heart is where spirit dwells. The yin essence that now issues from the heart was originally mercury (gong) formed from pre-heaven wood qi; the prior chapter compared it to water within fire, which is in truth the sap of wood. The name Azure Dragon Marrow means it still requires cooking (peng).

Lead corresponds to White Tiger Grease (baihu zhi).

The yang breath in the body originally rises from the life-root (mingdi), the stem of life. It is called White Tiger Grease because alchemists liken the white tiger to the po (corporeal soul): in pre-heaven layout its place is Kan in the west, and Zhang called it “the metal of the western po.” Pre-heaven po lies hidden in Kun and has not yet shown; in the post-heaven shift, Kun’s middle line fills and becomes Kan. Kan sits in the north and belongs to water, so Zhang also named it “the water of northern jing (essence).” Po resides in the lungs; its direction is still west, but the figure has turned to Dui, whose nature is gentle and yielding. Its function depends on the body to become jing—the body is where essence gathers. The yang breath that now mounts in the body was originally lead (qian) formed from pre-heaven metal qi; the prior chapter compared it to fire within water, which is in truth the fluid of metal. The name White Tiger Grease means it still requires smelting (lian).

Take both back and return them to the ding (the inner crucible); in gathering (cai) and taking (qu), you must hit the right moment.

When jing and qi first arise, that is precisely the moment to act. The method is simply to let them appear, bring them together in mutual pairing, and gather them into the cauldron (ding). Then the center of Kan (the water trigram, yang within, yin without) turns empty and reverts to Kun (pure yin); the center of Li (the fire trigram, yin within, yang without) turns solid and returns to Qian (pure yang). Jing and qi enter the cauldron, blend and congeal, and Qian and Kun at once intermingle, returning to Taiji (the primordial state before yin and yang divide). This is called the “head of the elixir” (dantou); Master Zhang (the Zhang cited in the text) calls it the true seed.

“Gui” means to store and collect. The cauldron is the authentic transmission of the Yijing’s way; what alchemists speak of as the cauldron has no visible form—it is only in the exact center of one’s own body and the six directions (above, below, and the four quarters). The ancients said “in the middle there is a true golden cauldron,” without fixing it to any single spot. The Yijing says, “The cauldron: the junzi corrects the position and consolidates the mandate”—that is the meaning.

“Shi” (timing) refers to the hour when gui (the tenth stem) is born—that is, the exact middle of the “living zi hour” (huo zi shi): not a fixed midnight on the clock, but the moment within the body when yang qi first stirs. If you have not yet realized this, first take seated stillness and settling the mind as your foundation; when stillness reaches its extreme and movement appears, that is the gui-born hour. At once withdraw right mindfulness into a hidden place and use that as your “gathering and taking”; the moment the thought turns outward you are wrong—you must never seek outside yourself.

In sum: the yang qi within Kan is true lead; the yin essence within Li is true mercury. Kan and Li can produce lead and mercury, and lead and mercury in turn arise from body and mind. The function of body and mind is jing and qi; the substance of jing and qi is xing and ming (nature and life). When Kan draws out its inner yang, it again becomes Kun; when Li fills its inner emptiness, it again becomes Qian. Once the two substances have merged, qi becomes primordial qi (yuanqi), and jing transforms into shen (spirit); shen and qi mutually interact, and Kan and Li revert to Kun and Qian. When the two subtly unite and congeal, Qian and Kun blend into one Taiji. After that, yin and yang and stillness and movement take each other as root—they solidify and cannot be pulled apart, harmonize evenly and cannot be distinguished, and remain pure and undivided without ceasing. If gathering and taking is like this, is it not the simplest and easiest of methods?

The above is Chapter Two. It continues from the previous chapter, explaining the origin of lead and mercury and the essentials of gathering the medicine and returning it to the cauldron.

“The alluring maiden rides the lead tiger; the golden elder mounts the mercury dragon”: the alluring maiden (channü) stands for true mercury, the golden elder (jinweng) for true lead; dragon and tiger are the symbolic images of the two—meaning lead and mercury are matched, joined, and used together.

If one took this as the method of gathering and refining, would it not be the simplest and easiest path?

The above concludes Chapter Two. This chapter follows the previous one in explaining the origin of lead and mercury (the “medicines” of internal alchemy: true lead denotes yang qi, true mercury denotes yin essence) and the secret of gathering the medicine and returning it to the cauldron (bringing the medicine into the place of refinement).

The Maiden of Many Hues (true mercury) rides the lead tiger; the Old Man of Gold (true lead) straddles the mercury dragon.

The meaning of these two names is explained in detail in Chapter Ten. The tiger stands for the body; the dragon for the heart. Master Zhang said: “The heart’s wildness is like a dragon; the body’s fierceness is like a tiger.” “Rides” and “straddles” evoke the image of each side governing the other. Once both medicines have been gathered into the cauldron, yin essence naturally governs yang qi, and yang qi in turn governs yin essence, until they form an undifferentiated, primordial unity. If at this point nature and mind are even slightly lacking in stillness and ease, the spirit will again rush outward, the dan head (the first coalescence of the elixir) will at once scatter, and one must wait until lead and mercury condense anew before gathering again. Hence the text below treats “clarifying the proper command” as an earnest admonition.

Jia (Wood, standing for xing/nature) and Geng (Metal, standing for qing/emotion) clarify the proper command; refine and obtain one furnace of red (the crimson elixir).

The proper command is an order that neither leans nor tilts. Because the topic is securing the elixir, the passage below makes clarifying the proper command the urgent instruction.

Jia and Geng clarify the proper command; refine and obtain one furnace of red.

Jia (the first of the ten heavenly stems, associated with the Wood phase) stands for xing—human nature itself. Geng (the seventh stem, associated with Metal) stands for qing—emotion and desire. Zheng ling means a command that neither leans nor wavers.

In terms of how the character is built, ling (“command”) was originally the upper part of nian (“thought”): when a thought first stirs, only jin (“the present moment”) has formed—the heart radical is not yet there—so you must promptly straighten it inward and turn it into ling. The meaning is: when vital impulse first breaks out in the immediate now, you must at once hold it upright in the heart and take that as your command. This is what Confucius meant by “straighten what is correct,” hence zheng ling; it is also what Master Bai meant by “where the thought moves is the mysterious female (xuanpin—the place where thought first stirs and life-force begins to sprout),” and what the Wenyan commentary on the Kun hexagram calls “the noble person, reverent, straightens the inner.”

Fellow disciple Qu Shan of Zhishan held that removing the heart from nian is “hiding the heart.” The moment a thought barely moves, you must immediately meet it and make it the commander of qi; then the heart naturally withdraws and does not raise stray thoughts. He explained the upright secret very clearly. Master Shi originally transmitted the two characters zheng ling through character disassembly to point to the pass between heaven and human, in that interval of danger and subtlety—directly revealing what ancient perfected masters passed heart-to-heart, which other neidan (internal alchemy) scriptures never stated plainly.

One who understands zheng ling must already grasp it in daily life; at this juncture you need only affirm it once more, and the whole body naturally obeys. This means: when jing and qi have just joined, xing must be still and qing must be at peace, so harmony is kept and nothing is lost. The work depends entirely on reverence and sincerity in ordinary times; before the heart has yet gone astray, quickly see the way of nourishing by uprightness, first store it in secrecy, and naturally there is no-thought within thought. Jing condenses with qi to form shen; qing returns to xing and reaches great stillness—then the dan tou (the first sprout of the inner elixir) forms, and you need not fear leakage. This is Mencius’s “nourish it with uprightness and do no harm.” What is called “one furnace of red” is the alchemists’ “one furnace of flame forging the void”—the work of firing and refining, what Mencius called “filled out and shining.”

The above is Chapter Three. It continues the previous chapter: obtaining the medicine and the union all lie in xing and qing. When xing and qing are correct, shen does not leave its root, and qi naturally circulates through the whole body.

When the snake-po captures the dragon-marrow, and the turtle-hun restrains the tiger-essence.

The snake stands for qing (emotion). Emotion is often stirred by what seems gentle and yielding, giving rise to joy—that is the work of po (the corporeal soul), hence “snake-po.” Dragon-marrow stands for the yin essence in the heart. The turtle stands for xing (nature/character). Nature is often stirred by shock and contact, giving rise to anger—that is the work of hun (the ethereal soul), hence “turtle-hun.” Tiger-essence stands for the yang qi in the body. The arousal of emotion depends entirely on xing and qing; when xing and qing are upright, shen (spirit) does not leave its proper place, and qi circulates naturally.

This continues what was said in the previous chapter. Once one’s “right command” (the Way already clarified in the heart) is clear, emotion is forgotten and one returns to the original nature of xing; then the unruly heart is like a dragon that has been captured, and yin essence no longer wavers. When xing is settled and the root of emotion is cut off, the fierce body is like a tiger brought under control, and yang qi no longer stagnates. To speak of “capturing” and “restraining” is simply to follow nature without forced effort. The saying “the tiger is subdued, the dragon is subdued, and the macaque no longer peeps through the six windows” means exactly this. The macaque stands for the restless false mind; the six windows stand for the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind (yi).

In the divine water of the Huachi (literally “flower pool”—in Neidan, the body’s qi transformed into a pool), a blossom of jade fat forms.

Zhang Zi said: when lead meets mercury it is called Huachi; when mercury enters lead it is called divine water. In his meaning: lead stands for the body, likened to a pool; when mercury appears, qi gains luster, hence Huachi. Mercury stands for the heart, called water; entering lead, essence and spirit unite, hence divine water. When lead and mercury harmonize, that is divine water entering Huachi—but in truth it is only spirit returning to the body and qi coming back of itself. Once lead and mercury have congealed, emotion is naturally forgotten and xing is settled; spirit enters qi like water returning to the pool. There is a presiding mind that stays constantly clear and undimmed, like a flower that has formed nectar into a bud, full of vitality; or like jade that has condensed into a rich unguent, fine and firm. All of these are metaphors.

The above is Chapter Four. It follows the previous chapter: once lead and mercury have joined, their nature and disposition are set right, merged into one thing and no longer split in two, and the dan head (the foundational root of the elixir when it first congeals within) is thereby established.

“White snow flies through the jade garden; yellow sprouts break from the jade enclosure.”

White snow: The body belongs to Kan (one of the Bagua, symbolizing water). The single yang line at the center of Kan is Qian metal, hence the white color. Lead is generated in the body because metal qi overflows; when lead and mercury meet and join, they turn into shen water (clear, bright pre-heaven jing), limpid and transparent, and thus take the image of snow. The jade garden is a metaphor for the human body.

Yellow sprout: The heart belongs to Li (one of the Bagua, symbolizing fire). The single yin line at the center of Li is Kun earth, hence the yellow color. Mercury is generated in the heart because wood-fluid is full; when mercury meets lead and congeals, it at once enters the Huachi (where the medicines blend and fuse), harmonizing and nourishing growth, and thus takes the image of a sprout. The jade enclosure is likewise a metaphor for this body.

To speak of “flying” and of “breaking forth” is to say: when lead receives mercury’s joining it rises and penetrates upward, as if snow were spreading through the sky; when mercury receives lead’s congealing it moves downward, as if sprouts were flourishing across the ground.

Master Zixian Xue (Xue Daoguang) said: “Without white snow there is no yellow sprout. White snow is the water in the shen chamber (the place where elixir is refined); the yellow sprout is the blossom opened on the pivot of qi.” His words can serve as proof—only one must not set the mind on grasping for them.

“If you can simply abide like the waning moon, why would you refine hongqian (true lead elixir-medicine) anywhere else?”

“Like the waning moon” is the form shown by the transformation of the original xuan aperture (the single pre-heaven aperture in the body). This means: before you have obtained the medicine in yourself, if you can rest securely in this waning-moon image, hongqian need not be refined elsewhere.

What is meant by “like a tilted moon” is the image that appears when the mysterious aperture—the key opening of emptiness and spirit in internal alchemy—undergoes transformation. Before the “medicine” (the refined essence produced in inner cultivation) has been obtained in the body, if one can guard inward in purity, the seven apertures are gathered back into one; within, emptiness and spirit are broad and open, round and whole like an egg. Because it is in stillness, it is closed. When the medicine arises and my proper command (the right timing and master within) arrives, the aperture lifts upward like a bowl receiving the medicine; because it is about to move, it is also about to open. Viewed from the side at this moment, the shape is like a tilted moon (wanyue). Once it has received the medicine and secretly united, it is still held like an egg. When a thought stirs, it returns to stillness; the mysterious aperture too is on the verge of opening yet remains closed. If emotion pulls one and wandering thoughts rise, the aperture scatters into the seven apertures and the medicine is lost at once. Therefore, as long as the image of the tilted moon can appear, it may be taken as proof that the medicine has been received—but this speaks only of the image; in origin it arises unbidden and naturally, without any visible form at first.

What is called red lead is what Zhang Zi said: “True lead is born in Kan (the place symbolized by the Water trigram); its function is in the Li palace (the position of Fire); from black it turns red.” Yet at first it has neither color nor form. The question of where to refine is because spirit has no fixed direction or shape—used to warn people not to cling to the appearances of deliberate, contrived methods, as Mencius said: “There must be engagement in the matter, yet do not fixate on a predetermined outcome” (you bi shi yan er wu zheng). In sum, once the foundation of the elixir (the root of internal alchemy) is established, the medicine arises constantly; I need only clearly guard the proper command, and external enticements cannot seize an opening; within, one can also receive it at every moment. Over time, qi fills and spirit is complete, and the valley spirit (the spirit that is empty yet generative) naturally becomes full.

For the practitioner, at first the hardship is not knowing this aperture; once it is understood, one must strictly guard against interruption. Prior retreat and concealment (gathering and hiding the heart-mind) is most important; purity and stillness, naturalness, is most subtle. If one can retreat and conceal beforehand, when events come one does not miss the moment, and later-arising thoughts cannot disturb. Understand this, and the heart can be set right.

This is Chapter Five. It follows the preceding discussion and explains how to guard the qiao—the spirit aperture held in practice—from being broken off. Before anything has arrived, withdraw and conceal yourself first; that is what matters most. Clarity, stillness, and natural spontaneity are the most subtle of all. If one can retreat in advance, when events actually come one will not miss the moment, and thoughts that arise afterward cannot disturb. Once this is understood, the mind can stand upright.

This chapter also continues from the last: when the elixir “head”—the first settled root of the inner elixir—has been established, the “medicinal” substance generates at every moment; the more one gathers it, the more inexhaustible it becomes. One must only not turn the mind to reckon and calculate. Within this process it bears itself on its own; one must never, even slightly, borrow deliberate contrivance to boost it. This is what Master Zhang meant by “one grain upon another grain, from the subtle to the manifest”: it merely describes how accumulation grows day by day, with no emblem or likeness that can be compared to it.

The medicinal material opens Chaos; fire and timing refine Primeval Chaos. “Medicinal material” names the phase of gathering; “fire and timing” (huohou) names the phase of cooking and refining—both refer to this essential Qi. “Opening Chaos” and “refining Primeval Chaos” mean that this essential Qi is found only in moments of clarity and stillness, when the seven apertures (of the eyes, ears, nose, and mouth) return to oneness, as in Chaos before any sign has appeared—it opens of itself; then, with a mind of clarity and stillness, without dividing inner from outer, as in the age of Primeval Chaos when no form yet exists, blending and refinement succeed naturally. As soon as the medicine emerges from Chaos, the fire at once refines it as in Primeval Chaos. This clarifies the meanings of “Correct Command,” “Reclining Moon,” and the like in the text above, teaching that one may only apprehend them with a non-assertive mind (wuxin), and must not wear the mind out with deliberate effort.

“Ten months of blending until success” means that once the medicine has just come forth from Chaos, the fire immediately refines it as in Primeval Chaos—thus expounding again the meanings of Correct Command and Reclining Moon, and again teaching that one may only meet them with wuxin, not with forced mental exertion.

After ten months of blending, the fetal immortal (taixian) is transformed; only then does one understand the achievement of the nine revolutions (jiuzhuan).

“Transformation” (hua) is what the predecessor Bai Zi called “breaking through the empty void—only then is the matter settled,” and it is also what the text below describes as “casting off the fetus and achieving spirit-transformation” (the spirit-fetus emerges and the change is complete). “Nine revolutions” (jiu zhuan) means “nine returns” (jiu huan). Nine is the number of completion associated with Metal (jin); it refers to the return and renewal of yang qi within the body—not literally turning something nine times.

This means: when the “medicinal ingredients” arise from nothing, they must be blended and refined as heaven and earth create things, in primordial chaos (hongmeng, the undifferentiated state before heaven and earth were split). At that stage one still cannot guess what the signs and atmosphere will be like; only when the “fetus” is complete at three hundred days (the elixir-fetus perfected—using the ten-month pregnancy as a metaphor) does one understand that what was gathered when the elixir was first formed was precisely the effect of that bit of innate yang qi in the body.

The above is Chapter Six. The point is: once the elixir has been achieved and is being cooked and refined, do not cling to outward forms in seeking it; in time you will see the proof for yourself. The Cantong Qi (Zhouyi Cantong Qi, Token for the Agreement of the Three According to the Book of Changes) says “do not seek by inspecting appearances” (bu yi cha qiu)—that is exactly what is meant here.

It is like the moment when the dragon is at the place where it hides its pearl, or when the hen has just begun to brood the egg. Who would know that when lead and mercury (names in internal alchemy for true yang and true yin) unite, it is precisely the time to take a “knife-spoonful” (daogui—the ancient tiny measure for medicine, standing for the finest dose of elixir)?

“Holding the pearl in concealment and embracing the egg” is a metaphor for the subtle inner scenery within the qiao—the hidden gate in neidan where spirit gathers. Once you know how to unite body and mind in this single qiao, you also have the method of dwelling safely in concealment: you need only keep the mind wholly absorbed and unmoving, like a dragon tending its pearl or a hen brooding an egg.

The word shei (“who”) carries a further, precise meaning. My teacher Master Taixu, in his commentary on the Jiutian Xinyin Repentance Text, said: “It is neither ‘I’ nor ‘he’; it cannot be named—one can only provisionally call it ‘shei.’” In this chapter shei appears eleven times; each occurrence can be read in that light.

“Who knows when qian and gong unite?” In neidan, qian and gong are simply two complementary “medicines” that must meet. The point is to hide shen (spirit) within concealment, hold to still clarity, and not split things into which is “he” as host and which is “I” as guest, nor fixate on whether the two have merged—that alone is the truly subtle, gapless union.

Daogui refers to the two tu (earth) of wu and ji in the Heavenly Stems—both numbered five and belonging to the central phase. In their original positions they both stand at the center; only after birth do they lodge separately in the Kan and Li palaces (the water and fire positions in the Bagua). The yang within Kan is the refined essence of wu earth; the yin within Li is the concentrated gathering of ji earth. The ancients called this “the import of the Kan–Li daogui”; earlier Confucian scholars spoke of it as “the essence of the two fives.”

In the character for dao (knife), one stroke is the opening stroke of wu; the other stroke is the opening stroke of ji. The two initial strokes form dao; two tu characters form gui—a condensed emblem of how wu in Kan and ji in Li, once they meet, suit each other at once. Nothing yet stands between them; they unite at the center, hence the name daogui. The instruction is to use only this primordial intent— that is the right key—matching what the sages called “the truth of wuji (the limitless), the essence of the two fives, wondrously joined and congealed.”

What Laozi’s Classic of Constant Clarity and Stillness calls “without form, without knowing, without name—forced to call it Dao” is exactly the practical sense of my teacher’s gloss on shei, and the principle you can apply when the time comes to join with the original yuan (source).

At first, when a later-arising thought clings to outer appearances, the mind—though it was once upright—has already fallen into the post-heaven realm and in an instant becomes discursive thinking. Then the two earths, Wu and Ji, are cut off from wood-nature and metal-quality. Qi is originally the Wu earth within Kan, yet it follows the breath outward; the water palace can no longer guard its source. Essence (Jing) is tied to the Ji earth within Li, yet it leaks down into the bladder, and the spirit chamber cannot stably serve as its dwelling. Thus the essence in water and the spirit in fire cannot mutually assist, and the Four Images no longer serve one’s purpose—how then can lead and mercury be joined and an embryonic immortal (taixian) condensed?

Therefore the practitioner must take being able to “drink the daogui” as the correct method for joining lead and mercury. “Correctly drinkable” means the moment when lead and mercury have just arisen—when one’s Tianxin (Heart of Heaven) first stirs in stillness and issues the upright command. That is precisely when the two substances have already fused and are ready for firing. The text says “drink” rather than “use” to suggest drinking water or broth: only you know whether it is warm or cold. Wherever your awareness reaches, you naturally apply the cooking. This shows the subtle function of the upright command: within use, upright awareness still remains, and the work still consists solely in quiet, dense stillness.

From this one sees that a brief span of effort already includes firing. Union occurs where the thought stirs—in a single instant; firing requires your own fineness and your own withdrawal, and must pass through a brief interval before the union becomes firm and attains naturalness—only then does firing become condensation. So before union, one works only within the effort of non-effort (wugong zhi gong), sitting upright in fixed meditation, taking that as gathering; once the medicine has arisen, one returns the useful use to the useless—holding great fixedness, without thought and in Wuwei (non-action)—and that is firing. The subtlety here cannot be put into words. Having said this much, repetition is unavoidable. If the reader can simplify, refine, and illumine it inwardly, that depends on each person alone.

(In the text, Kan and Li are the Water and Fire trigrams; Wu and Ji are the two earths that harmonize them. Lead and mercury metaphorize the internal alchemical substances; daogui metaphorizes the newly arisen true medicine; taixian is the condensed elixir embryo—all are Neidan (internal alchemy) figures, not physical things taken from outside.)

The above is Chapter Seven. This chapter continues from the previous one, explaining the principle of refining (internal alchemy’s nurturing of essence and qi with divine fire): one need only maintain it continuously and subtly, as if always present yet never forced. This is what the White Youth (Bai Yuchan) meant when he said one must take “intermittence and divided attention” as the dyke to guard against—guarding against practice that stops and starts and against a mind that will not stay single-minded.

For ablutions one draws on Kun water; for blowing and fanning one relies on Xun wind.

At this stage, if the intent to hold and guard is not strict enough, the fire disperses and the body feels cold and empty. As soon as one clearly reasserts the right command, spirit returns to the center and qi naturally comes back; genuine qi steams through the whole body, and one takes this as bathing—then warmth is felt. It is called “drawing on Kun water” because the bodily constitution has already turned primordial; the northern position is no longer the image of the postnatal Kan trigram, so this innate bathing qi is called Kun water.

If thoughts rise and stir, the fire grows chaotic and the body feels hot and restless. As soon as one turns back to right mindfulness and stills restless delusion, the inner mind remains quiet and single-pointed; genuine breath gently blows and the whole body is cool, and harmony comes naturally. It is called “relying on Xun wind” because the Kun body has already reverted to the primordial; the southwest position is originally the Xun palace, the image of the nose, so this natural breath of fanning is called Xun wind.

This is the subtle remedy for balancing cold and warmth: when spirit returns once, qi of itself returns—there is still no need to seek further on the level of qi alone. The White Youth took attentive guarding as tending the fire, genuine qi steaming as bathing, and stopping discursive thought as nurturing the fire—his method is exquisitely refined.

The infant (the holy embryo formed from pure yang spirit-nature) has nothing to tie it down and dwells alone in the Palace of Grand Subtlety (the inner landscape’s palace of refined centrality).

The “infant” refers to the shen (spirit) that has already formed when yin jing (essence) in the heart merges and condenses with yang qi (vital energy), and then returns to dwell in the original palace of the Heavenly Valley—this is what is called the gushen (Valley Spirit). Earlier masters compared it to an infant because at this stage divine power is still very weak and must be watched over and sustained again and again with upright mindfulness; hence the metaphor.

Taiwei Palace corresponds in heaven to the Taiwei Enclosure, with the imperial seat at its center; in the human body it is the central palace among the nine palaces at the crown—the niwan gong (Mud Ball Palace, the place in internal alchemy where spirit is nourished at the center of the head). That is where the Valley Spirit abides and where true nature is cultivated and preserved.

My teacher often said: the infant is the zhenren (true person). What matters is resting in emptiness, stillness, and ease, with nothing to do—at ease on one’s own, nourishing yuanshen (original spirit). This meaning is extremely subtle; it is also the light of one’s own nature.

Within the human person, only this counts as genuine cultivation. When you have nourished it until the true body appears, that is the miaodao zhenren—the sage of the wondrous Dao.

The above is Chapter Eight. This chapter follows the previous one: after firing and refining comes bathing. Bathing, in Neidan (internal alchemy), is the stage of temporarily stopping the fire and letting the medicinals rest and warm in quiet. If cold and warmth are not in balance, it is usually because the spirit has strayed outward and distracting thoughts disturb the heart—you must quickly correct yourself. You must tend the infant, that is, the bit of pure yang vital energy just formed, letting it dwell alone in the upper valley, in quiet wuwei (non-action), allowing qi to circulate naturally on its own. That is the way to harmonize; there is no need to startle your own spirit. Once the spirit is startled, it clings to outer things and still wanders in birth and death.

From the earlier chapters through here, the principles of establishing the foundation, gathering, joining, firing, refining, and bathing have been fully set out. The gist is simply: holding to right mindfulness is gathering; reining in thought is taking; the spirit must be still for union to occur; when wandering thoughts cease, congealing can happen; focusing on qi is firing; having no wandering thoughts is refining. When wandering thoughts die, right mindfulness endures; when right mindfulness is stored away, wandering thoughts naturally do not arise. The method is upright, brief, and not cumbersome. The seven chapters that follow still carry this meaning, speaking of warming and nurturing, separating the embryo, and further refining—all again just one flavor of quiet stillness, entirely without artificial contrivance; the practitioner must grasp it inwardly and truly put it into practice. The phrase “dedicated qi” (zhuan qi) comes from the Daodejing: it means to be like an infant, with qi full and self-operating, without the mind dispatching or managing.

In the purple palace (zifu) seek the Li maiden and match her to the Kan lad in the Zhuiling. The purple palace refers to the upper dantian in the head; the Li maiden is the true mercury in the heart; the Kan lad is the true lead in the kidneys; Zhuiling denotes the heart’s position. The Yellow Old Woman (Huang Po) mediates between them—she is spleen-intention; at this place of pairing, Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) naturally holds all three within itself.

Zifu (the Purple Chamber) metaphorically stands for my body; Zhuling (the Vermillion Mound) for my heart; Huangpo (the Yellow Matron) for my intent (yi).

As I understand it: the post-heaven body is imaged by the northern trigram Kan (one yang trapped between two yins, belonging to Water). Kan is water, whose native color is black. To return to the pre-heaven trigram Kun (pure yin), one must find the yin in the middle of the southern trigram Li (one yin between two yangs, belonging to Fire) and receive it within. Li is fire, colored red; red mixed with black yields purple—hence “seek the Li maiden in the Purple Chamber.” The “maiden” is the yin within Li: it means turning the post-heaven Kan body back into the pre-heaven Kun body. The post-heaven heart is imaged by southern Li; to return to pre-heaven Qian (pure yang), one must obtain the yang in the middle of northern Kan to pair with it. Zhuling was originally the name of a grotto on Mount Nanyue; here it stands for the heart’s dwelling—hence “Zhuling pairs with the Kan male.” The “male” is the yang within Kan: it means turning the post-heaven Li heart back into the pre-heaven Qian heart. Yellow is the color of earth; po is a term for an elderly woman—Huangpo is my upright mindfulness (zhengnian).

When cultivating this post-heaven body and heart, one first finds the yin essence in the heart within the body and pairs it with the yang qi in the body. Yang qi, meeting yin essence, runs together and pierces straight upward; yin essence, refined by yang qi, becomes spirit (shen), and spirit returns to its original palace, tiangu (the upper Dantian region in the head). All of this depends on upright mindfulness first withdrawing and hiding itself, secretly acting as matchmaker, so that the three “houses”—body, heart, and intent—are contained in one Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), completing the gushen (the spirit condensed from essence and qi). Gushen arises from the gathering of essence and qi; when mindfulness is single-pointed, it clearly issues the upright command and merges into the whole without claiming merit—hence “Taiji naturally embraces the three.”

The above is Chapter Nine. It follows the previous chapter in showing that body and heart can be returned—solely through my first making intent sincere and secretly uniting them in one aperture. The next chapter will again stress this point.

“Qian’s horse drives the golden gate”: gold stands for qing (desire/emotion). Once Zhuling has paired with the Kan male to form Qian, one can use the firm, vigorous Way to rein in qing; spirit then hides itself in secrecy and constantly dwells in tiangu to nourish nature (xing). Yet what makes it so?

“Kun’s ox enters the wood palace”: the ox imaged by the Kun trigram enters the wood palace.

This passage uses wood as a metaphor for human xing (innate nature). Once the Purple Mansion (the dwelling of Shen, spirit) has received the Li maiden (true yin symbolized by the Li trigram) and realized Kun’s yielding softness, one can use that yielding De to guide and follow one’s innate nature; Qi then naturally fills the valley to nourish xing. What brings this about? It is “the Kun ox enters the Wood palace”—the ox of Kun entering the palace of Wood. The text that follows also takes wood as a figure for xing: once this Kun virtue is established, Qi naturally suffuses the empty spaces and often ascends to the Mud Pellet (upper Dantian at the crown) to nourish ming (life). Who ultimately sets this in motion? The line “who will marry the charming maiden to the golden elder”—joining the Charming Maiden (true mercury) with the Golden Elder (true lead).

The “female” in yin essence is originally that bit of yin essence within the Li trigram (Fire—in internal alchemy this often stands for the heart). When it enters the Kan trigram (Water—often the kidneys), it becomes the Kun trigram (pure yin). Returning from Li to Kun and transforming into qi, it evokes the image of a woman coming home to the household, hence the name Chaonv (the “radiant maiden”: yin essence, true mercury). “Metal” is originally that bit of yang qi in Kan; entering Li it becomes the Qian trigram (pure yang—the source text writes this as “gan”). Returning from Kan to Qian and transforming into shen, it evokes a youth who seems already mature, hence the name Jinweng (the “golden elder”: yang qi, true lead).

“Married away” means yin essence leaves Li and enters Kan—that is, Kun paired with Qian—an image of the heart as the dwelling of the body and the body as the storehouse of the heart, like a wife following her husband. Once yin essence has left and gone toward Kan, there is no need to spell out again yang qi leaving Kan and entering Li. At that time, if one did not oneself make de (virtue-nature) clear through the correct master of practice (the rightful ruler of cultivation), and could neither know what is coming nor hide what has passed, how could qi nourish form until it became supple, or how could essence become shen until it became firm and strong? Now, pairing supple form with firm and strong shen, the wondrous union congeals into the deep, unfathomable realm of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate—the undivided root of yin and yang), so that xing (inner nature) and qing (emotion/desire) each attain their proper place—whose power is this?

Commentator’s note: “Metal gate” refers to the Dui trigram; Dui is the image of the metal gate of Qian. “The Qian horse drives the Metal gate” symbolizes the hexagram Ze Tian Guai (Lake over Heaven)—the time when yang qi is already flourishing. “Primary palace” refers to the Gen trigram; Gen is the image of Kun earth carrying wood to form a palace. “The Kun ox enters the Wood palace” symbolizes the hexagram Shan Di Bo (Mountain over Earth)—the time when yin essence is already flourishing. Chaonv refers to the single yin line at the top of Bo returning home and becoming Kun; Jinweng refers to the image of Guai. “Who marries Chaonv to Jinweng” is what alchemists call “half a jin must be matched with eight liang”: the eight yang lines in the four yang trigrams are the half jin, and the eight yin lines in the four yin trigrams are the eight liang—together they form the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), an image of one full jin brought to completion (in the old measure one jin was sixteen liang; half a jin equals eight liang).

When a person reaches the stage where Yin and Yang qi are both flourishing, unless one has long practiced reverent self-restraint and nurtured a sincere heart, refining steadfast faith and careful mindfulness—who could withdraw the heart and hide it deep within the secret recesses, so that the single yang line at the top of Bo (Splitting, five yin below and one yang above) naturally pairs with the top line of Guai (Resolution, five yang below and one yin above) and thus becomes the purely yang Qian hexagram; and so that the single yin at the top of Guai returns to the top of Bo, thus becoming the purely yin Kun hexagram? Then the body fully follows Kun’s yielding to nourish qi, while spirit returns to Qian’s firmness to command the physical form. From there it is as when Qian initiates and Kun generates, and the cycle turns in the order of Gou (one yin newly arising) and Fu (one yang returning)—creation and transformation without end.

Taken together with the meaning of the next chapter, “Auspicious Qi in the Inner Chamber” (a Neidan image of Yin-Yang harmony within the body and the filling of auspicious qi), the point seems even more direct. Yet in the superior path of Neidan, predecessors always embedded the logic of the Yijing without naming hexagrams and lines openly; they pointed only according to the actual stages of practice, so that both the learned and ordinary people could understand. For those long versed in learning, it may be fitting to observe the hexagram images and savor the wording, and thus enter the depths directly; for those not yet initiated, once classical doctrine is invoked, the mind may only be obscured. Therefore commentary on this chapter should likewise stay close to what the human body already possesses and speak in concrete terms, so that all may see and know, without having to hunt images and hunt meanings—and also in reverence for the master’s compassionate wish to save all.

This chapter alone, because the formal commentary on “Golden Gate” and “Wood Palace” (two symbolic loci in Neidan corresponding to Metal and Wood) had not yet been made explicit, lest something remain unsaid and drift into side paths (methods that stray from the correct Way), still uses the hexagrams Guai and Bo, brought down to practical reality, to explain: their mutual exchange is the turning of Gou and Fu, which can remove the calamity of excess fullness and avoid the regret of yang running too high. May all reflect on this together.

The above is Chapter Ten. This section further explains the previous chapter: the ability to return to the pre-heaven state (one’s original condition before post-heaven depletion) depends entirely on the daily work of densely storing right mindfulness. From the moment the first sign of the elixir appears (the initial crystallization in Neidan), spirit and qi grow stronger day by day until they can gradually “divide the embryo” (spirit and qi mature as if giving birth to a separate embryo)—and one must then be especially careful to guard fullness, hide the spirit, and nourish qi.

The “Radiant Maiden” (a Neidan metaphor for yin essence and true cinnabar) is at the count of “two-eight” (the fullness of yin), and the “Golden Elder” (a metaphor for yang breath and true lead) at the count of “nine-three” (the corresponding fullness of yang).

The Cha Maiden (Cha Nü) is a metaphor for qi formed from my yin essence (Jing). “Two-eight” is the proportion that makes up one jin (sixteen liang to a jin in the old measure)—meaning the amount is already sufficient. The Golden Elder (Jin Weng) is a metaphor for Shen (spirit) condensed from my yang essence. “Nine-three” indicates that the inner Yang is already full, like the inner (lower) trigram of the Qian hexagram having all three yang lines complete. This describes the stage in refining the Golden Elixir when Shen and qi within are both strong, and the moment of fen tai (the spirit embryo about to separate) is near. People often become restless at this point and cannot stay quiet. If arrogance and impatience are indulged, qi will in turn disturb the heart, and the Valley Spirit (Gu Shen—the Original Spirit in empty stillness) will be hard to settle. Nothing that is full has ever failed to overflow outward. Hence “square two-eight, correct nine-three” is used expressly to mark huohou (the timing and measure of the firing process), teaching one to be vigilant according to the moment—neither proud nor anxious—so that goodness is kept within, anger and desire do not arise, and fen tai proceeds without fault.

The inner chamber gives birth to auspicious qi; in joyful union the first-born son is produced.

The inner chamber (dongfang) stands for my body—the hidden aperture (the crucial opening concealed within). Giving birth to auspicious qi means yang qi in the body surges vigorously: the sign that yuanming laifu (the original life is returning), and the omen that the yang Shen (pure yang spirit) is laying its foundation. Speaking of producing the first-born son means the yang Shen has just been conceived—like the Zhen trigram as the eldest son added above Qian, forming Da Zhuang (Great Strength), “thunder in heaven,” with one Yang first stirring in the outer (upper) trigram. At this stage bodily qi is already strong, while Shen retreats and hides all the more; Yang rises sharply and at once joins Shen in glad union. In an instant the Valley Spirit becomes yang Shen. As when the eldest son is newly born, this is yuanming returning, the work on the Valley Spirit complete—one can hold this Shen and not die.

The above is Chapter Eleven. It describes the scene of yuanming laifu, illustrating the way of ziran fen tai (natural separation of the embryo). If the reader truly grasps this: when Yang is at its peak and about to go too far—the image of the Guai hexagram (yang strong, about to break through)—one must promptly retreat and hide within, so the topmost returns to the beginning. This is what Confucius meant by “knowing what is coming and storing what has passed” (zhi lai cang wang). Guai inverted is Gou (one Yin first born below), just as Bo inverted is Fu (one Yang returning below); from here the yang Shen takes root and is born. Only then does one understand why, in the Zhouyi (Book of Changes), both “using nine” and “using six” are auspicious and without regret.

Yesterday corresponded to the hexagram Guai (Decision): the five yang lines are about to “decide away” the single yin at the top. One must promptly retreat and hide oneself—only then does the uppermost line return to the place of the first line. This is what Confucius meant by “knowing what is to come and storing what has passed.” Turn Guai upside down and you obtain Gou (Encounter), with one yin beginning to arise from below; just as turning Bo (Stripping), where yang has been stripped until only the top line remains, upside down yields Fu (Return), with one yang reborn from below. The Yang Spirit (the cultivated pure-yang spirit) takes root from this moment—hence why both “use of nine” and “use of six” (the working of pure yang and pure yin) are said to be auspicious and free of regret.

The verse runs: Last night on the bank of the western river, toad-light shone upon jade-green waves; gather it and bring it back to the jade chamber, where in the cauldron it is refined day after day.

“Last night” is when the primordial life-mandate (yuanming) is restored. The west is the original, pre-heaven position of the Kan (Water) trigram; Kan stands for water, hence “western river.” The toad (chan) is originally the radiance of the moon; calling it “toad-light” (changuang) is a figure for yang qi arising and breaking upward. Whenever this text speaks of the Yang Spirit just laying its foundation, it uses the toad as metaphor—drawing on its three legs and the image of sunlight penetrating upward. “Jade-green waves” (bitao) stand for the Kan qi manifest in the post-heaven body: Kan water is naturally black, but once pierced by toad-light it turns jade-green. The “jade chamber” (yushi) is one’s own body; because the primordial life-mandate has been restored and spirit-qi is fine and dense, the body is called a jade chamber. “Inside the cauldron” means the spirit chamber (the place where spirit and qi are nurtured). “Refining” still means using concentrated qi to “cook” and using non-recklessness (wuwang) to “smelt”: qi focused in one place is cooking; not giving rise to idle thoughts is smelting.

The meaning is: formerly the primordial life-mandate could be restored because, within the post-heaven image of Kan, spirit-qi in the body was already full and yang qi suddenly surged upward, penetrating to the Celestial Valley (tiangu, the crown) and merging with spirit to become the Yang Spirit. Now the body has returned to the pre-heaven state: Kun returns to its northern position and Kan withdraws to the west. At the moment of recollection it is exactly like last night on the bank of the western river, seeing the sunlit toad upon the water; I gather it and bring it into the spirit chamber, condense and refine it, and let it “refine itself” in mutual interplay. One only feels a gentle warmth—there is no image of refining to fix upon. From this it transforms into the Yang Spirit and the root life-mandate is restored. This is the principle of the jade talisman preserving spirit; thus the valley spirit (gushen—the spirit of the hollow that endures, as in the Daodejing) can be undying.

Chapter 12 follows the previous chapter: once Yuanming (one’s native life, pre-heaven vitality) has been restored, one must still preserve Taihe (supreme harmony—Yin and Yang full, balanced, and neither leaning nor deficient) before lizhen (firm correctness and real completion) can be achieved.

Li and Kan (fire and water; in internal alchemy often heart and kidney) are not “copulation” in the ordinary sense. Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth; here spirit and qi) generate and transform on their own. Whoever truly grasps this principle finds that single thread of zhenji (the true pivot) settling in the Huangting (the hidden aperture at the body’s center).

In the former post-heaven condition, when mind and body were joined, it was still called union—but in truth it was like the riyue hebi (sun and moon joining): Taihe holding firm, not sexual pairing. This time, though fu ming (restoring the mandate of life) is named “Qian-Kun union,” it is in reality only shen ning qi ju (spirit gathering inward, qi collecting)—natural generation until one full Taiji (the undivided root before Yin and Yang split) is complete. Whoever really understands this sees why elixir scriptures speak of “a bit of Yang in the body and a bit of Yin in the heart” as the erwu (two things): same source, different names. When the two meet, they subtly unite and condense into one zhengnian (right, single mindfulness); when thought returns to silent concealment, that is “falling into the Huangting.” Yellow is the color of the center; ting is empty openness—hence the name. It must never be sought as a fixed shape or place.

Chapter 13, continuing the earlier chapters, explains that the elixir path from start to finish rests on ziran (spontaneous nature); the two [naturalness and practice] must be merged into one.

The dangu (valley where the elixir forms—the inner site of generation) produces shenshui (spirit water, the subtle fluid from refined jing/qi), and within the Huangting lies a taicang (great storehouse). When hunger and thirst no longer arise, one goes straight on into the xianxiang (realm of immortals).

Dan Valley is another name for the Crimson Palace—the region where the heart resides. Huangting (the inner cultivation site within the body) was already explained in the previous chapter. Here the text says that the middle valley can generate qi on its own: qi spirals upward from the lower valley, merges with shen (spirit), and thus produces divine water that irrigates the whole body. For this reason the Valley Spirit—the empty, luminous, unfailing spirit within—constantly receives qi paying homage, as if the Great Storehouse (a metaphor for where qi is stored) were always filling up, which then turns into divine water saturating every part of you. The body already holds a fluid that can nourish and keep thirst away, yet it does not appear to overflow outward; the Valley Spirit has its own sufficiency so it never goes hungry, though at first you see no piled-up store. Once you understand this, the worldly talk of “nursing and feeding” like an infant need not be pursued further, and the heart no longer fears hunger or thirst. If hunger and thirst need not worry you, what else is there to fix on? You may safely withdraw and hide within, all the way to the realm of immortals. This is the teaching of letting not a single thought arise so that every phantom stops.

The above is Chapter Fourteen. Building on the earlier chapters, it teaches you to hold single-mindedly to right intention and to make retreat and concealment your practice—do not split attention toward other matters, lest you delay entry on the great path to immortality.

The will-horse returns to the spirit chamber: draw the mind back and store it well, and spirit naturally will not scatter; once you have returned to hiddenness, this is the Heart of Heaven—the heart as it naturally is.

The heart-monkey guards the inner chamber: drop all outer entanglements and let the heart dwell within the body; in that state of wuwei (non-action), likewise hide in secrecy. “Will-horse” and “heart-monkey” are images for a restless, hard-to-settle mind; “spirit chamber” and “inner chamber” point to places in the body where heart and spirit can be housed.

Jing, shen, hun, po, and intent transform into purple-gold frost: Jing (essence) is stored in the kidneys; when kidney qi is full, jing stays in the kidneys and the person becomes clear and bright. Shen is stored in the heart; when heart qi is full, shen abides in the body. In this wuwei moment, all likewise conceal themselves in hiddenness. Essence, spirit, hun, po, and intent all become purple-gold frost—in inner cultivation, the refined, congealed substance spoken of in neidan (internal alchemy).

Jing is stored in the kidneys. When kidney qi is sufficient, jing stays secure in the kidneys and the person has wisdom. Shen is stored in the heart. When heart qi is sufficient, shen stays secure in the heart and the person understands ritual propriety. Hun is stored in the liver. When liver qi is sufficient, hun stays secure in the liver and the person has benevolence. Po is stored in the lungs. When lung qi is sufficient, po stays secure in the lungs and the person has righteousness. Yi (intention) is stored in the spleen. When spleen qi is sufficient, yi stays secure in the spleen and the person has faithfulness. Each of the five viscera holds one kind of qi and embodies one virtue—such is the situation.

If a person’s intention is sincere and the mind upright, the five qi all become full, each guarding its own organ, and the five virtues—wisdom, propriety, benevolence, righteousness, and faithfulness—are complete. This is precisely the Confucian thread that runs through all and then retreats into concealment, and also the Neidan method of gathering the Five Phases and returning them to the one aperture—the place where, in internal alchemy, the body’s jing, qi, and shen converge. When the five qi unite as one, they can condense into shen; this shen is the elixir. The elixir spoken of in Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) is what the Confucian school calls benevolence (ren)—like the kernel inside a fruit.

It is called “purple” because the Golden Elixir at first arises from the union of water and fire: water is black and fire is red; interwoven they become purple. Hence Guardian of the Pass Yin Xi, from afar, saw Laozi’s qi as purple qi. Here it is not called “elixir” but “frost,” lest people cling to the literal and mistake it for a graspable pellet. When thoughts pile up, illusions arise; in the body this inevitably becomes blocked qi (qì stagnation)—a serious error. So frost formed from dew is used as a simile: the trace can be seen, yet the hand cannot seize it—precisely the image of empty space shattering. It describes the wonder of the Golden Elixir producing real form within formlessness; therefore it is called purple-gold frost.

Reading these two chapters further proves that human cultivation shares the same function as Heaven and Earth. Why? Heaven displays images to cover the myriad things, yet what Heaven nourishes is the “imageless”; thus its images are all the more sublime, forever covering the myriad things without end. Earth congeals form to bear the myriad things, yet what Earth nourishes is the “formless”; thus its form is all the more vast and thick, forever bearing the myriad things without leaking. Humans rely on embodied form to complete this body; if they can nourish their own “formless,” the body becomes all the more long-lasting—they can embrace the changes of Heaven and Earth without exceeding them, assist the myriad things without omission, and thereby attain long life and far sight, wisdom extending to all kinds, grace flowing through ten thousand generations, participating with Heaven and matching Earth, standing as the third among them.

Hence Master Bai said: “If a person is not dragged down by bodily form, before one’s eyes is the Great Canopy Heaven (Daluo Tian—the highest heaven in Daoist cosmology).” He also said: “Forget form to nourish qi, forget qi to nourish shen, forget shen to nourish emptiness, forget emptiness to unite with the Dao.” This single word “forget” means there is nothing. “Originally there is not a single thing—where could dust alight?” Why then fixate on what is jing, what is shen, what is hun, po, or yi? In the end it is only the knack of nourishing the formless—letting the transformation of qi flow naturally, thereby fulfilling the unceasing work of utmost sincerity in one’s own nature.

The foregoing is Chapter Fifteen. This chapter continues from those before it and explains that the Golden Elixir has no fixed form or substance from the start. When you begin to practice, all that matters is sincere, undivided intent—no second thoughts—and nurturing that formless presence until it aligns with what has neither image nor body. Then upright Qi (vital energy) circulates naturally between Heaven and Earth, and the Original Spirit (the innate spirit before conditioning) gathers and rests in the one body, so that everything partakes of the subtle power of natural stillness. This is what the alchemist Li Nidan meant by the “Three-One syllable and tone,” and what Master Zhang (the Zhang-family adept quoted in the text) meant by “grasping the root of Kan and Li (water and fire, Yin-Yang) so that the three realms are united in one person.” From the opening chapter through here, the treatise offers a full summary; the nine chapters that follow explain the gates and openings (the key portals of cultivation), the warm nurturing by which the elixir matures, and they carry further the themes of the earlier chapters.

The single opening is the key to the three passes; the three passes are the decisive points on the road of attainment. In a moment of gentle inner turning, the spirit water (the true fluid of inner refinement) begins to circulate on its own.

The one aperture is the single opening where the seven orifices (the eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth, and the like) converge when they return to the root. The three passes (Sanguan)—the stages of deepening practice in Neidan (internal alchemy)—take refining Jing (essence) into Qi (vital energy) as the lower pass, refining Qi into Shen (spirit) as the middle pass, and refining Shen into emptiness as the upper pass; this is the path of the highest grade of elixir work. Some also treat Weilü, Jiaji, and Yuzhen (all along the spine) in order as the lower, middle, and upper passes, and treat the Magpie Bridge (Queqiao), Crimson Palace (Jianggong), and Guanyuan in front of the body as the upper, middle, and lower passes respectively. This tradition adopts that scheme as well, for the phase of laying the foundation: it helps open the Du and Ren meridians (the two main channels, one behind the body and one in front), clear existing illness and accumulated impurities, so that Qi can later flow without obstruction. Opening them depends only on clarifying thought and releasing desire; there is no extra contrivance beyond that. The three passes spoken of here need not be tied rigidly to that anatomical division. The aperture is this one opening. This opening within the true body is the pivotal turning point where Jing is gathered, Qi accumulated, and Shen condensed. One need only attain emptiness and keep still, nurturing until there is no form; then suddenly one sees “lead and mercury” (figures for Jing and Qi in Neidan) respond together and stir—meaning Jing has already become Qi, which naturally rises and turns toward the valley (the mouth or upper center)—this is the five Qi returning to the origin (Wuqi chaoyuan). At that moment Shen and Qi mutually touch and merge; Qi then becomes Shen. When Shen gathers and Qi condenses, it becomes divine water filling the whole body—this is divine water entering the Jade Pool (Huachi). Still one lets it circulate without pause, entirely of itself, not something ordinary mind can recognize, while one’s own Shen always rests in immovable suchness—hence the name “three flowers gathering at the crown” (Sanhua juding). From this I understood: Jing becoming Qi, Qi becoming Shen, Shen becoming emptiness and merging with the Dao—this depends only on one’s own heart and breath mutually forgetting each other in what has neither form nor thing.

This method begins with mutual reliance, then gradually shifts into hidden storage and concealment; thereby even “mutual reliance” comes to rest only upon “non-being,” until at last mutual reliance itself is stored away where nothing further can be stored—this is called “mutual forgetting.” When the mind is clear and one abides in constant stillness, that is transforming into emptiness (merging into empty vastness); when stillness reaches a point where nothing remains to be stilled, that is refining emptiness and merging with the Dao (refining empty vastness and becoming one with the Way).

My master, the Old Man of Grand Emptiness (Taixu Weng), said: The teaching of the heaven immortal (ascending to immortality in heaven) is to turn and unite Jing, Qi, and Shen within a single orifice—the key pass in internal practice—like a fetus in the womb not yet knowing how to scheme and calculate, the mother carrying the child without deliberate restraint, mother and child forgetting each other yet dwelling in peace; also like a pearl on a moist, slick crystal dish, turning so that it is lively and bright, naturally round and full, light flashing—within it there is no slag or stagnation. It is not like other schools’ elixir methods (internal alchemy lineages), which fix when to refine Jing into Qi, when to refine Qi into Shen, when to refine Shen into emptiness. The root reason is failure to recognize the secret of turning the pass at this one aperture, so they cannot speak of such intimate, genuine work; they only offer petty methods, idle talk, labels, and deadlines to lecture by, leading people to mistake what is right and wrong.

This is the heart transmission (essential teaching passed heart to heart) of our lineage—a supreme-grade elixir method. Our lineage’s heart transmission must take concealing the spirit and blending transformation as the work of the heaven immortal; therefore, examining our treasured essentials, each item points to real evidence, so that in practice one first finds the “master” within, is earnest and diligent in every matter, and plain and direct everywhere; only then does one begin to refine the elixir, and subduing the tiger and dragon (taming mind and desire, refining the hun and po) becomes naturally easy; then, returning to this one-orifice secret, reaching straight to the source of the Three Passes (three barrier-gates in internal practice), becomes even less difficult. Hence in three hundred days’ work one can accomplish the great Returning Elixir of golden fluid (the perfected great elixir of internal alchemy).

Anyone who cultivates together with me must not go astray or fall into delusion, mistakenly taking some acupoint beside the spleen for a pass gate, and there practicing visualization of qi rising and falling, while declaring that qi is surging and churning, jing is dripping bit by bit, shen is moving with numinous activity, and the void is utterly empty. That is like uprooting the root and blocking the source; it only adds more ailments. It is like eating salt when hungry—you grow thirstier still—and you will never reach the day when jing is forged into shen, still less the moment when the void is refined and you unite with the Dao. You merely sit rigidly in vain, depleting qi and exhausting shen, unaware that the foundation of the elixir can be established in an instant and that the creative transformation operates entirely within your own body—a truly lamentable waste.

The above is Chapter Sixteen. This chapter points to that hidden aperture where the mechanism turns, and especially clarifies the aim of refining shen by blending qi with jing. What is achieved is entirely the work of stillness and depth, nurturing what has no form.

To restrain po is not to use the mind to restrain it. When we speak of nurturing what has no form, the discriminating spirit (shishen) dies and the Valley Spirit (gushen) lives. When the Valley Spirit lives, emotion is forgotten; when emotion is forgotten, po is extinguished. Originally there is something prior to this heart-mind that can subdue it—the heart-mind itself cannot restrain po.

To detain hun—how could that be done by intentional will? When the bodily form can be forgotten, the seven orifices merge into one clear opening; when that single opening is luminous, original nature appears; when nature appears, hun is hidden away. Only one who can hold fast to this intent can detain it—how could intent itself detain hun?

Only shen and qi remain: hun is hidden, so shen is whole; po is extinguished, so qi is sufficient.

In an instant the Mysterious Pearl forms: shen and qi mutually interact, and naturally congeal. Xuan (mysterious) images its depth; zhu (pearl) images its luster—hence the name Mysterious Pearl.

The above is Chapter Seventeen. This chapter follows the previous one, explaining that as long as one nurtures what has no form, qi naturally becomes full and shen naturally settles and is stored within. The oral instructions are not many; they come down to this mutual interaction and natural congealing. Xuan takes the image of depth; zhu takes the image of luster—hence Mysterious Pearl. What is affirmed is still that nurturing what has no form makes qi self-sufficient and shen self-hidden.

The oral formula for practice is really not long—the refinement of the elixir is completed in the space of a single instant.

The “oral formula for refining the elixir” spoken of here is the pair of lines from the previous chapter, “only retain shen and qi”; the whole intent rests on the three words wu duo zi (“there is not much more”) and on the extremely short span of pian shang (a brief moment). How shen (mind-spirit) and qi are held together and condensed in that instant has its own simple knack—what the preface to Shizi calls “no more than half a sentence.” When the practitioner’s skill is mature, wisdom arises from deep stillness (ding) and the point is grasped naturally; one acts before the decisive moment slips away—truly “gained without the least wasted effort.”

The huohou (fire phase—the rhythm and measure of refinement) should be run gently and evenly; in ten months the “infant” is brought forth.

Do not fix obsessively on the “medicine furnace” or stare rigidly at the huohou; simply settle shen and breath and leave the process to what is natural. When qi is single-pointed and thoughts are still, nothing goes wrong. Nourished in this way for three hundred days, what is refined becomes naturally lively—as when an infant leaves the womb and the image of “the dragon appears in the field” (jian long zai tian) arises. That is a metaphor, not a literal dragon. In neidan (internal alchemy), huohou means the timing and degree of cultivation; the “medicine furnace” stands for the body as the place where refinement is carried out; the “infant” figures the matured elixir embryo—the newly formed bit of yang qi. “Ten months” and “three hundred days” are both ways of saying the time needed for full nurturing.

The above is Chapter Eighteen. It follows the two preceding chapters and opens into the six that follow. Those two chapters treat gathering (cai) and joining (jiao jie); this one brings the essentials into the open.