《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 23

The mnemonic formula consists of only two words, and it also instructs practitioners that when applying it, the fire timing (huohou—the art of gauging strength and measure in cultivation) must be kept mild. The six chapters that follow treat bathing (muyu—the internal alchemy practice of nurturing the self with gentle, true qi) in detail, along with separating the embryo, warm nurturing, and on through to the completion of the elixir.

When a couple first unite in joyful intimacy, the longer the years pass, the deeper their affection grows. Auspicious qi arises in the bridal chamber, and day after day it is like a spring breeze.

Husband and wife stand for heart-mind and body; the bridal chamber stands for the one aperture (the pivotal place where mind and body meet); the spring breeze stands for gently warm fire timing. The meaning is this: at first, mind and body use essence and qi to condense spirit, and they already feel united without gap; after further refining and bathing, as days and months accumulate, the bond is even stronger than at the start. Within this, exchange happens again and again, and true qi naturally steams and nurtures—this is taken as bathing; the breath is mild, as if one were sitting in a spring breeze. Readers must not cling to the surface wording and miss the real intent.

Purple Immortal Master Xue (Xue Daoguang) has a song that says: “The husband is the true husband, the wife is the true wife; when the Kan male and the Li female join, the empty void is without dust, and heaven and earth stand revealed.” That is a picture of the luminous scene within the one aperture—how could one keep even a trace of ordinary, worldly understanding?

The above is Chapter Nineteen. This chapter follows the previous one, explaining that after long refining, natural True Qi will come to bathe the body, still at a mild warmth—outwardly it may seem no different from the effect of refining. In fact it is not the same: once the medicine (the refined essence and Qi formed within) has joined and settled in the body, at first one applies fire to make it dense and solid—this is refining; later, when True Qi constantly rises and fills the whole body, one only takes its gentle warmth—this is bathing. So refining is brought about by the timing of fire (the advance and retreat, strength and weakness of the fire), while bathing is simply how the medicine’s power naturally behaves. Bai Zi (Bai Yuchan) therefore said that one should take “doing” and “stopping” as “advance” and “retreat.” Refining is doing; bathing is stopping. Doing is advancing the fire, and one must hold the useless within the useful; stopping is retreating the fire, yet still working within the effort that seems without result. This must not be overlooked.

Paper butterflies drift through a sudden downpour; a jade peony blooms in the golden furnace (Danlu). At the third watch, red light blazes bright; in the sixth month, white frost appears, cold as winter.

These lines begin with metaphors: the first speaks of peril, the second of crisis; the third watch of the night stands for cold, the sixth month for heat; the red sun is used to drive off cold, plain frost to ease the heat of summer.

The subject is the Dao of alchemy (Neidan, internal alchemy) in its vigorous, flourishing phase, when people tend to be restless and cannot settle into stillness—yet the fire phase (huohou, the measure of intent during refinement) is exactly the moment for wuwei (non-action), when one must not act rashly. If shen (spirit) can truly concentrate and settle, with no-thought within thought and the work kept pure, there is nothing to fear.

If in daily life refining the self (lianji, tempering the mind and restraining thoughts) has not been thorough, at this critical turn toward wuwei thoughts will surely arise and shen will scatter outward. The peril is like paper butterflies in a sudden downpour; cold desolation in the body is like midnight at the third watch. One must warm it with the heat of the red sun before shen returns to tiangu (the Mud Pill Palace at the crown, the upper dantian), cold withdraws, and warmth is restored.

If thoughts are agitated, shen grows fiercely dry and hot. The crisis is like jade peonies thrown into a golden furnace; vexing heat in the heart is like the sixth month in summer. One must dispel it with the chill of plain frost before qi returns to jianggong (the Crimson Palace in the heart, the middle dantian), agitation subsides, and moisture returns.

In all cases one should aim for no-thought within thought, uprightness in movement and singleness in stillness, and always take gentle warmth as the measure.

Yet how can there be sun at the third watch, or frost in the sixth month? To seek remedy only then—how can that be right? In truth the third watch is exactly zi hour (midnight); the sixth month is when the sun stands at wu (noon). Speaking of cold, one cites the third watch; speaking of heat, one cites the sixth month—openly a stern warning against reckless action, secretly a hint that one may seize the moment to turn the wheel. Whoever grasps where the fetal origin (taiyuan, the root of the formed elixir) lies can begin to regulate it. Those who have not yet received the secret transmission should read the next chapter.

Chapter 20 follows the previous chapter. It explains that during zhihuo (ceasing to push the firing process) and muyu (neither advancing nor retreating—warming and nurturing while awaiting completion), everything depends on a settled mind and spirit and on qi moving of itself; only then can the qi mechanism flourish and fentai (differentiation of the sacred embryo—formation of the elixir) succeed. One stray thought disturbs the process and qi scatters—danger follows. Bai Zi (Bai Yuchan) therefore stresses that one must guard against intermittent practice and divided intention during cultivation; from that one can grasp the principle. Those who have deeply practiced lianji (tempering the heart, shedding desires, laying the foundation for elixir work) in ordinary life will not suffer this fault. How can anyone who aspires to the elixir path fail to qian ti—stay vigilant and self-warned at every moment?

From the sea floor jin huo (golden fire) rises; on the mountain peak tu quan (earth spring) turns— in an instant the union is complete and azure smoke rises from the yu ding (jade cauldron). The verse uses sea floor and mountain peak for the lower and upper body, golden fire and earth spring for the two qi of water and fire, and the jade cauldron for the alchemical vessel: when spirit is steady and qi harmonious, water and fire ji ji (mutually completed), the signs of formed elixir appear.

The seabed stands for Weilü—the gate at the very base of the spine; the mountain peak stands for the crown of the head. “Golden fire” is ming fire, the yang fire of life; “earth spring” is xing water, the yin water of the heart-and-nature. Their meeting is a metaphor for harmonizing in secrecy so that Yin and Yang come into balance. The jade cauldron stands for that hidden aperture; rising blue smoke is the image of warm Qi just beginning to turn and circulate.

This chapter follows the last and explains how, at the third watch of the night, the “sun” can appear within: one must concentrate this single command and pour it downward—from Weilü at one’s own seabed, fly up the pure yang Qian metal-fire hidden in Kan (Water), until it reaches the crown and returns to Qian (pure yang), like the red sun shining high so that the whole body feels harmonious overflow. How can there be “frost” in the sixth month? From one’s own mountain peak, bring down the pure yin Kun earth-spring hidden in Li (Fire), to the seabed below and back to Kun (pure yin)—like the clear cold of white frost, yet making the whole body warm and moist. Though the words split into two lines, it is one and the same work: from below upward, returning to Qian, called flying the golden fire; from above downward, returning to Kun, called moving the earth spring. What other alchemical texts call advancing the fire and retreating the tally (jinhuo tuifu) is exactly this. Turn it thus for only a moment, and the whole body naturally grows warm, as when smoke already rises from the cauldron—there is no need to go hunting for “that one breath.”

But this is still not fully natural; it is something one uses once when there is no choice, as a remedy. Otherwise the life treasure—the root essence of the person—should not be lightly stirred; Master Zhang warned of this at length. In sum, the study of nature and life (xingming) lies entirely in guarding the mind as tightly as a walled city. Hence when King Wen commented on Kun, line six-three, he wrote: “Embody the pattern inwardly; then constancy is possible” (hanzhang ke zhen)—keeping brilliance contained within before one can hold the center.

The above is Chapter Twenty-One, continuing the previous chapter and setting out methods of remedy. The commentary notes: Chapter Nineteen taught the orthodox method of “bathing” (muyu)—pausing advance and retreat in the firing so Yin and Yang settle of themselves; these two chapters teach how to correct deviation, which is why Master Bai spoke of applying chou-tian (withdrawal and addition) as circumstances require.

“Open the profound original aperture (xuan yuan qiao); break through the gate of chaos (hundun guan).”

The so-called “Xuanyuan qiao” (mysterious origin aperture) refers to that single aperture of subtle, numinous qi. “Breaking it open” means the aperture after the seven apertures return to the root: when cultivation reaches this point it suddenly opens, and one then sees the original True One. Its root lies before the ten thousand forms; it penetrates inside and outside the physical body—utterly empty, utterly without being, utterly subtle, utterly mysterious. One only feels vast obscurity and deep dimness, beyond measure by any span; boundless and vast, beyond confinement by any edge. Outwardly there is no further boundary; inwardly there is no further core. Great enough to embrace heaven and earth, fine enough to enter the tip of a hair; above there is no further form or color, below there is no further abyss. When this one thing is fully accomplished, it shines through the ages—precisely the moment when the seven apertures are unified and the xuanguan (mysterious pass), the crucial gateway where the post-heaven returns to the pre-heaven in inner refinement, opens wide.

The “Hundun guan” (Chaos Pass) means that at this time qi is already flourishing and the Yang Spirit (pure yang spirit) alone dwells in the tiangu (Heavenly Valley—the mud-pill region in the head). Though qi comes to pay homage, one remains dazed and muddled, as if stopped at the threshold of chaos, congealed into a single mass, shaped like an egg. “Breaking through” means that at this stage the medicinal power is sufficient and the firing is complete—great and firm, it can no longer stay hidden. One’s own Valley Spirit already sees the Xuanyuan on its own; the true aperture is suddenly broken open. Then the central yellow penetrates principle and the correct position occupies the body (zhong huang qi tong da tiao li, an chu zheng wei); its qi penetrates heaven and earth, its spirit governs the Dharma Body (the true body beyond the flesh). One only feels thunder crashing and lightning flashing, shaking heaven and earth; immediately the hundred meridians rise up, the Three Passes (weilü, jiaji, yuzhen) are thoroughly clear, the whole body is pure yang, and the body feels hot as fire. This is a real scene, not a metaphor.

The previous line releases the earlier toil of washing away thoughts, cleansing the mind, and gathering the six apertures into one—here “the one” returns to the root. The next line directly points to the Great Way of the Golden Elixir: from this unification of the seven apertures, nourish it directly without harming it. What Laozi called “returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to life”—here the original life is fully restored. In sum, in the post-heaven it is body and mind; the work must go from movement back to stillness to return to the pre-heaven. When one returns to the pre-heaven, it is nature and life (xing and ming); the work naturally moves from utmost stillness to movement, showing the image of “or leaping in the abyss” (when yang qi is fully stored and about to stir). Unless one day and night plants the root of nature and life in deep stillness and subtle secrecy, how could one reach this stage?

These two lines mean that once you understand how to “cook” water and fire—that is, to warm and nurture with gentle fire—you may leave the tiger and dragon to coil together on their own. “Cooking water and fire” is warm nurturing; what follows will use the image of the fourth line of the Qian hexagram, “sometimes leaping in the deep,” to make this clear. Unless someone lays the foundation day and night in deep stillness and hidden secrecy, how could they reach this stage?

At this point the tiger, which had stood for the body, now stands for qi; the dragon, which had stood for the heart-mind, now stands for shen (spirit). The hidden aperture (xuan qiao—the secret pass where spirit and qi meet on the elixir path) is already open, so one need no longer cultivate in hiding within the physical form; yet original nature (yuan xing) is not yet restored, much like the image of the fourth line in the outer trigram of Qian. When Confucius said “above and below without fixity, advance and retreat without constancy,” he meant that one cannot yet join Heaven above or match Earth below, that advance is not yet aligned with the Way and retreat is not yet enough to preserve the body—one is in a phase of coagulation that is not yet settled. One can only gather inward like “tying the pouch,” warmly nurturing this sacred work.

It is like spring water just gushing at the foot of a mountain—that is the Meng hexagram; the noble person therefore acts decisively and cultivates virtue, nurturing steadfastness into water. Or like fire first rising at the foot of a mountain—that is the Bi hexagram; the noble person therefore clarifies the affairs of governance yet does not rashly judge cases, nurturing wisdom into fire. As the method of cooking, this must be carried through from beginning to end; one must not claim that the work is already complete.

I therefore relay the round formula from the Transmission of the Immortal Heart: “The three talents guard the egg; yellow is the field of merit; I dwell within, blending and transforming Kun and Qian.” The sense is still to let spirit and qi blend in utter sincerity and unity, to wrap nature and life within the aperture of empty non-being, to leave tiger and dragon coiled together, and to wait for wind and cloud to meet—only then is there hope of refining the Golden Elixir.

Lin recorded faithfully: My teacher once told people that for the most essential teaching on seeking the Golden Elixir, one should contemplate the Qian and Kun hexagrams of the Zhouyi—there the Way is complete. Reading the top line of Kun together with the top line of Qian, I grasped the way of gathering and taking; pairing the first line of Qian with the first line of Kun, I knew the way of coagulation; pairing the second lines, the way of cooking and nurturing; pairing the third lines, the way of bathing (the stage of harmonizing and washing in refinement); pairing the fourth lines, I saw that after the embryo separates one must warm and nurture; pairing the fifth lines, the way of elixir completion; and reading the top lines again together with “use nine” and “use six,” I understood the way of release and transformation in life and death. The Duke of Zhou wrote the line texts so that people might savor what the divination indicates; Confucius then unfolded the subtle meaning through the Judgment, the Image, and the Commentary on the Decision—so that one may observe the images to know change and savor the words to know the divination.

The preceding is Chapter Twenty-Two. This chapter continues from the last: once bathing (the stage in internal alchemy when firing is paused and one rests in quiet harmonization) is fully sufficient, the principle of natural “separation of the embryo” appears—that is what the elixir masters (whom the text calls the “white child”) mean by “shifting the spirit as changing the cauldron.” In fact there is nothing that can truly be divided or moved; it is only that one’s knowing and seeing broaden so that heaven and the human are no longer cut off, and spirit and qi are full so that outer things and the self no longer have a boundary. One must nurture and warm until pure maturity before the elixir is seen as complete. Such nurturing often cannot be finished on a fixed schedule; whether it is slow or fast depends on how purely and single-mindedly the practitioner has practiced vigilance in solitude (being careful and steadfast even when alone).

The scripture says: In the waters of Suojie there is fire; on Mount Kunlun there are waves. Who can understand how to apply this? The main point lies in the Yellow Dame (Huang Po—the true intent that harmonizes water and fire in internal alchemy). “Suojie water” points to the bottom of the sea; “Kunlun mountain” points to the summit. These two lines look the same as the opening couplet of Chapter Twenty-One, but there the “flying circulation” was a remedial method within the physical body (se), and the key still lay with the Yellow Dame. By now the spirit has been set right in place and has fixed its mandate; qi has become clear through and through, inside and out. One need only know that under heaven there is a Suojie sea, and that one’s wisdom-life is hidden within it; that there is a Kunlun mountain, and that one’s settled nature dwells here. One no longer distinguishes east from west or near from far, nor deliberately performs the ascent and descent of fire and water—one lets the vast upright qi flow on its own, and the ten thousand things grow together, thereby completing the nurturing stage. The application at this point is very different from when the gates and passes (the qi channels and orifices) have not yet been opened: one must earnestly believe and guard, not let heart and qi rise restless and agitated, so that the body is often at ease, and by harmonizing with light and blending with dust one may look for the return of the original nature (yuan xing). Master Zixian Xue (Xue Daoguang, styled Zixian) has a song: “The water is true water, the fire is true fire; still turn the celestial circuit according to the season, harmonize and refine to the end, and it becomes the treasure of long life.” From this one may know what is meant by “application.”

The preceding is Chapter Twenty-Three. This chapter closely follows the last and explains in concrete terms the principle of nurturing and warming while keeping fullness. The medicine is taken from the pre-heaven qi (xian tian qi); the fire seeks the essence of Taiyi. When one knows how to take the medicine and use the fire, the elixir may be seen in stillness. Here “medicine” means essence (jing), spirit (shen), hun ( ethereal soul), and po ( corporeal soul).

This chapter follows the previous one and focuses on the way of nourishing warmth and holding fullness—after the inner elixir (Neidan) has formed, one maintains and preserves its fullness in a gentle manner, without rushing ahead.

The medicine is taken from pre-heaven Qi (the primordial vitality one receives at birth); the fire is sought in Taiyi essence (the true refined essence contained in Taiyi). Once one knows how to take the medicine and how to find the fire, one can see the elixir form in stillness (ding li jian dan cheng).

By “medicine” is meant the qi of the five—Jing (essence), Shen (spirit), and the qi of soul, corporeal soul, and intent. When the five qi penetrate one another and all return to the origin (chaoyuan), they coalesce into the primordial simplicity (Taisu) state—a hazy, undifferentiated mass of original spirit—and pure Yang qi arises within the body. This is pre-heaven Qi. By “fire” is meant the refined essence of the three grades—Jing, Qi, and Shen. When the three transform together and gather at the crown (san hua ju ding), they condense inward into Taiyi essence containing truth (Taiyi han zhen zhi qi), and the heart obtains pure Yin essence. This is Taiyi essence.

Fellow practitioner Master Qu said: The Spring and Autumn Diagram of the City Wall records that the five stars of the North Pole are in the Purple Forbidden Palace (Ziwei gong—the celestial abode of the supreme deity)—that is Taiyi essence. Its position lies near Tianyi and slightly south, corresponding to the crown of the human head, so it can resonate with and pour directly into the human heart. This account has solid basis: it is the origin of how, at birth, Yin and Yang unite and Taiyuan (the primordial source) is formed. Compare also Chapter Seventeen, which names what is obtained at this time the marrow of Heaven and Earth (tiandi sui). Heaven and Earth are Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); thus Taiyi derives from Taiji—what He Louzi meant by “in the deep obscurity and silence, Taiji flows forth refined qi.” Taiji itself cannot be seen, so Taiyi, who governs Heaven, is used as a likeness. The Taiyi essence in the Purple Forbidden Palace is the essence that flows from Taiji; calling it the marrow of Heaven and Earth is apt. These points need not be pursued in detail.

In sum, human beings and celestial qi were originally interconnected. When cultivation reaches this stage, one constantly merges the true qi of five qi returning to the origin with the original spirit of three flowers gathering at the crown, subtle and continuous as if present (mianmian ruo cun), until thought rests and the mind sinks into dark mystery—then one’s original nature (yuan xing) naturally returns. This is taking Taiyi essence as fire and pre-heaven Qi as medicine; fire refines the medicine, and in stillness the elixir is refined complete. As Baizi said: one may grasp it without deliberate intent, but one must not grasp it with deliberate intent.

Master Xue Zixian (Xue Daoguang) sang: The medicine is not some outer thing, nor is fire some measurable heat—they are clearly nothing but a point of Yang qi, refined so one may enjoy longevity without end through myriad eons. Only in stillness, in what has no image, must one guard it strictly; then naturally there is fire to refine and complete the spirit—this is “seeing the elixir form in stillness.” If one seeks with cleverness and artifice, it is as Zhuangzi said: when the Yellow Emperor lost his dark pearl and sent Knowledge (Zhi) to find it, he could not recover it.

The above is Chapter Twenty-Four. It gathers up the preceding twenty-three chapters and explains that from taking (gathering the medicine and collecting Qi in internal alchemy) through to the completion of the elixir, nothing goes beyond the easy-and-simple Way of Qian and Kun (in the sense of the Book of Changes: “Qian knows easily; Kun acts simply”). Everything is a method that is easy to understand and straightforward to practice. You need only keep a steady, upright mind, stay clear, still, and natural, and remain purely one without duality. After you have done a full three hundred days of work, you can then wander freely beyond the realm of phenomena, play at ease in the human world, come and go without obstruction, and align with the Way of nature.

Comment by the compiler (Yu An): From the first chapter through this twenty-fourth, the elixir Way as presented is already complete. Only for point-transformation, taking, joining and coupling, firing and refining, bathing, dividing the embryo, and nurturing warmth could the text not avoid using metaphors and separating stages for clarification. The author was deeply afraid that later readers would fix on the words and cling to the images, treating them as tangible, purposeful operations—and so fail to awaken in a flash. Even if one grasped the true meaning, there was still the risk of taking two aspects as things to be used together, getting caught in tedious back-and-forth ascent and descent, and not knowing that from the start one thread runs through all. Even knowing that single thread, one might still, after refining reaches the Valley Spirit (the spirit that is empty yet never dimmed), keep a split between inside the body and outside it and fail to awaken. The true body originally unites form and Dharma in one person; inside and outside were always fully clear. What follows therefore explains again, to make plain the main point of the text above. Though the wording sometimes borrows comparisons, every passage clears doubt and every chapter unfolds the real meaning; the lingering tone invites reflection, the sense lies beyond the words, and the flavor is deep—it should be read over and over and savored.

The qi that arises within my body is formless primordial Qi (yuanqi)—the pre-heaven single Qi—not like food, which has shape, so there is no question of “how to ingest” it. The essence that arises in my mind is formless true Jing (xiantian zhi jing, pre-heaven essence), not the visible post-heaven Jing; unlike external things, it is not solid and heavy, so there is no need to shift it about. Once you understand “recognizing the medicine” and “applying the fire,” you see that medicine is fire and fire is medicine: true Jing and primordial Qi are spoken of as two, yet in reality they are one; spoken of as one, they can still be viewed from two sides. With them alone you have enough to serve as the foundation of the great elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy)—that much is clear.

The above is Chapter Twenty-five. It gathers up the previous twenty-four chapters and states that the elixir’s foundation is simply essence and Qi merged into one, with nothing further to seek outside.

Confucian teaching only clarifies the principles of human nature (xingli); Buddhist teaching only dismantles stubborn emptiness (clinging to voidness without knowing the root). Without understanding the immortals’ methods, one cannot know that the Golden Elixir can show results in a very short time.

This means that in that era few truly received the Confucian sagely Way or the Buddhist Dharma. Confucians often distinguished and explained xingli but did not trace primordial destiny (yuanming) as the root of xing; Buddhists often stressed breaking stubborn emptiness but did not probe primordial nature (yuanxing) as the root of ming—so neither recognized the immortals’ Way as one thread running through all. What is called refining medicine with fire to form an elixir is, in truth, using Shen (spirit) to govern Qi and thereby accomplish the Dao: exhausting principle and fulfilling one’s own nature until one genuinely embodies ming. The Confucian sages left the Zhouyi and Zhongyong; the Buddha spoke the Diamond Sutra and Complete Enlightenment Sutra. Compare them side by side and you see that the immortals’ Golden Elixir art was always a humane path (renshu): in a brief span it can lay the foundation and complete transformation within this one body. As the early Confucians said, “Penetrate the One and all affairs are fulfilled”—then you understand that from antiquity to today there has never been two Ways under heaven, and the sages of the three teachings—Confucian, Buddhist, and Daoist—have never had two minds.

The above is Chapter Twenty-six. It follows the previous chapter, lamenting that people do not grasp that uniting essence and Qi as foundation allows completion of transformation in the body in a short time; from the early Confucians’ “penetrate the One and all affairs are complete,” one learns that from antiquity there is no second Way under heaven and the three teachings’ sages have no second heart.

The preceding is Chapter Twenty-six. It continues from what came before, lamenting that people in the world do not know how to unite Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) and refine them into an elixir. The text then earnestly and compassionately, yet sternly, awakens practitioners of the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—hoping they will seek the inner transmitted essentials of the three sages, follow the same gate of practice, and thereby deliver all people under heaven.

Mercury in the crescent moon furnace, lead in the cinnabar tripod: the True One Qi symbolized by the turtle and serpent is originally generated in the pre-heaven realm.

The crescent moon furnace refers to a place within the human body where one may set the furnace and cook and refine; it need not be fixed to one anatomical spot. Cinnabar is used as a metaphor for the heart; calling it a tripod means that the human heart is originally empty and can hold things and be used for cooking, refining, and regulating. The meaning of turtle and serpent was already given in Chapter Four. Here the text especially develops the idea of Chapter One: the lead and mercury within body and mind originally arise from the True One of Yin-Yang and all come from the pre-heaven; one need only achieve emptiness, stillness, and peace and watch their return—there is no need to seek outward. Hence the Purple Immortal Xue Daoguang has a song: “Crescent moon furnace, cinnabar tripod—know that one must embrace the One and guard harmonious emptiness, regardless of passing through the passes and entering the jade well.” Xue Daoguang was a disciple of Shi Tai; it was precisely because he received the authentic transmission of this chapter’s secret that he wrote that song.

The preceding is Chapter Twenty-seven. This chapter explains that furnace, tripod, medicine, and fire are all already present in oneself from the first moment of life. It grieves that people neither understand this nor put it into practice.

Between new moon and full moon one seeks the first and last quarters; the imagery of “drawing out and adding” is like the moon’s waning and waxing. If one does not know the true creation-and-transformation, how can one recognize what is true lead? New moon is the first day of the lunar month, full moon is the fifteenth, the first and last quarters are the half-moon phases, and “dark of the moon” is month’s end; in elixir practice these lunar phases metaphor the advance and retreat of firing times. “Drawing out” is decrease, “adding” is increase; that increase and decrease is just as the moon goes from full to crescent and from crescent to full. Not knowing this genuine creation-and-transformation, one has no way to tell what true lead is.

The lunar phases of new moon, full moon, quarter moon, and waning moon symbolize fullness and depletion, decline and growth. “Seek” (xún) means to operate or turn, not to search for something. What is called “drawing out” (chōu) is to reduce when fullness is present; what is called “adding” (tiān) is to supplement when there is depletion—both follow nature. Generating being from non-being is called “creating” (zào); returning from being to non-being is called “transforming” (huà)—this takes nature as its model. Here the text says that the Dao of the elixir (Neidan cultivation) follows nature: the human body naturally has movement and stillness, and qi naturally has concealment and rising, just as the moon in the sky has its new moon, full moon, quarter moon, and waning—one can only work with its waxing and waning for drawing out and adding; there is no principle by which it stays full for an entire month. If one does not know that fullness and emptiness, message and response, are the true pivot of creation and transformation, yet after the first quarter and before new moon and waning, at the time around sunset (rìbū), seeks the moon appearing in the gēng direction (west), that can never be obtained. From this it is shown: before the alchemist has obtained the medicine, one should take preserving clarity and stillness as the foundation and guarding the true lead (xiān tiān yī qì, pre-heaven qi) as the function; if one has not yet met the moment when guǐ water first arises, one will never see it—however much one searches throughout the body, what could count as true lead? This clarifies the meaning of Chapter Two’s “in gathering, one must know the timing.”

The above is Chapter Twenty-eight. The previous chapter already explained where the medicine comes from; this chapter points out when the medicine arises, so that everyone may both understand and act accordingly.

Qi is the life within the form; the heart-mind is the spirit within nature. One who can know the acupoints where spirit and qi reside is a person who has attained the Dao and become an immortal.

The physical form is the body. The body depends on the true Qi in the Life-root—the root of life—to arise and endure; therefore Qi is taken as life within the form. The heart is where Nature (Xing) dwells and where the Original Spirit (Yuan Shen, the innate spirit) abides; thus the heart is Shen within Nature—the heart is Shen’s chamber. In short, Nature and Life are the root of body and heart; Shen and Qi are what body and heart express. Hence body and heart are what Nature and Life rest upon; they are the cavity where Shen and Qi converge. The clear and awakened person who finds this true cavity gathers and stores Shen and Qi—this is “establishing the foundation of life and dwelling in deep stillness and concealment” (jiming youmi). Without knowing this, where would one begin to cultivate the immortal path?

This concludes Chapter Twenty-Nine. The chapter again explains work on body-heart and Nature-Life: it operates solely through Shen and Qi, so that one may suddenly grasp the method of return and revert to the source.

Musui peng jinding: cooking “wood marrow” (subtle essence linked to liver-wood and original nature) in the “golden cauldron” (in inner alchemy, the vessel in which Shen and Qi are refined).

The scripture uses “wood” as a metaphor for human nature (xing). Nature rests upon the heart-mind (xin). The speck of true essence within the heart-mind originally springs from the root of nature—it is one’s own primordial essence (jing); just as a tree has marrow, it is called “wood marrow” to show the source of mercury (gong). Mercury is the inner-alchemy medicament that corresponds to nature and to the heart-mind.

“Gold” stands for the innate virtue of Qian (pure yang heaven). The innate heart-mind originally belongs to Qian, so the heart is likened to a “golden heart,” the support of nature. Nature is not without goodness; dwelling in the heart-mind, it can embody all principles and respond to every affair—like smelting metal to cast a cauldron that can harmonize fire and water and cook the five flavors, hence the name “golden cauldron” (jinding).

The heart-mind is originally utterly clear; before it meets outer things, no flaw or entanglement clings to it, and its marrow can be refined into spirit (shen). Only since the body arose, without having been “cooked,” at the first touch of worldly desire it rushes outward; the heart-mind is worn down and instead is enslaved by the physical form. Wishing to refine the elixir in such a state—how can one hope to congeal essence into mercury? Therefore one must first clarify the correct command, set right the master within the heart, and with a pure, quiet heart-mind cook until it is bright and clear, so that the primordial spirit (yuanshen) in nature is complete. Once lead is produced—lead is the inner-alchemy medicament representing innate true yang—true mercury arises and is refined into spirit. Hence the image “wood marrow cooked in the golden cauldron”: cooking wood marrow inside the golden cauldron.

“Spring flow pouring into the jade furnace” means qi like a spring pouring into the jade furnace. The jade furnace pairs with the golden cauldron; both are the furnace and cauldron used in inner-alchemy cooking.

The term "spring" (quan) refers to what water is called while it still lies in the mountains and has not yet flowed out; here it metaphorically stands for human "life" (ming)—the root of one's existence. Life clings to the body. That bit of true qi within the body originally arises from the "root of life" (mingdi); it is one's primordial qi (yuanqi, the innate pre-heaven vital energy). Just as water must have a source, it is called "spring flowing"—this points to where "lead" (qian, in internal alchemy the image of pre-heaven true yang and the source of primordial essence) comes from. "Jade" (yu) enfolds the pre-heaven "Kun body" (the yin-still constitution). The human body in its pre-heaven state belongs to Kun, so the body is likened to a jade body—the vessel on which life rests. Life is always vigorous, and thus it relies on the body. At the midnight zi hour, the one yang stirs of itself, as if jade were carved into a furnace with fire inside; the warm breath nourishes all the more—hence "jade furnace" (yulu, the body as the alchemical cauldron). This means the body is originally utterly still; before contact with outer things there was no illness, and growth depended entirely on this embryonic breathing (taixi, the subtle natural respiration like a fetus in the womb) circulating. Only after contact with the world did one fail to guard inward single-mindedly, agitating the qi so that it leaked outward as seminal essence—hence leakage. Now, to refine the internal elixir (neidan, cultivating essence, qi, and spirit within), this qi is still too turbid; one must first hold correct intent, gather and unify the breath in the body, clarify and purify it, so that pre-heaven primordial qi moves of itself and "mercury" (gong, in internal alchemy the image of the mind-spirit) is refined into spirit (shen). Hence it is called "spring flowing into the jade furnace."

"Who will spend three hundred days, slowly applying effort?" means: among all the people coming and going in the world, who is willing to ponder the great matter of birth and death, to trace the essence and spirit within body and mind back to their source, refine them until they are like gold and jade, seize the right timing in practice, and steadily apply three hundred days of work—neither forgetting nor forcing progress—cultivating step by step?

The above is Chapter Thirty. This chapter continues the previous one: having traced spirit and qi to their roots and refined them like gold and jade, one again matches them to the proper season and applies three hundred days of effort—without forgetting, without over-assisting—advancing gradually.

This is Chapter Thirty. The previous chapter already explained the roots of Shen and Qi; in principle one could comprehend it immediately and return to the source. Those who have not yet understood usually suffer from deeply ingrained habits: Shen is dim and Qi is turbid, the spiritual pass before them (the aperture through which mind-spirit becomes clear and penetrating) does not open, and they cannot fully take it on. Therefore the teaching goes on to rouse the spirit, tune heart-nature until it is firm, healthy, and pure, and wait until the right moment before applying fire and working in earnest (qihu xiūliàn).

Jade cauldron cooking lead fluid: The cauldron stands for the chamber of spirit (where spirit dwells). If the master within has cultivated to clarity as in the previous chapter, Shen is already fine, dense, and pure as jade—hence “jade cauldron.” Before long, lead Qi (pre-heaven refined breath) arrives; then one kindles mercury fire (the fire of mind-spirit) to refine it into spirit water. Hence “jade cauldron cooking lead fluid.”

Golden furnace nurturing mercury essence: The furnace stands for the sea of Qi (where breath gathers). If the upright Qi within is, as in the previous chapter, clear, poured through, and unstained, breath naturally condenses firm like gold—hence “golden furnace.” Once Qi arises, it must meet mercury essence (the refined essence of mind-spirit); the two naturally nurture and grow together and enter the flower pool (where refined liquid collects). Hence “golden furnace nurturing mercury essence.”

Nine returns means nine revolutions—repeated refining and cycling nine times; gentle nurturing is like the circuit of the week-star, as when a star completes its round: with gentle fire (wénhuǒ) one nurtures slowly through a full cycle.

Nine returns is the same as nine transformations; the meaning has already been explained in Chapter Six. It means that when gathering the medicine is done by the proper method—that is, the principles of refining and joining—it is “like the circumpolar stars”: just as the stars around the pole mark the four seasons and the times of day and night so that the seasons have their measure, all of this rests on the firm, unyielding movement of the Way of Heaven, turning naturally at the pivot without deviation. Both the bathing stage (using balanced, harmonizing work to subdue and settle) and warm nurturing (using gentle work to nourish the elixir embryo) should take this as their model. The main aim of this chapter is to show that shen (spirit) is fire and qi is the medicine: when fire meets medicine, refining is fierce; when medicine receives fire, it congeals and solidifies—and thus the returned elixir (Huandan) is achieved. To speak of refining and of nurturing is to say that from the moment of joining one applies refining, following Qian’s rule of “still and single-minded in rest, upright and direct in movement,” nurturing through bathing and separation of the embryo, then through warm nurturing, until the elixir is complete.

This is the end of Chapter Thirty-One. It follows the previous chapter: after rousing and gathering shen, when the time comes the various qi converge like spokes on a hub, and the elixir can be condensed and formed; it also pinpoints where medicine and fire truly lie, so that the account of nine returns leaves no room for doubt.

Jade liquid nourishes the spirit chamber; the golden embryo forms at the hub of qi. Seek the medicine only within the body—there is no need to leaf through books on the elixir.

Jade liquid means heart-qi; golden embryo means the lead of the heart (the core of true lead). Only when qi is full and transforms into shen can one refine the elixir. So one must first nourish one’s own heart-qi to moisten the spirit chamber; then, when lead is present, the two merge completely and the embryo forms. Once embryonic qi has formed, the qi of the whole body circulates like the turning of heaven around the celestial pivot, no longer running off course. This is to say that shen is the hub of qi. Kun’s virtue can hold and settle steadily, and qi will always gather. All of this is medicine within the body, to be sought only in oneself. Elixir texts through the ages merely state this main idea, teaching people to cultivate inwardly and examine themselves—not to hunt for it outward in books.

This is the end of Chapter Thirty-Two. This chapter treats fixation after joining: qi always gathers; it is all inner medicine to be sought in the body; the classics on the elixir only clarify the general meaning, teaching inward self-cultivation and reflection—without needing to search through them again.

The preceding chapter is Chapter Thirty-Two, on the correct method of yin and yang joining.

Fire dates were never born with pits; crossed pears were never made with grit. All day long one follows the firing rhythm, irrigating the golden flower with divine water.

“Fire dates” names the true mercury obtained when lead is cooked into elixir; “crossed pears” names the dan embryo when mercury and lead have fused into one. The meaning of divine water is explained in Chapter Four; the golden flower is the Hua Pool (Huachi). This means that spirit in essence has no pit and qi in essence has no grit: one need only all day, in stillness empty and in movement upright, nourish that which has no form, and spirit will naturally condense into the qi cavity. This is the path of “lead and mercury become the true body” spoken of in the first chapter—something that arises from nature. Laozi says, “One who is brave in not daring lives”—exactly this meaning. The purple sage Master Xue (internal alchemist Xue Daoguang) sang, “True crossed pears, true fire dates”—likewise that the true body is perfected through nature; Laozi’s “brave in not daring then live” is the same idea. He also sang: “True crossed pears, true fire dates—after eating crossed pears the four limbs are at ease; when fire dates are swallowed, ten thousand kalpas are sated.” Is it not precisely so?

The preceding chapter is Chapter Thirty-Three, on the correct method of cooking and refining. The next chapter goes on to point out the mistakes of those who only refine qi or only preserve spirit, and laments that they have not yet grasped the wonder of the supreme-grade authentic secret.

Refining qi alone is wasted effort; preserving spirit alone is arbitrary exertion. How would they know that the marvel of the elixir secret lies in tasting empty non-being all day long?

“Play” (wan) means something like the great peng bird soaring ninety thousand li yet, when it rests for six months, still never flying beyond the outer heaven. What is called true emptiness (vacuum) means that spirit (Shen) is substantial while qi (vital energy) is vacuous. When I enter the qi cavity (the place where breath gathers) with spirit, I sweep away both the view that contemplates emptiness and the realm taken as the object of that contemplation; the whole body becomes transparent, inside and outside are one and the same vacuum. What is called playing with true emptiness is what Haichan Gong (Liu Haichan) meant by “the luminous body attains long life—emptiness that is not dead emptiness; the spirit mirror embraces heaven and holds the ten thousand things”: the bright substance may endure, empty yet not a void of death; spirit clear as a mirror, containing heaven and all things. Human upright qi (Zhengqi) should only be nourished and preserved, not deliberately refined; simply let it circulate on its own, and it will be clear, empty, and agile without the least obstruction. Yet some people devote themselves to refining qi—either moving breath about or holding the breath shut. They do not know that breath-holding and breath-moving were originally what practitioners of the Fulu (talismans and registers) line use when performing rites: they borrow the empty realm to store and deploy qi because they have another purpose in refining it, and so it seems to work. If genuine qi already circulates by itself and one still goes on refining it, one is imprisoning the qi. Once qi is imprisoned, it blocks and cannot flow; in sleep one still loses it unknowingly—effort wasted, toil without gain. This is a side branch of the elixir schools, still clinging to that empty realm, not understanding that inner and outer are one continuous whole, and therefore going wrong.

Furthermore, human primordial spirit (Yuanshen) should only be laid down in peace; there is no need to force oneself to “store” it—let it constantly retreat and hide in secrecy, and then it is real and not hollow. Yet some people devote themselves to storing spirit—either fixed visualization (zhuxiang) or silent reverence (mochao). They do not know that visualization and silent reverence were originally what ordinary people use when sacrificing to spirits and ghosts: borrowing the view of emptiness to express utmost sincerity and reverence, and thus attaining responsive communion—because they have another focus of attention do they “store.” If the elixir spirit is already still and settled and one still goes on storing it, one is disturbing one’s own spirit.

Once the mind-spirit is disturbed, it is as if shackled and cannot rest; it inevitably drifts into idle thoughts, the practice is wasted and grows ineffective. This is the mistake of the Two Vehicles in Buddhism (Śrāvaka and Pratyekabuddha)—still clinging to the view of “contemplating emptiness” and failing to forget both self and dharmas together. Chen Niwan (Chen Nan, a Southern Song inner alchemy master) in Cuixu Yin pointed out these faults one by one: all stem from not having grasped the correct formula of “True Unity” (Zhenyi), leading to futile effort and endless pitfalls. How could one know that the wonder of superior-grade elixir formulas (shangpin danjue) has long since emptied both the view of emptiness and the emptiness that is contemplated—thus attaining unobstructed true emptiness: spirit naturally hides in the depths to nourish what has no form; qi naturally fills the void and gathers at its utmost pole. From after the junction following the Huo Zi Shi (the moment when yang qi stirs in the body, not tied to the clock hour of midnight) until just before the next Huo Zi Shi is due to turn, one remains concentrated and still all day, taking walking, standing, sitting, and lying down as huohou (the rhythm of gentle nurturing): rise with the sun like the great peng in flight, rest at evening like the peng at roost; eat when hungry, sleep when weary; meet affairs as they come, and when guests depart, be still. The ten thousand things cannot stir this mind without discrimination; heaven and earth cannot command this formless body; let the six qi circulate as they will—I alone hold the ten thousand things in one sincerity. This is the subtle formula of the previous chapter’s “tending huohou from morning till night” and this chapter’s “playing with true emptiness all day long”—why bother in vain with refining qi and preserving spirit?

This is Chapter 34. It follows the previous chapter in explaining that the treasure of life and nature should not be lightly tampered with. One need only store qi within qi, hidden deep and beyond measure, and store spirit within spirit, subtle and beyond detection. Thus one is neither fixated on emptiness nor on nothingness, like a fish in water at ease: when things arrive from outside, one meets them clearly and in due course; when they depart, the mind is open and fair, whole and self-contained. This is the proper way of “bathing” (the neidan practice of warming and harmonizing). When a person can do this, what need is there to fear danger?

To refine congenital qi, one must first cultivate lively “cinnabar” (in neidan, a metaphor for agile true nature—not a physical substance). Once the sacred embryo is formed, when the crown gate opens there will be thunder (an inner sign of yang qi breaking through).

What is called “living mercury” is mercury that has not yet been refined—used here to refer to that bit of yin essence in the heart-mind. At first it has not yet met lead (a figure for the body’s yang qi) to be cooked and refined; it still behaves like quicksilver, lively and hard to tame. What is called “breaking through the crown” is the same idea as “boring through and opening up” in Chapter Twenty-Two. The scripture says the reason this bit of yin essence in the heart is prized is that once it meets the yang qi in the body, that yang can seize it and refine it. But essence still belongs to yin; like living mercury it slips away easily—how then can one expect it to gather qi and become spirit (Shen)? Therefore, those who wish to refine pre-heaven qi must first, in daily life, practice vigilance and reverence and hold fast to intention: from vigilance in solitude (being strict with oneself even when alone) they retreat and store themselves in the deepest secrecy—taking stillness and clarity as the root, and guarding lead and mercury as the practical work.

When the “birth of Guì” arrives (when true essence and the medicinal substance first stir), they bring forth their own firm, solid strength: they seize the yin essence that rampages like a dragon, meet and catch the yang qi fierce as a tiger; the two grapple in a death struggle, rush upward together, then turn back—and naturally unite in joy, tight as if no gap remained. Then that bit of yin essence I had always feared would scatter, which I compared to living mercury—its “water” has been drawn dry by yang qi, congealed into spirit, and both return together into the formless aperture. This is the Xuanpin (the mysterious gate of generation, as in the Daodejing—here, this very formless aperture). This is also what Baizi meant: “Two clay oxen fought their way into the sea; to this day no news of them has ever been clear.”

What is described here is only the moment when the dan head (the first coalescence of the medicinal sprout) has just formed. After that, the return of primordial mandate and primordial nature also take this deep secrecy (youmi) as the ground for practice. Even when pre-heaven true qi in the body comes again and again in ordinary time, it is only through this “spirit that is not spirit” (Shen that needs no deliberate contriving) that subtle union occurs, congealing in the place of “nothing whatsoever” (wuheyou—holding to nothing). Day after day, night after night, without counting months and days, the sacred embryo (the inner elixir fetus formed from essence, qi, and spirit) naturally forms. Once the aperture at the crown is broken open, that is the gate of the Xuanpin. One feels as if this body were seated in heaven; one sees thunder and lightning in the void, earth-shaking and sky-rending; then the hundred pulses all still, and the three passes (Weilü, Jiaji, and Yuzhen on the governing vessel) open through. From then on the body burns like fire, the whole form pure yang; old ailments vanish entirely, and even in sleep there are no more dreams.

The predecessors honored this step as “return to mandate (fuming),” saying it is the return of my pre-heaven Lingbao primordial-mandate true person; for “return to nature (fuxing)” they said it is the return of the pre-heaven Taiji moral true person; and at the stage of refining emptiness and merging with the Dao, they said it is the return of my pre-heaven Wuji primordial-one qi. Clearly they took the celestial lords evolved from the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) as the true body in which one qi circulates. That teaching indeed has subtle reason; yet I privately think that on the path of refining the elixir, at first progress is marked by restoring qi and restoring spirit; then one points to fuming, fuxing, and merging with the origin as the completion of the work—making the aim of returning to the root and restoring the source feel intimate rather than vague. So one need not invoke those honorific titles at every step; that is not to dismiss the settled words of the predecessors.

This is Chapter Thirty-five. It continues from the previous chapter and clarifies the true appearance of natural embryonic separation—when the sacred embryo opens on its own without forced effort. At the moment when “it is not above in heaven, not below in the field, and not in the middle within a person”—when the elixir does not settle in the heavens, on cultivated land, or in an ordinary person—one feels all the more intimate and grounded, not drifting into vagueness. For that reason there is no need at every step to invoke lofty titles, nor is there any intent to cast aside what earlier masters already fixed in their teachings. Though adepts call this stage returning the elixir (huandan, the pill refined and sent back), the golden liquid (jinye, the elixir substance formed from essence and qi) has not yet been fully returned. At this point inner work must not rely on large, forceful efforts of grasping and holding; the text therefore turns to the method of blended transformation (hunhua), teaching one to use gentle nurturing (wenyang) to bring the elixir to maturity.

What is meant by “one clump of gold” is that one no longer distinguishes among the five qi (the qi of the Five Phases), the three radiances (the luminous manifestations of Jing, Qi, and Shen), or the various views about inner and outer, stillness and movement, and form versus dharma-nature—one simply nourishes the formless root with a mind of purity and stillness. The Scripture of Salvation by the Great One of Limitless Compassion says: “Heavenly qi returns into the single body and all becomes the spirit of spontaneity. Spontaneity may have distinct forms, yet originally they rest in emptiness. The trace of emptiness is no real trace; the whole body is void. First, entrusting qi to establish the body; second, following qi to generate transformation; third, accomplishing the myriad methods; fourth, giving birth to radiance.” This is exactly what is meant.

Here the text continues from the previous chapter: at birth, the qi first entrusted within the body returns from the lodging palace and the empty valley to the responding valley—it has nothing to do with the kidneys as such. The spirit formed from yin essence returns to the heavenly valley (the Niwan region at the crown) only because qi in the lodging palace and responding valley turns in accord and circles round—not because it “belongs” to the heart. But these are still places one can grasp within the form body (the physical body); the dharma body (the true body beyond flesh) has not yet appeared. Now form and dharma are blended together as the work of nurturing cultivation (slow, gentle refinement as with a mild fire).

Know that spirit has no fixed position and qi has no fixed shape. What is hidden in secrecy is called spirit; what fills the void is called qi. Spirit and qi interact only within emptiness, with no trace to be found. One only feels them meeting in trance, transforming in obscurity. Try to seek them—you cannot grasp them; between stillness and emptiness on one side and movement and directness on the other, suddenly a flash of flame scatters through the void—that is precisely one clump of golden light, penetrating the whole body. When you use it, the true spirit appears; when you release it, it hides in unmoving suchness. This is a real scene, not a metaphor.

The above is Chapter Thirty-six. This chapter continues the previous one and links through the next five chapters, all to clarify the correct method of nurturing cultivation.

There is an aperture called the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin—the gate where yin and yang meet and generating qi emerges); within it spirit and qi are stored. Who can know this aperture? Do not go outside again seeking the true mechanism.

This chapter explains that when human life first receives Qi and takes form, a single aperture opens—what the ancients called Xuanpin (the mysterious gateway of generation and nourishment in Daoist teaching). It is simply because one can remain clear and still that the seven orifices (eyes, ears, nose, mouth) return to the root: essence and Qi reflux and refine into Shen (spirit), and this aperture can in turn hold Shen within—hence the name Xuanpin. The crux is that at that moment a single upright thought must arise; only then can condensation occur in a brief interval. Thus Baizi said: “Take the place where the thought arises as Xuanpin.”

The master said: Qi arises from the deepest recess and completes itself as Shen—therefore it is called “mysterious” (xuan); this is the true Yin within the Li trigram, in fact the yin essence in the heart receiving a single coalescence of Qi to fulfill one’s innate nature. Qi, relying on Shen’s gathering and holding, becomes spirit-water—therefore it is called “female” (pin); this is the true Yang within the Kan trigram, in fact the yang in the body meeting and merging with Qi to fulfill one’s original destiny (benming). Essence and Qi mingled in this one aperture—that is Xuanpin. Who in the world knows this? If someone understands why this aperture is named Xuanpin, they know that only this one thought is real; all else is not—why seek further outside?

Master Zixian Xue (Xue Daoguang) sang: “True Xuanpin, true Xuanpin—all Xuanpin is in one aperture; not at mouth and nose, not at heart and kidneys.” What this chapter clarifies is exactly that. Chunyangzi (Lü Dongbin) said still more plainly: “Investigate to the utmost the first moment of receiving life and receiving Qi—do not wonder that the celestial mechanism has been fully disclosed.”

The above is Chapter Thirty-Seven, on why this aperture is named Xuanpin.

The spleen and stomach are not where the spirit settles; the bladder is merely what the kidneys leave over. I urge you not to fix on these regions—they are not the rungs of elixir cultivation.

This passage means that the spleen and stomach are merely places where the qi of food and drink is stored—not the spirit chamber where the primordial spirit (yuanshen) resides—so they must not be blocked, lest food and drink fail to transform and circulate. The bladder is only the surplus storehouse of the kidneys, used to hold water and waste; it must not be mistaken for yang essence (innate refined essence) and wrongly sent into the river chariot (the neidan pathway for circulating refined qi). The whole ladder of progress in the elixir path has nothing to do with these places; do not fixate on them.

The above is Chapter Thirty-eight. Because the previous chapter warned people not to seek outwardly, yet feared they would turn and grope blindly within the body, it explains once more. Here one is taught simply to nourish the formless root body—that alone is the true ladder.

Poems on the inner landscape may run to a thousand; for Central Yellow, one cup of wine is enough. Carefree, with nothing outside to encumber one, beyond the body there is still the cosmos.

The inner landscape is the scenery within the physical body (se shen). Central Yellow is the Yellow Court (huangting) within the pivot of Heaven’s spontaneity (tian ni). “Beyond the body there is still the cosmos” means the light of the seven orifices merges into one; when the crown suddenly opens, one sees the physical body inside and out as transparent, with one whole body of golden light. It is formed from my innate qi of heaven-and-earth, vast without limit, fine without gap, penetrating the flesh body while the flesh body also rests within it—so this heaven-and-earth composite whole is called the body outside the body. At this point the inner scenery cannot be grasped, and the Yellow Court in heaven cannot be “fired” aggressively; one may only respond to the scene with poetry, to temper heaven-and-earth’s disposition, and harmonize the central palace with wine, to smooth yin-yang spirit-qi. Tempering disposition need not fear detail—hence a thousand poems do no harm; nourishing qi should not be excessive—hence only one cup, no more. Then spirit-qi still roams freely within the dharma body (the body formed through the Way). Even if this flesh body soars like the great peng nine thousand li in one flight, resting six months in one breath, let it roam—it still cannot leave the bounds of the dharma realm, and nothing of desire can drag the spirit down. This is the principle of inner and outer nourishing each other—what Master Zhang meant by “when the inside is clear, the outside must be clear too.”

The preceding was Chapter Thirty-Nine. The last two chapters have already pointed out, one by one, what must be cleared away inwardly and outwardly; at this point one must nourish inward and outward together. So long as one refines sentiment and disposition and cultivates a good nature, one is nourishing one’s own flood-like qi (Haoran zhi qi—the vast, supremely strong correct qi). The “three hundred rites and three thousand regulations” (the full scope of ancient ritual and deportment) are what the sages used to forge the harmony of Heaven and Earth and to set each person’s nature upright; put briefly, they all root in music without sound and rites without form (li and yue that leave no outward trace), easefully accord with the middle Way, and above and below turn together with Heaven and Earth. In this way, what external thing could still drag the spirit?

Crow and rabbit (the sun and moon—in internal alchemy, emblems of yin-yang qi) mutually refine each other; turtle and snake (the image of yin and yang entwined) coil of themselves, forming one elixir pill; add further warming and nourishing, and one completes the embryonic immortal (the immortal fetus perfected through warming nurture).

The crow symbolizes the sun soul (ri hun), used here to stand for xing (nature) at this stage; the jade rabbit symbolizes the moon soul (yue po), used to stand for qing (emotion/feeling). What is meant by “mutually decocting” is that xing gathers and holds qing in check, so qing follows xing and a picture of water and fire in mutual completion (shui huo ji ji)—each in its place and working together—appears.

The turtle is good at hiding deep below; it stands for shen (spirit). The snake is good at coiling and winding; it stands for qi (vital energy). What is meant by “winding around on their own” is that shen governs qi and qi in turn nourishes shen, so yin and yang intertwine and spiral together. This continues the previous chapter’s teaching: temper emotion and nourish xing until one can drink wine and compose verse in ease—yet lest students cling to splits between body and mind or inner and outer, the text goes further and teaches letting go of all fixed forms entirely. Then xing and qing are “decoced” through this tempering and casting; qi and shen wind around each other in movement and stillness and naturally refine into one golden elixir (jindan). It is so large that nothing outside can contain it, so small that nothing inside can enter it; wisdom reaches through the ten thousand things, and wondrous transformation has no fixed rule—it is one with the supreme ultimate (taiji) and abides forever. Chen Niwang’s line “take the crow and rabbit as medicinals, take the great void as furnace and cauldron” is exactly the principle of returning to original nature and aligning with the root source.

The purple sage immortal Xue Daoguang has a song: “The crow has no form, the rabbit has no shadow—the crow and rabbit are only the essence of sun and moon; when crow and rabbit meet, heaven and earth can endure.” And again: “The turtle has no image, the snake has no trace—turtle and snake are only the forms of yin and yang; when the two breaths meet and merge into one.” All of this is metaphor for xing, qing, shen, and qi. The working of the Dao shifts again and again; one must refine until round completion, nurture this one point of cinnabar heart (danshin), transform with the moment so movement and stillness are each exactly right, unite inner and outer as one body—and not seek one-sidedly from a single angle.

The above is Chapter Forty. This chapter continues from the previous one, explaining that at this stage yin and yang, spirit and qi shift without rest, and there is no longer any distinction between inner and outer. Whether in the manifest realm of rites and music or in the hidden realm of ghosts and spirits, all return to me as I temper feeling and nature toward harmony and gentleness, using that to warm and nurture the pivot of living transformation (the mechanism by which life turns and renews), until gradually one reaches a state without sound or scent—and the elixir is complete.

All things that live also die; the Yuanshen (the innate root spirit) dies and is born again. Return the spirit to the qi cavity (the inner-alchemical seat where true qi is stored and nourished), and the path of the elixir is naturally fulfilled.

Here “spirit” is the Yuanshen, and “qi” is the primordial yang true qi within Wuji (the formless, boundless origin). If a person can nourish in this way, it may seem one could already live long without dying and wander in ease—so why still seek elixir completion or become an immortal patriarch? Yet looking over heaven and earth, everything that is born must die. Even my Yang Shen (pure yang spirit) and Yuan Ming (primordial life) once died before; though I have now received the method and been revived, I still cannot guarantee I will not die again. Nourishment alone, in the end, is not the ultimate fulfillment.

At this point one must advance one step further; only when warm nurturing is complete does one truly “have it in hand.” From opening the orifices (passing through the gates of practice) onward, my spirit and qi have been straightly nourished without harm until they fill heaven and earth and penetrate the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing—the supreme realm in Daoism). One waits only until, in empty non-being and naturalness, I finish cultivating Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), then stir a trace of primordial yang true qi from innate Wuji—I at once settle as at first congealing: this is spirit returning to the qi cavity. Let heaven and earth overturn; it stays fixed and does not scatter. In an instant the Yang Shen receives the infusion of yuan qi and then takes form: it may soar and transform, or abide in stillness and peace.

As to the body: one hears the nine heavens, sees ten thousand miles, needs neither food nor hunger, drinks without drunkenness, the mouth can refine liquid mercury, the belly can steam-cook flatbread. As to function: the body radiates light, myriad spirits pay homage; one may command thunder and clear rain, ghosts and demons lose their souls at the sight, essences and monsters vanish on meeting. Yet oneself remains without mind toward one’s shadow, unmoved in suchness, embracing the ten thousand images, warm-nurturing the Yuanshen—naturally sharing virtue with heaven and earth and brightness with sun and moon. This is called “uniting with the origin.”

When the Yuanshen is complete, one awaits the hour to shed the shell and merge truth with the Dao. This is exactly what the Daodejing means by “When the work is done and the task accomplished, the people all say it happened naturally.” Who would know that my effort from first to last is nothing beyond this one method: nourish what has no form and return the spirit to the qi cavity? Unless one is truly intelligent, discerning, spiritually potent yet without destructive force, who could reach this? This is the method of Golden Fluid Refining the Form (Jinye Lianxing—refining the body with primordial true qi), and therefore the Yang Shen can appear in form.

The preceding section is Chapter Forty-one. Chapters forty-one through forty-five all explain “completing the elixir through gentle nurturing”: once the inner elixir’s medicinals are fully formed, there is no need to force further contrivance—one need only guard them with gentle quiet until original spirit (yuanshen) and true nature return on their own; relying on the yang spirit’s stillness and stability, the work completes naturally. The seven chapters that follow were written to dispel doubts; they do not describe a separate set of practices—readers should understand this.

When spirit and qi return to the root, that is the moment when body and mind recover their original life-destiny (benming). Such a true aperture is one that few, I think, truly know.

Spirit and qi were already discussed in the previous chapter. “Root” is the root of heaven and earth—that is, one’s own original nature (yuanxing); “life” (ming) is original destiny (yuanming). Only at this stage does one truly “return to the root and restore life” (gui gen fu ming). Lest people not know what is returned to and restored, the text names spirit, qi, mind, and body directly, without borrowing outward metaphors: where spirit and qi return to the root is precisely when body and mind recover life. All of this belongs to one’s innate endowment; inner and outer follow one principle—it is simply how things naturally are at the right moment, not something added from outside. Therefore one need not seek some other aperture. The single aperture to which the seven apertures return, when it again enters emptiness (zhenkong), is the true aperture. Master Bai said “take returning to the root and source as emptiness (zhenkong)”—yet this is merely that when a person can empty the mind, the Dao naturally comes home. Laozi said that heaven and earth all turn toward this; Confucius said the world turns toward benevolence (ren)—where is there some other visible aperture?

The preceding section is Chapter Forty-two. This chapter focuses on the crux of return and restoration, so that doubts may be cleared. Hence Master Bai said “take returning to the root and restoring life as the elixir completed”—that is exactly the meaning.

Before one has obtained the true formula, the body still lacks the Xuanpin (the passageway where spirit and qi meet and give birth to new life), so one must inwardly apply effort to wash away filth and dust. When this cleansing goes deep and the true formula is finally received, as soon as the proper command of the firing process arrives, the “lead and mercury” (in Neidan, figures for primordial essence and spirit) come together at once—without deliberate scheming, they withdraw by themselves into a hidden place. From then on spirit settles in Tiangu (the upper dantian in the head), and qi returns to Jianggong (the middle dantian at the heart)—that is the Xuanpin. Once the body already has this Xuanpin, spirit is naturally sincere and single-minded, qi naturally deep, still, and profound, and the heart is free of grime, so there is no need to wash again. Such an empty, open state is truly vast as heaven; how could those who do not understand recognize it? It is simply because one’s own spirit and qi have merged into a single right mindfulness, blended and hidden in one aperture, nurturing the true inborn nature with no outer disturbance—the heart becomes a Lingtai (a clear platform of the spirit) on which dust cannot stick. This teaches that one need not flee the world or shun desire; while living amid dust one can still transcend it. In sum, this is an easy practice that can be sustained long and expanded wide. Baizi said, “Though diligent cultivation may not meet a guide at first, one will eventually meet a perfected person (one who has attained the Dao).” Once the true formula is gained, likes and dislikes are all released; when things come before you, your weighing of them is never wrong; with a master in the heart, the ten thousand things cannot enslave you.

The above is Chapter Forty-Three, which expressly shows that after receiving the formula and forming the elixir, wandering thoughts extinguish themselves by nature. It urges people not to fear difficulty and settle for ease—the tone is exceptionally earnest. The chapters on “the true dragon and tiger of Li and Kan” likewise declare this meaning with equal earnestness.

Li and Kan are the true dragon and tiger; Qian and Kun are the true horse and ox. Everyone is born with these—why do they not know to cultivate them?

The Li trigram symbolizes the postnatal heart. Though yin essence dwells within the heart, nothing restrains it, so it is like a dragon—wild and untamed. The Kan trigram symbolizes the postnatal body. Though yang qi is present in the body, it has no place to settle, so it is like a tiger—fierce and vicious. For this reason Li and Kan are called the true dragon and tiger; they still must be captured and subdued.

The Qian trigram symbolizes the innate heart; in the Shuogua (Commentary on the Trigrams), Confucius takes its image as a “fine horse.” The Kun trigram symbolizes the innate body; the Shuogua takes its image as a “mother cow with her calf”—a cow leading her young. Thus Qian and Kun are called the “right horse and ox”: both are tame and docile.

When people practice Neidan (internal alchemy), the aim is simply to refine away the stubbornness of the postnatal heart and body so that innate nature and life-destiny become wholly gentle and compliant. Everyone has heart and body and everyone receives the heavenly endowment (tianyi, the constant nature given by Heaven)—so why do so many not know how to cultivate? It is because they have not obtained the true secret: they do not know to first hide the Shen (spirit) in the one aperture (the key cavity for settling the spirit), with the result that Hun cannot rest in the liver and Po cannot rest in the lungs. Instead they overstep their proper roles, venting joy and anger according to likes and dislikes, day after day flowing toward what is base and foul without knowing how to return—truly lamentable. The next chapter explains clearly the method of smelting and shaping Hun and Po—that is, forging and tempering Hun and Po.

The above is Chapter Forty-Four. This chapter follows the preceding ones in showing that everyone possesses the makings of immortality, with the intent of encouraging people to advance in cultivation.

Hun and Po are the masters of the heart; spirit and mind are gathered and held by intention (yi). As in Chapter Forty-Four: following the earlier chapters, it shows that everyone has the material to become an immortal and exhorts one to cultivate.

Hun and Po are the masters of the heart; spirit and mind are gathered and held by intention. Practice the fire phases (huohou, the rhythm of advancing and withdrawing inner “fire” in practice) in a “thus thus” way—naturally, without forced contrivance—and silently set the first line (chuyao, the first line of the hexagram, the starting point of the work) in motion.

“Yi” (intention) is what the mind sends forth—the place where one’s own thoughts first stir. “Wrapping with yi” means guarding this point in every thought, holding it hidden and sealed. “Thus, thus” (ru ru) means that as soon as a thought moves, one immediately seals it as if stamping a seal or closing a contract, and withdraws it on one’s own. “Silently, silently” (mo mo) is like military strategy plotted only by the commander alone within the tent, with no one else involved and no outsider’s talk; it illustrates how one gathers and refines spirit to “return to the mandate” (restore the root of nature and life), letting this single yi alone rule in secrecy and not allowing hun and po to run the house. The “first line” (chuyao)—the bottom line of the hexagram—is exactly where thought has just begun to stir.

Neidan (internal alchemy) takes jing, shen, hun, po, and yi as its “medicinal materials.” Hun and po are originally stored in the liver and lungs; they are not the true master of the heart. In the heart there originally dwells the proper shen, at ease and secure, guarding the whole body in stillness and obeyed everywhere. Sometimes it issues forth and becomes yi—this is the first movement of right intention; if one can believe firmly and guard it carefully, that is enough to gather and unite jing and qi, and hun and po also hide in their proper places, so that one acts with humaneness and righteousness, nourishes the power of de (virtue), and is sufficient to strengthen shen.

Only after birth, when the heart meets outer things and cannot hold to clear stillness, shen flows out and becomes qi, and qi in turn flows and becomes jing, until qi is full and shen is empty, the heart has no master and cannot preside over the body; hun and po also do not rest in their proper organs but instead stir and play with spirit to act as master of the heart. Hun belongs to wood; leaving the liver and dwelling in the heart, fire flares and nature (xing) is harmed. Po belongs to metal; leaving the lungs and dwelling in the heart, it is melted by fire and emotion (qing) runs wild. Thus hun loses its humaneness and gives way to anger, and po goes against righteousness and indulges desire. Anger, fear, likes and dislikes, and worry churn in the heart and are hard to check or block for a time—all because shen does not keep to its abode, hun and po seize authority and become masters of the heart in reverse.

Therefore those who cultivate know that hun and po must not be masters of the heart; they must first gather and refine spirit and hold fast to right intention. When right intention is settled, heart and kidneys naturally interact (heart fire and kidney water unite), spirit is wrapped within yi and does not scatter, and hun and po also cling to spirit and return together into yi. This is “gathering all components complete”—right intention temporarily acts as master of the heart. Thought after thought guards here, unmoved as “thus, thus,” and one applies the fire of clear stillness and naturalness; before long one notices the return of one Yang (the first trace of yang qi), then silently turns the microcosmic orbit (inner qi circulating in the circuit), hun and po can no longer rashly join in with discriminating awareness, yang qi no longer sways, but goes straight upward to meet shen, and right intention also blends and becomes shen—then the elixir foundation (dantou) is formed. This is the essential method of gathering (cai) and joining (jiaojie); compare with Chapter Sixty later for further proof that right intention must be established first.

This is Chapter 45. It continues the previous chapter: because people do not know the right path, it clarifies it and shows the correct method of refining the hun and the po and gathering the spirit.

Its place is below the heart and above the kidneys, in the middle between the liver on the west and the lungs on the left. It is not the intestines or a fu organ such as the stomach; it is simply where one qi flows through of itself.

This still follows the last chapter. “Silently working the first line (chuyao)” means circulating this yang qi. But how to work it and where to send it were not fully spelled out there. The author feared that doubt would lead people to act wrongly and do real harm, so here the place where qi runs through the whole body is pointed out. Still, it is not named as one fixed aperture or point—only as between heart and kidneys, liver and lungs, in the middle. Nor is it the stomach, intestines, or other fu organs; outwardly it may seem to lie near the spleen. Yet Chapter 38 already said that “spleen and stomach are not the spirit chamber (the dwelling of spirit),” which shows that wherever there is a solid zang or fu organ in the body is not where upright qi returns. Only this hidden, empty middle—like the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), like the void that wraps the six directions—is where qi circulates on its own, without blockage and without forced movement. Let qi nourish the spirit as it comes and goes; over time one can achieve yang spirit, spirit that fills the whole body. From this one can also see what “the one aperture” means.

This is Chapter 46. It stresses that when the heart is truly empty, qi moves by itself—that is the right way—and clears up the habit of hunting for holes and apertures everywhere.

The subtle use does not depend on deliberate scheming in the mind; the true mechanism is not a matter of picking times to apply it. Who can truly know this aperture? Yet one must not simply drift in idleness and hollowly cling to so-called wuwei (non-action).

“Qiao” means the secret knack, and “mi” means the stem or root—the pivotal knot—and neither should be read as holes or openings in the physical body. Here the point is that the way of forming the elixir (jie dan, condensing the inner pill in neidan practice) is entrusted from the start to one’s own true intent (zhen yi); true intent takes original stillness and clarity as its substance. When jing arrives and joins with qi, qi refines jing to complete shen. At that stage the subtle operation lies solely in the skillful union of jing and qi as they congeal, and has nothing to do with forced mind or deliberate contrivance (jin xin zuo yi).

Just as when yang qi arises: although chapter two says that gathering (cai qu, timely “taking” of the medicine) requires knowing the right moment, that “moment” is only the subtle spark of true awareness within hidden concealment (you mi)—not the hours counted by bell strikes and clepsydra drips. Who, then, can truly know this secret of first retreating and concealing (tui cang)? Thus at the very instant of union, it is usefulness within uselessness; before union has occurred, one works only within effort that yields no apparent result. This is what one’s right mindfulness should do within non-action (wuwei). Before the stage of separating the embryo and warming and nurturing (fen tai wen yang), do not simply indulge in non-action and fall into blank dispersion, missing the moment that ought to be seized.

The above is Chapter Forty-seven. This chapter follows the preceding chapters in explaining that the “true vital mechanism” (the truly critical spark of life in alchemical cultivation) has reached an extremely urgent point: it must not be left unattended or allowed to run its own course, or the moment will be missed and danger will follow instead. Therefore right mindfulness must be guarded at every moment: in stillness, use preservation and nurturing to uphold the correct practice; in activity, always add self-examination—only then can one hope to avoid error. If there is any lapse, one fears every kind of affliction breaking out at once, the elixir overturned and life itself at risk, all prior effort lost, and renewed cultivation costing many more days and months. In former times Bai Yuchan, Fifth Patriarch of the Southern School (Nanzong), had not yet grasped the essentials of the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality); he cultivated three times and three times his elixir failed—only because he was a heaven-endowed talent did he avoid the greater harm that might otherwise have followed.

In his early years Yang Lin applied himself knowing only how to purify the mind, without understanding how to hold the thought steady and then withdraw and conceal it in the hidden place. It was like chasing a thief and driving the master of the house away as well; thus in stillness he could not be single-minded, in movement he could not be upright, and when matters arose he hesitated. Half of this heart was ruled by hun and po, and spirit could not be gathered under yi (intention). In the winter of the xinmao year, he received a single sentence from his teacher at his ear—like the finest ghee poured over the head, like sweet dew sprinkled on the heart. At once he welcomed the master of the house home; gradually he felt void and spirit in quiet, uprightness in activity, daily practice truly became less laborious, and meeting affairs with compliance was no longer so hard. But he had not yet awakened to the prior timely insight; this heart could not both respond constantly to affairs and remain constantly quiet, so he could only take constant guard against overstepping bounds as his embankment. Three years later the teacher transmitted this text and told him to purify the heart and withdraw to listen. When purification reached the point where nothing more could be purified, the subtle arrived in only half a character—and everything opened at once. The teacher had already penetrated deeply into the Dao, yet required Yang Lin to obtain it himself; had the time not been ripe, hearing would have been like not hearing. This account of the hardships of learning is appended respectfully.

There is something that truly exists—it is not empty void. Use Wuwei (non-action) to harmonize with youwei (deliberate action). The pivot of creation and transformation rests in one’s own hands, and sun and moon congeal into “golden grease.”

The black crow and white rabbit stand for the sun and moon, metaphor for the dispositions of Heaven and Earth. “Golden grease” images the state of concentrating Qi to achieve softness—as when metal is being smelted and becomes pliable as grease. This is what Master White (Bai Yuzhan of the alchemical lineage) meant by “Heaven, Earth, sun, and moon are soft as cotton,” and what Chen Niwang (Chen Nan, a Southern Song neidan master) meant by “soft as a wadded ball of cotton, hard as iron.”

When essence and Qi coalesce into a thing, it is real being, not emptiness. When “mercury” (in Neidan, the agile, volatile essence-Qi) meets “lead” (the steady root-Qi) and arises, and they bind together, with lead receiving mercury’s union and penetrating through—that is all youwei practice. Yet if these two youwei substances are left to drag on each other, linger and glance back, they sink downward and refuse to rise—then things go wrong. Only by relying on my Wuwei mindfulness of governance—to gather in and harmonize these two modes of youwei, first withdrawing and hiding myself, with no clinging or partiality in the heart, so that both return together into deep secrecy—is the way good.

At this point the subtle pivot of creation has returned to the host’s own hands; the three great junctures before and after naturally accord with the method. Then one may wander with the Creator and grasp beginning and end. When my disposition is upright, the dispositions of Heaven and Earth are upright. Hence when Zisi (Confucius’s grandson Kong Ji) transmitted the doctrine of the Mean, Chunyangzi (Lü Dongbin) could speak of “healing the age and assisting transformation.”

The above is Chapter Forty-eight. This chapter expounds especially the power of abiding right mindfulness—so vast that it gathers up the meaning of the preceding forty-seven chapters. The fifteen chapters that follow teach the method of refining the Valley Spirit (Gu Shen); from Chapter Sixty-four onward there is the theme of healing the age and assisting transformation.

The above is Chapter 48. This chapter specifically clarifies the efficacy of “constantly preserving right mindfulness” (always guarding a pure, upright intention), showing how vast its effects can be, and in this way sums up the intent of the preceding forty-seven chapters. The fifteen chapters that follow teach the method of refining and securing the Valley Spirit (Gu Shen, the innate empty-and-spirit-like spirit); chapters 64 through 70 teach the way of refining the Yang Spirit (Yang Shen, the spirit condensed from pure yang) to completion; chapters 71 through 78 teach how to refine and unite the Original Spirit (Yuan Shen, the innate spirit-as-such) so that it sheds its transformations and returns to the source. The principles are deep and steady, the methods plain and clear. Those who aspire to advance should all the more carefully select and repeatedly ponder them; with long practice they will become pure and fluent, and of themselves you will enter the subtle and mysterious.

The tiger originally stands for the yin body; here “tiger’s roar” means the yin essence is about to be fully gathered. The dragon originally stands for the yang heart; here “dragon’s chant” means yang qi has just begun to rise. “On the western mountain” is the Gen position in the Earlier Heaven Bagua (Gen is mountain, here the direction where yin qi gradually reaches pure yin); the image is yin approaching fullness. “East of the northern sea” is the Zhen position in the Earlier Heaven Bagua, the image of one yang being born. What is called “field battle” (yefan), in Baizi’s view, is simply subduing body and mind.

The master said: In Later Heaven positions, at the junction of Xu and Hai (the earthly branches Xu and Hai, roughly northwest), Qian lies within (the text writes “gan” for Qian). There yang is wrapped by yin, so the top line of the Kun hexagram carries the image “dragons battle in the field.” Han Confucians therefore took Qian as “the field,” and Quanzhen predecessors also called the Xu–Hai transition “the field.” Confucius’s Wenyan says: When yin congeals upon yang, battle is inevitable—hence it is called field battle.

The palaces where Gen and Kun sit belong to Greater Yin among the Four Images. Gen is like a palace gate, Kun like a closed door—an image of shutting the door and hiding deep within. Hence the teaching at this moment to block the three treasures—ears, eyes, and mouth—and not let them open outward. This is tasting the subtlety of hidden storage, namely the refining method in neidan (cooking and transforming essence and qi within).

The meaning is: When a person lies at rest and night qi has just begun, it is exactly when true yin is about to be sufficient; in the heart’s Kan cavity yin essence has already gathered in a point. Suddenly waking is yin at its limit and yang arising. Below the body represented by Kun, a trace of yang qi stirs; yin essence naturally congeals and battles with yang. At that moment, with upright awareness one quickly retreats and hides in the secret aperture—that is subduing body and mind. Jing and qi naturally merge into one, surge abundantly up the back, settle in the correct position and anchor nature and life (zhengwei ningming), then turn into spirit water (the fluid produced when essence and qi interact), spreading through the whole body. After I stabilize a moment more, it is “entrusted” in the palace of Greater Yin—still retreat and hide in the secret. “Seizing” and “entrusting” are only afterward recalling how yin and yang first joined; relying on the power of stillness, as if seizing and storing them. In real practice one must never harbor the slightest calculation.

The Wenyan on the Kun hexagram in the Yijing reads: “When yin is doubtful upon yang, battle is inevitable, because it resents the lack of yang.” An old version has: “When yin congeals upon yang, battle is inevitable, because it mingles with yang”—“doubtful” (yi) as “congeal” (ning), “resent” (xian) as “mingle” (jian), and without the word “lack.” Quanzhen and masters since Tang and Han followed the old text, so here the old version is kept to show real evidence of yin and yang naturally congealing in upper-grade neidan (the higher level of internal alchemy).

The above is Chapter Forty-Nine. In essence: one must promptly hold the thought and first store it away, using the subduing of body and mind as the subtle method of gathering, coupling, and refining (in neidan, collecting jing and qi, bringing them into union, and refining them). It may sound slow when described, yet forming the elixir is in fact swift—this is solid proof of the elixir path’s natural coalescence. The whole crux lies in attaining quiet purity (qingjing). As soon as awareness arises, retreat and store it within; a brief spell of concentrated stillness is precisely capturing the qi and settling it in place. What is called the Gen–Kun palace refers to this moment of still fixation—not some other hidden locale. One must not fix on appearances and seek outward, lest one violate the true intent of the knife-and-measure (daoge—the internal elixir’s “medicine” and correct fire-and-timing method).

The Fu and Gou hexagrams govern brightness and obscurity; the Tun and Meng hexagrams correspond to dawn and dusk, illustrating the alternation of yin and yang through day and night. When snow-white purity congeals in the elixir furnace, the restless “ape mind” has nowhere to roam.

The Fu hexagram symbolizes yin qi reaching its extreme and yang qi beginning to sprout; it is used to liken the moment in the body when stillness has gone to the utmost and then a first movement arises—the instant yang qi is newly born. The Gou hexagram symbolizes yang at its peak and yin qi beginning to sprout; it likens the time when the mind has stirred to the extreme and then turns toward stillness, when yin essence arises on its own. In Zhun, the lower trigram is Zhen and the upper is Kan: Zhen means movement, Kan means danger—an image of yang qi in the body just starting to stir while yin essence at once gathers and binds to it. Danger is right before you; you must immediately hold correct mindfulness, step back one pace, and let this qi break through peril and ascend straight through—only then can it penetrate and flow freely. In Meng, the lower trigram is Kan and the upper is Gen: Kan is danger, Gen is stopping—an image of the mind, as soon as qi barely appears, wanting to seize and control it. That is precisely when it is dangerous; you should quickly let the heart grow quiet, first withdraw and hide yourself, and not grab this qi— that is the proper way to nurture upright qi.

What is called bright and dim, dusk and dawn, describes the movement and stillness of qi: from stillness into movement, like night ending and day breaking, is called dawn; from movement back into stillness, like day ending and entering twilight, is called dusk. All of this is the appearance of letting qi follow its own course. Speaking of “presiding” and “upright” means that upright qi by itself can take charge and stay straight—stillness with single-minded focus, movement with integrity. A person need only gather body and mind and not let them sway; that is what Master Zhang meant by “let him be host and me be guest”: “he” is qi, “I” is the heart-mind. Thus the elixir furnace (the body-and-mind as the place of refinement) naturally congeals; “white snow” (that is, divine water—the image of pure inner refinement, as explained in Chapter Five) spreads through the whole body, and stray thoughts no longer find a gap to enter. Even if you wished to wash the heart again, you would find no trace of thoughts arising and ceasing. “Monkey mind” refers to all forced interpretations and wandering fantasies before one has received the true method.

The above is Chapter Fifty, continuing the previous chapter and further explaining methods of gathering the medicine and joining and harmonizing. When black mercury produces yellow leaves and red lead opens purple flowers—both are hidden language of internal alchemy (Neidan), respectively figurative for pre-heaven essence and qi and the scenes shown by their transformations—one must still apply the firing process (the timing of warming, advancing, and retreating) according to measure; only then can cinnabar (the inner elixir) form in the cauldron (the body-mind as the vessel of cultivation).

The essence (Jing) in the heart has already followed the body’s qi (Qi) upward and outward; hence the metaphor of “black mercury”—in internal alchemy (Neidan), the image of heart-essence rising with qi. The body’s qi has already taken in yin essence and refined it into spirit (Shen); hence it is called “red lead”—the image of bodily qi drawing on essence to form spirit.

“Producing yellow leaves” means that black mercury already holds yang qi and, together with it, returns to the pure yin Kun earth (Kun in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), here the soil of pure yin). After settling briefly and receiving nourishment from earth qi, yellow leaves appear—the tender shoots of the “yellow sprout” (the first stirring of elixir qi). Master Qu said: “Leaves are yin by nature; only with yang qi do they flourish. This compares yin congealing within yang—there is already a sign of the elixir forming.” That is apt.

“Opening purple flowers” means red lead likewise depends on black mercury; the two rest together briefly and, under the steaming of fire qi, purple flowers open—purple being the color between water and fire. Master Qu said: “Purple flowers are the husk of the fruit—water receiving fire’s aid, the elixir already has its first root.” That too is apt.

At this point, if you let mind-intent race outward, spirit and qi will still scatter. How could they stay settled long enough to become the valley spirit (gu shen—the abiding, empty spirit)? You must at once let go of body and mind, hold fast to right mindfulness, “embrace the light” and keep still—this is the firing process (huohou: the rhythm and measure of refinement). Like an infant keeping breath gentle and single-pointed—neither forgetting nor forcing—you only watch it happen naturally; heart-qi fills up like cinnabar congealing in the furnace (the image of the inner elixir taking form).

When virtue-nature is already firm and the qi-aspect of temperament is also settled, only then can one call it the valley spirit—yet even then one cannot be sure it will not die.

The foregoing is Chapter 51. It continues the previous chapter and explains further how yin and yang join and how to apply the firing process.

Wood-fluid must guard against the rabbit: the liquid transformed from wood must be watched for the rabbit.

Wood is a metaphor for human nature (xing); the heart arises from nature, hence it is called “wood fluid” (muyi). The rabbit in the earthly branches corresponds to mao; at this phase the hexagram qi is Lei Tian Da Zhuang (Thunder over Heaven: Qian below, Zhen above—yang qi has passed the midpoint and is flourishing). This is used to describe practice: having reached this stage, the heart is already upright and expansive; at the sight of petty people one reacts as if repelled by a foul odor—anger surges along with nature. Fire issuing from wood in turn injures nature, so one must guard against this in advance. If one waits until anger has already arisen to restrain it, nature is already disturbed and the valley spirit (gushen—the body’s spark of luminous awareness) is in danger. Therefore the junzi does not do what violates ritual propriety, in order to settle nature. When nature is settled, yang qi truly grows strong. Such guarding is for removing li zhang (obstructive attachment to fixed principles).

Metal is a metaphor for emotion (qing); the body’s generative vitality exists because of emotion, hence it is called “metal essence” (jin jing). The chicken in the earthly branches corresponds to you; at this phase the hexagram qi is Feng Di Guan (Wind over Earth: Kun below, Xun above—yin qi has passed the midpoint and is lengthening). This is used to describe practice: having reached this stage, the body is already robust; upon contact with external things one reacts as if drawn to beauty—when desire stirs, emotion overpowers nature. Once water leaks away, metal withers and emotion becomes hard to subdue, so one must be all the more wary. If one waits until desire has already moved to block it, emotion is already pulled and the valley spirit falls into peril. Therefore the junzi “observes what I generate” (guan wo sheng—turning back to watch one’s own arising thoughts and impulses) to check desire and forget emotional fixation. When emotion is forgotten, contemplative insight is at ease. Such wariness is for cutting off the demon of emotion (qing mo).

Chou tian (adding and subtracting) should be paired with muyu (bathing)—right when the moon is about to become full.

Guarding against anger and restraining desire as above is precisely chou tian (regulating advance and retreat and the firing times). Within the body, authentic qi circulates of itself, warmed and steamed as in muyu (temporarily ceasing the fire and letting the medicine mellow)—from there one advances again. This is like the hexagram Ze Tian Guai (Lake over Heaven: Qian below, Dui above): take its hexagram virtue as your model—use spirit (shen) to command qi, use harmony and yielding to follow firm strength, so temperament and spirit are agreeable and qi flows full and unobstructed, just like the climate when the moon is nearing fullness. Yet one must never boast or grow arrogant, nor be violent and drain spirit; one should still retreat and remain deeply hidden, emulating the junzi who extends benefit to those below and does not credit merit to oneself. Only then are heart broad and body at ease, able to be full without overflowing.

The above is Chapter 52. Following the three preceding chapters, it explains the method of muyu (bathing).

When the wind first stirs among myriad sounds and the moon stands round over a thousand mountains, it means that body, mind, nature, and temperament have been refined to this stage: spirit is fully sufficient, qi is fully filled, every pore in the body is open and clear, and every channel in the body is lucid—just as when wind first rises it stirs all sounds, and the round moon shines straight on a thousand peaks. At this point one has already entered the climate of the Guai hexagram (lake above heaven: five yang lines pressing toward one yin); one is about to enter pure-yang Qian, the very pass where primordial life (yuan ming—the innate root qi) is about to return and the knowing spirit (the postnatal conscious spirit) is about to transform.

If at this moment one does not guard inward with strict tightness, every aperture in the body is already open; the Three Corpses and Nine Worms (yin evils said in Daoism to lurk in the body and wait to harm cultivation) are secretly watching—given the slightest gap they seize at will, wrap the valley spirit (yuan shen dwelling in emptiness and stillness) and break outward from the body. After spirit and qi scatter, one only follows what one was closest to in life and falls into flying, diving, moving, and rooted beings, as well as womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born forms; right mindfulness is lost with it. Even if one does not die, one becomes dull and vacant. This is knowing only advance and not retreat—hence regret.

Therefore at this instant one must immediately declare the upright command: defenses must be stricter still, tending and watching in continuous fine density—hold the teaching of “tie the bag” (do not leak outward), sternly feel the image of “leap in the abyss” (advance or stop—do not move rashly), reach emptiness and keep still, and wait for yuan ming to return. The knowing spirit will transform on its own, and one can then broadly circulate the celestial circuit (inner qi flowing round the channels).

This is Chapter Fifty-three, continuing the previous chapter’s lines and teaching strict holding: myriad sounds stand for every pore in the body, thousand mountains for every channel in the body, and it follows the bathing method spoken of in the three chapters before (warming and washing between advance and retreat in the firing process).

Medicinal material must be distinguished as old or tender; firing must use “draw” and “add” (reduce when one should draw, increase when one should add). When the light of a single pellet of elixir rises, it is like the cold moon shooting clear radiance onto jade eaves.

What is meant by “medicinal materials” is the life qi that returns again—the primordial root qi of life. If the moment has passed, the medicine is overripe; if the moment has not yet come, it is still immature.

People’s temperaments and dispositions differ. When the time comes to hold fullness and guard plenitude without leaking outward, if one’s nature strays even slightly from the mean, there is fear of error when primordial life returns: the strong rush forward first and fail through haste; the weak shrink back helplessly and fail through timidity. Obtain too soon and the medicine is still tender; obtain too late and it is already old. In both cases one has not kept to the middle way of fire timing—the right moment and measure for “working the fire.”

Therefore, to apply the correct method, one must first examine whether one’s temperament is strong or weak and discipline it accordingly: the stubborn and hard to lead are checked with firmness; the compliant and easy-going are checked with gentleness; the deep and inward are checked with firmness; the lofty and outward are checked with softness. One must bring oneself to evenness, health, and uprightness, strictly guard the inner center (guizhong), and wait for the right moment before acting. Only then is the medicine taken at the right point, and afterward nurturing by gentle warmth is also easier. At this stage fire timing must be adjusted with precise additions and subtractions—reduce when reduction is due, increase when increase is due—while one remains strictly vigilant and acts with concealment.

Before long a single grain of elixir light rises within; one feels thunder and lightning inside the body. This is the sign that primordial life has returned. Even if it shoots straight up to the crown, it soon settles in the Heavenly Valley (tiangu)—the upper Dantian—as the next chapter’s phrase “keep the mercury dwelling in the golden cauldron” puts it: let the true mercury abide in the golden cauldron. At once one feels the pulse stop and the breath cease; for a blank interval all is obscure, then the chest opens, the body is at ease, the skin feels clear, old ailments vanish, and in sleep one no longer dreams. For the hun (soul) has fused into spirit and qi, the Valley Spirit (gu shen) has blended with the returning primordial life into one, forming the first root of the Yang Spirit (pure yang spirit).

By now celestial qi has returned within the body, but the Yang Spirit has only just condensed—like the single ray of toad-moonlight (changuang) after the winter solstice; nurturing must continue. The light may shine only to the jade eaves (yuyan), not yet beyond the eaves outside, hence the phrase “the cold toad shoots at the jade eaves” (han chan she yuyan).

Note: The three-hundred-day work of the Golden Elixir begins from this point; only here does primordial true qi condense into spirit, so one can advance in cultivation without demonic disturbance. Recently I have seen other alchemical books, at this stage, casually say “the Yang Spirit appears in form”—that is still the spirit running wild. Even to say it appears within the body, the wording is still faulty. If one says a form has already appeared, then one does not know where that illusory image comes from. Pure Yang Master (Chunyangzi, Lü Dongbin) in the “Knocking the Line Song” (Qiao Yao Ge) says: “Of the three leads, only one lead is achieved; the golden fruit and immortal sprout have not yet shown form.” The three leads yield but one; the golden fruit and immortal sprout have not yet taken shape. That line is exact proof.

The foregoing is Chapter Fifty-Four. It continues from the previous chapter and explains that one should promptly put the “correct instruction” into practice—that is, the principle of fen tai (when the spirit-embryo first condenses and stands apart from the post-heaven body). The practitioner has long been laying the foundation day and night in deep stillness and hidden seclusion; only when the innate original ming (life-destiny) returns can the Gu Shen (the spirit that is empty-still yet enduring) be said to be fully cultivated—able to preserve the body and not follow ordinary birth and death. This is precisely when the pure Yang Shen (pure yang spirit) has just formed. The work of wen yang (gentle nurturing with a slow, steady “fire”) is recorded after Chapter Sixty-Four; the nine chapters that follow all clarify the essentials of huan dan (refining essence, breath, and spirit back to the source) and offer encouragement.

From a clam’s belly a pearl was once taken; an egg in a hen’s nest is also easy to find. From nothing, something real can arise—and spirit and qi naturally merge with each other.

Even tiny creatures know how to be still and single-minded until the task succeeds: the clam holds the pearl, the hen broods the egg—both bring you (being) out of wu (non-being). In human dan practice one must be all the more constant in sincerity and reverence: simply keep the spirit focused and undivided, gather the breath until it is soft and even, fine and continuous, and let spirit and qi blend on their own—that is all.

The foregoing is Chapter Fifty-Five. It compares creatures to the human path and implies that after fen tai one should nurture the embryo by following nature: how could a person do less than these small beings?

Spirit and qi are not “mother and child”; body and mind are not “husband and wife.” What matters is only accord with tian ji (heaven’s timing and the natural pivot)—yet who truly knows where the elixir is to be formed?

Earlier generations’ dan books often borrow “mother and child” and “husband and wife” to speak of spirit-qi and body-mind. Spirit and qi are not literally parent and child; body and mind are not literally spouses. The crux is alignment with tian ji—and those who really know the locus of jie dan (forming the elixir) are few.

In alchemical texts handed down by masters of earlier generations, one often finds expressions such as “mother and child” or “husband and wife,” used as metaphors for spirit and qi, body and mind. The mother–child image tends to split things apart; the husband–wife image easily leads people into reckless practice. The point is therefore made explicit: what is metaphorically described is only spirit, qi, body, and mind—not literal mothers, children, or spouses. One must not cling to the words; one need only grasp the timing, understand measure and restraint, and accord with the natural opportune moment—beginning in deliberate (youwei) practice and returning to non-action (wuwei), refining Yin essence (the refined essence of yin substance within the body) until it transforms into Yang spirit (pure yang luminous spirit). When spirit is settled and qi gathered, the elixir naturally completes. If one asks where the elixir coalesces, it is nowhere else than in what is formless and imageless, in solitary stillness, where a full and real embodiment arises: where qi-nourishing has already become substantial, one leads it toward quiet emptiness; where spirit-concentration has already become empty, one returns it to solid genuineness. Over time it grows firm and strong, light radiates, and then Yang spirit appears as the clear yang qi (qing yang zhi qi) returns. Who can recognize the subtle principle within this?

The foregoing is Chapter Fifty-six. Its aim is to break the delusion of seeking emptiness and clinging to void, and to clarify the use of the genuine mechanism of cultivation.

Where the elixir head (the first sign that the inner elixir is forming) has just formed is also the moment when the “medicinal materials” (the cultivated substances of essence, qi, and related factors) have already condensed. Dragon and Tiger contend in mutual combat, while the Lord of the East (the hosting true intent of the heart-spirit) is entirely unaware.

This means: when qi, benefiting from essence, rises and penetrates upward, essence then condenses within qi and becomes spirit. That is the moment the elixir head first forms and the materials are already condensed. Essence condensing in qi is like dragon and tiger at war; one’s own correct command has long since withdrawn and hidden—it neither knows nor perceives—so qi naturally prevails. What Master Zhang (Zhang Boduan) called “only after the battle ends can one see the sage” is exactly this meaning.

The foregoing is Chapter Fifty-seven. It again pinpoints that union, binding, and firing all occur within a single instant, and it dispels the “seize” and “ lodge” language of Chapter Forty-nine, teaching one only to know when it comes and to conceal when it goes—neither forgetting nor forcing (wu wang wu zhu).

The orthodox method of the Golden Liquor Returning Elixir (jinye huandan)—the “returning elixir” refined in internal alchemy (neidan) practice—is the same single gate of truth (bu’er famen) as the orthodox Great Vehicle teaching in Buddhism and the supreme Way of Confucian “central harmony.” It is one path, not a separate track. It is unlike heterodox side paths and strange arts that bring misfortune, and unlike minor techniques and idle talk that squander effort. Yang Lin notes: The master never clearly identified which practices count as heterodox side paths and strange arts, and I do not know them in detail. I have only read the Green Void Chant (Cuixu Yin) by True Person Chen Niyan, Fourth Patriarch of the Southern School; there the distinction between orthodox and deviant is as plain as the bright sun (gaori) in a clear sky. That text is appended below for reference.

The foregoing is Chapter 58. It teaches that anyone learning the Dao must choose oral formulas (koujue) with clear understanding and must tell orthodox from deviant, so as not to stray into side paths.

Whether one is high or low in rank, rich or poor, husband and wife, or brothers and sisters—whoever has the affinity to seek immortality may read the elixir scriptures (danjing).

This means the way of seeking immortality does not divide people by status or gender. Whoever keeps their proper place, works diligently, and truly resolves to cultivate is someone with affinity and belongs among the family of immortals (xianjia juanshu). Such elixir scriptures may be read by all.

The foregoing is Chapter 59—words of encouragement to the general public, inviting everyone to study together.

The previous chapter already explained that everyone can cultivate; here the text still fears that people of talent and learning in the world may mistakenly trust heterodox methods and idle talk, sighing that the inner “medicine” (the Jing and Qi on which cultivation depends) within the body has dried up, and so no longer wish to seek immortality. They do not know that in the high-grade Neidan (internal alchemy) of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection), the materials drawn upon are only Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy). Shen and Qi reach upward to Heaven and penetrate downward to Earth; they do not differ between young and old. In any moment when thought is gathered, quiet, and still, that moment is the Valley Spirit (the responsive mind in emptiness and stillness); in any moment when aspiration and Qi are clear and bright, that moment is primordial Qi (the body’s innate Qi). If you are willing to settle Shen in that moment and hold it yourself, you are nourishing Qi in that moment and letting it circulate within. From there, if practice is continuous and dense, never slackening over long time, Qi will nourish Shen, Shen will concentrate and Qi will gather, and Jing (essence) will naturally arise from Qi. As Jing grows day by day, Shen naturally flourishes; spirit water (the fluid transformed from Jing and Qi) pours in, the Qihai (the lower Dantian where Qi gathers) fills, and Yang Qi naturally rises, penetrates, and ascends, condensing Jing into Shen. When Shen is complete and Qi is full, one can return from age to infancy—this is the method of return (gui fu, reverting to the primordial).

So the text especially uses a house to stand for the body: as long as one is willing to repair it, it is easy to keep whole. For the inner medicine to arise is not hard; one need only gather body and mind with right intention, hide the most essential point within, and naturally Shen returns and Qi is restored. Day after day it accumulates, like gold and silver piled into a mountain inside the house. What Ziyang Zizi (Zhang Boduan) said—“When does the real gold that builds the house ever dry up?”—is also a metaphor for this.

This is the sixtieth chapter. It follows the previous chapter and also urges that the elderly can likewise cultivate. In sum, as long as one breath remains, Xing and Ming (nature and life) still belong to oneself; when Shen can be calm and focused, Qi naturally flows on without break—this resolve must not slacken even slightly. The next three chapters will explain the method of return.

Hun and Po combine into the three natures; Jing and Shen unite the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). From them the Four Images are distinguished, then gathered into one place and condensed into embryonic Jing.

Human original nature is inherently a unified whole—it is the heart-mind that Heaven bestows upon us. Hun (ethereal soul) and Po (corporeal soul) dwell respectively in the liver and the lungs; originally they ought not to sit on equal footing with the heart-mind. Qu Jun said: Before a person has begun cultivation, the heart-mind that distinguishes right from wrong is indeed original nature; when branches fork off and tendencies scatter in confusion, that is Hun at work; when one clings to one side and ignores whether things are right or wrong, that is Po at work. Li Shan, the Tang commentator on the Wen Xuan, wrote in his Wen Xuan Zhu: Hun is the refined essence within the body; Po is decisive judgment within nature—both can share in wielding the authority of true nature. This principle is quite clear. Thus when ordinary people encounter affairs, the very first thought is extremely lucid and rooted in the heart-mind—this is true intent (zhenyi). Suddenly shifting to the next thought is what Hun emits; though doubt may appear, it is not yet very bad. When a decision is made at the third thought, that is born of Po—purely yin, entirely selfish. A person originally has only one nature, yet the heart-mind is enticed by external things, unable by itself to tell good from bad, and actually allows Hun, Po, and intent to govern together within—becoming a situation of “three lords in one state.” Hence it is said that “Hun and Po become three natures.”

However, Hun belonging to the east and Wood in fact gives birth to Shen belonging to the south and Fire; Po belonging to the west and Metal in fact gives birth to Jing belonging to the north and Water. The path of Neidan (internal alchemy) employs Jing and Shen, while Jing and Shen in turn are nourished by Hun and Po—so Hun and Po are the mother of Jing and Shen, and Jing and Shen are the warrant of nature (xing) and life (ming). The Five Phases must be gathered into one before the alchemical path can be accomplished. The classic says: If you wish to make intent sincere, you must first investigate knowing; when knowing is thorough, you can exhaust principle and see nature. Therefore cultivators must first exhaust principle and fully realize nature, and guard strictly. Once nature is exhausted, the heart-mind naturally becomes firm and strong, and supreme authority no longer passes to others. At the same time, gather Jing and Shen together and establish the resolve of faithful guarding; from this, divide Hun, Po, Jing, and Shen into the Four Symbols (Sixiang): condense Jing to gather in Po, settle Shen to enfold Hun. Since Jing and Shen are born from Hun and Po, Hun and Po are in turn absorbed into Jing and Shen. Then intent is upright and quiet, and the Four Symbols gather in the inner recess of profound stillness (youmi)—that is, merging the qi of the Five Phases into one qi, resting in great stillness, and forming embryonic essence (taijing). What Zhang Zi meant by “two medicines combined make completion; refinement transforms Hun and Po into sages” refers precisely to this. Once Hun and Po have transformed, Jing and Shen naturally congeal, and our nature and feelings can then be upright and settled. Read this chapter alongside Chapter Forty-five above, and it becomes even more subtle.

This concludes Chapter Sixty-One. This chapter follows the two preceding ones and explains that thoroughly investigating the Way and fully realizing one’s own nature are the most essential matters in cultivating the Dao. Only when the nature is settled can one proceed from there toward the Great Dao.

Fix the mind’s aim on seeking Lead and Mercury (the inner alchemical agents), still the heart until it is like ashes, and search out earth and metal. Only then can one know the one true aperture (the place where, in the alchemical tradition, nature and life return to the root)—and who else can recognize how deep and hidden it is?

“Purpose” (zhi) is that toward which my nature is directed—that is, my original resolve. “Earth and metal” means that in stillness, like pure Yin in the Kun earth, a point of Qian metal is hidden: Wu lodged in Kun becomes Kan—this is precisely the moment when my right intention first stirs. Here the text continues from the previous chapter: when nature is settled, resolve is also settled. From this point the seven apertures all return to this one place; single-minded devotion and silent thought are the method for gathering Yang breath and Yin essence. Once breath and essence are felt arriving together, the heart must still be silenced like ashes—this is the path of seeking the true intent and enclosing the spirit. Then spirit is held fast, breath is stilled, and both enter together into the one aperture of true non-deception, where they naturally blend and transform into the elixir. Master Bai said: “Use your aim without distraction, and spirit will concentrate. With the heart ash-gray and darkly still, the Golden Elixir forms within.” Learning so hidden and profound—who can truly know it?

This concludes Chapter Sixty-Two. This chapter also continues from the one before and sets out the key instructions for establishing life (after nature has been fulfilled). Only when life can be firmly established can one stand firm upon it.

Creation has no visible root or stem, yet Yin and Yang each have their own source. These truly wondrous points cannot even be passed from father to son.

“Nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; zaohua (the creative transformation by which Heaven and Earth generate and change the myriad things) takes it as its foundation. “Named” is the mother of the ten thousand things; Yin-Yang takes it as its source. That much is certainly correct. Yet this mystery upon mystery, this subtle pivot, can only be grasped with the heart—it is hard to put clearly into words. For now, let us begin from the meanings of zaohua and Yin-Yang.

Zaohua is Heaven alone holding the power over life and death for persons and things; it belongs to the natural youwei way (the law that acts, creates, and exerts influence). Yin-Yang is the single qi from which human beings, Heaven, Earth, and all things equally stem at Wuji (the boundless beginning) Yuanshi (primordial commencement)—neither born nor destroyed—belonging to the Wuwei (non-action) way within empty non-being and natural spontaneity. From non-being, being is produced: this is called “creating” (zao). From being, return to non-being: this is called “transforming” (hua)—this is spoken in terms of birth and extinction. When movement reaches its limit it turns to stillness: that is Yin. When stillness reaches its limit it moves again: that is Yang—this is spoken in terms of cyclical return. Birth and extinction belong to form and substance; return and cycle belong to spirit.

The form and substance of persons and things all coalesce from spirit. When a person first receives Yin essence and Yang qi and from them gives rise to shen (spirit), that is the root of living life. Then why does this chapter especially insist that wuwei is the root? Only because people in the world do not know how to return to their own source. This body is originally formed from the natural jing (essence) and qi of one’s parents; once one leaves the womb and the umbilical cord is cut, it is no different from root severed and stem fallen. The spirit each person receives from the great zaohua (the mighty power of Heaven-and-Earth’s nurturing) is more or less abundant, and from this comes the fixed span of life: the worthy may lengthen it somewhat, the unworthy may shorten it; the wise and the foolish neither extend nor shorten it—they only follow it and are bound by it, living out their allotted years. Sooner or later, all dissolve again and re-enter the furnace of great zaohua. Thus neither persons nor things can escape qishu (the span and destiny fixed by the qi one receives).

The year, month, and day of a person’s birth are called the “fate pattern” (mingzao)—the destiny set at birth; the year, month, and day of death are called “transformed fate” (huaming)—the moment life ends. The Exhortation to Goodness speaks of prolonging life, shortening life, and dying when one’s allotted span is exhausted. Taken together, whatever has form must perish, and whatever is “made” must dissolve; hence it is said that “creation and transformation have no lasting root”—the process of zaohua itself has no foundation that can endure forever.

The yin essence and yang qi in the human body also derive from what Heaven bestows, yet Heaven and Earth themselves take shape through yin and yang. Heaven and Earth can only forget form and body, not let temperament weigh down the spirit, and thereby rely on yin-yang zaohua to bring forth people and the myriad things.

Among the myriad things, the human is the most spiritually aware. If one knows what to honor and what to hold low (zhichong libei—elevating wisdom, keeping conduct humble), emulates Heaven and Earth, “empties the heart and fills the belly” (xuxin shifu—quiet mind, nourished center, as in the Daodejing), and nurtures what is formless, then the circulation of yin and yang qi within the body will, like the single qi of Wuji and Yuanshi (the boundless, primordial source), wax and wane, ebb and flow—as fish in water, always in continuous communion.

Those who do not know how to return to the source are like scooping a ladle of water from the sea or pinching a handful of earth from the ground: play with them briefly, and the ladle breaks or the handful scatters—water returns to the great sea, earth to the broad land.

One who can return on one’s own is already continuous with the source: keep that ladle of water, yet forget the ladle’s use, and one is never separated from the spring; settle that handful of earth, and be thick in benevolence toward oneself, and one is always consolidating the root. Without ceasing, water gathers into a lake, earth into a hill; gradually the lake expands into a sea, thus embracing emptiness and merging with the Grand Clarity (Taiqing—the utmost pure and void); the hill condenses and spreads into earth, thus becoming so substantial it can bear Mount Hua. All of this is the original face of that ladle of water and that handful of earth.

For a person to accumulate jing (essence), gather qi (vital energy) to complete shen (spirit), and concentrate emptiness and stillness, nurturing vast qi to complete the Dao, is what properly belongs within the source. Laozi’s “the valley spirit does not die” (gu shen bu si—the spirit of the hollow endures) means sharing with Heaven and Earth a root in the Gate of the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin zhi men—the portal of yin-yang generation). Hence it is said that “yin and yang have a source.” Still, this is only a middle-level way of putting it.

The upper-grade method of the Golden Elixir (Neidan) has one matter that ought to be verified in one’s own experience. What Laozi called “the valley spirit does not die”—the Gu She: empty yet luminous, the original spirit (Shen) that is never extinguished—is rooted together with heaven and earth at the Gateway of the Mysterious Feminine (Xuanpin), the master portal where yin and yang give birth to each other. Hence it is said that yin and yang have their own source. That, however, is still the language of the middle grade.

The upper-grade method of the Golden Elixir has another opening move and a direct, shortcut path: at a single touch one can suddenly verify entry into the Xuanmen—the pass in inner cultivation where pre-heaven primordial Qi first stirs—whereupon wondrous insight and wondrous knowing arise of themselves. One directly embodies the first chapter of the Daodejing and thereby knows that human Shen and heaven and earth share one and the same creating-and-transforming process, both rooted in the “wondrous non-being” (miaowu) of Yuanshi (what Yuanshi Tianzun represents as the pre-heaven); and that human Qi and the myriad things all receive yin and yang, that is, share the “wondrous being” (miaoyou) of Lingbao (what Lingbao Tianzun represents) as their source. This does not require the toil of gathering crowds or amassing helpers; with a single thought of utmost sincerity, without a second mind, thought after thought unceasing, practice knows no break, and return is swift.

If one speaks of yin and yang only within creating-and-transforming, yin and yang have already fallen into the post-heaven. In a person that is the physical body (se shen). Life is neither lengthened nor shortened; guarding the Dao until death is what those of superior attainment call “acting after heaven’s time and serving heaven’s season”—following the already-given season of heaven. Therefore, to say Yan Hui (Yanzi) did not die young is not to mean that flesh body, once formed and destined to dissolve; it means the person who can “constantly dwell in non-being and contemplate its wondrousness.” To say Robber Zhi did not live long refers precisely to that flesh body, once formed and bound to perish—it is said of those who do not know how to “constantly dwell in non-being and contemplate its wondrousness.”

If one treats creating-and-transforming as a whole through yin and yang, then creating-and-transforming is entirely based in the pre-heaven. In a person that is the Dharma body (fa shen: the true body beyond the flesh). When wisdom and life (hui ming—the true nature-and-life nurtured in inner practice) can restore their root and return to their source, one can respond to things with true constancy and obtain one’s nature through true constancy. That is what those of superior attainment call “acting before heaven’s time so heaven does not go against one.” Hence sentient beings revolve through the six paths (heaven, human, asura, animal, hungry ghost, hell), and even a wheel-turning sage king who unifies the realm cannot become a Tathagata (Thus-Come One)—precisely because they still make the Dharma body defer to the likes and dislikes of yin and yang, and have not yet been able to “constantly dwell in being and contemplate its boundary and manifestation.”

Wenchang Dijun passed through seventeen cycles of incarnation; the Supreme Lord Lao has eighty-one transformations. Thus the Dharma body—the true body as opposed to the physical body—follows the movement and stillness of yin and yang, and so one can “constantly observe its boundary from the side of being”—from the aspect of “having,” discern the margin where the Dao shows itself.

Therefore: the physical body relies on creation and transformation; it is governed by Heaven, not by oneself, because one has no root to stand on of one’s own. The Dharma body penetrates yin and yang; it is governed by oneself, not by Heaven, because one has within oneself a source that can penetrate through. Heaven also protects it—nothing is unfavorable.

Yet all things under Heaven are born from “being,” and “being” is born from “non-being.” “Non-being” is originally the source of “being,” and “being” is also the root of “non-being.” Thus being and non-being are movement and stillness; movement and stillness are yin and yang; yin and yang are creation and transformation; and creation and transformation are being and non-being. I need not further distinguish what is being and what is non-being, what is yin and what is yang, what is creating and what is transforming—I need only look at my own every movement and every stillness: the two are mutually root, without partial dislike or partial fondness, following the upright great Way.

Using the physical body to nourish the Dharma body, what gathers becomes form and what disperses is still qi. Grounding the Dharma body to stabilize the changing physical form, in stillness it is the Golden Elixir; in movement it is like thunder. What birth, what death, what preservation, what perishing? When Mencius said, “Whether life is short or long, do not waver in heart—cultivate the self and await Heaven’s mandate; that is establishing destiny,” was there ever a split between life and death? And when he said, “All things are complete in me; turn inward and attain sincerity—no joy is greater,” was there ever a gap between existence and extinction? From this one can also see: how free is the person who can constantly respond to affairs and yet constantly dwell in stillness.

Qi is like water; shen (spirit) is like earth. Qi is what life relies on; shen is what nature (xing) lodges in. The wise love water and use it to nourish qi—following nature without forcing or carving, which is also nourishing wisdom. The benevolent love mountains and use them to concentrate shen—content where they are, steadfast in benevolence without shifting, which is also nourishing concentration (ding).

I have finally penetrated the principle of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu): first gather the mind inward to settle and store Shen (spirit); when Shen is settled, stray thoughts cease. Forget stray thoughts to nourish the body; forget the body to nourish Qi (vital energy); forget Qi to nourish Shen; forget Shen to nourish emptiness (xu). This is attaining Yanzi’s “sitting in forgetfulness”—fully realizing one’s nature and thereby aligning with destiny (tianming). Going further, forget even emptiness and merge with Dao (the Way); Heaven then allows one to tend toward sagehood, the original mandate naturally restores itself, and the original nature naturally returns. When both nature and life are complete, one no longer guesses, asserts blindly, stubbornly holds, or clings to the private self—and thus aligns with that one primordial Qi of yuan shi, uniting with Dao in truth: persisting through past and present, participating in Heaven and Earth without difference. In movement, it is the eternal firmness of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), flowing without obstruction; in stillness, it is the true unity of Wuji (the limitless source), with a master present and unchanging through time. Having constancy, all that is inconstant can be brought under one’s grasp; having no obstruction, even what is obstructed can be penetrated. The earlier Confucian master Zhou Dunyi said that the Five Phases (Wuxing) return to Yin-Yang, Yin-Yang return to Taiji, and Taiji originates in Wuji—precisely this meaning. Wuji is fundamentally non-being; Taiji is being. The root of creation and transformation and the foundation of Yin-Yang truly lie here. How could one willingly remain bound by Yin-Yang within the Five Phases, vainly clinging to life and fearing death, calculating being and non-being? One should go straight to the root, grasp the pivot, and step beyond the old patterns of creation and transformation—only then can one be called a person who has attained Dao. These genuine subtleties hinge on the gateway of form and dharma and of birth and death; unless one realizes this in one’s own person, exhausts the meaning, fulfills one’s nature, takes refuge under a true teacher, holds right mindfulness toward empty space, and verifies it once in what is without sound or odor—thereby establishing oneself, returning oneself, restoring oneself, achieving verification oneself, and liberating oneself—then even the deepest bond between father and son cannot transmit this accomplishment.

The seventh patriarch of the Longmen lineage, Kunyangzi Wang Changyue, said after finishing his teaching on “comprehending birth and death”: “Once you recognize the true Dao, you leave that very night. You look for a staff to lean on and find nothing at all. Empty and open, you cultivate alone—neither thirsty nor hungry—sharing longevity with heaven and earth.” The “benefit of lasting steadfastness” (li yong zhen) in the application of the sixth line, and “seeing a group of dragons with no head—auspicious” (jian qun long wu shou, ji) in the application of the ninth line, in the commentary to Chapter Twenty-two, mean exactly this. It is indeed so.

The above is Chapter Sixty-three. Following the four preceding chapters, it temporarily explains middle-grade (zhongpin) practice: it warns people not to treat creation (zaohua) as something with a root or hold one can grasp, and it shows that yin and yang have their own primal source. From this the thread of thoroughly investigating principle and exhausting nature (qiongli jinxing) appears, teaching you to recognize it for yourself, comprehend birth and death, and reach straight through to the sage realm of wondrous being and wondrous non-being, thereby returning to the root and restoring the source. When you can do this, your cultivation and verification are no different from those of upper-grade (shangpin) elixir methods. What Confucius meant by tracing back to the origin and extending to the end, and thus knowing the principles of life and death, is precisely this. Only when you gain this true subtlety can you adapt flexibly and handle change with mastery. This is the crowning insight of the whole work; it also clarifies the master formula in Chapters Forty-nine through Fifty-four on refining until the spirit of the valley (gu shen) is achieved, and it leads into the meaning of the chapters that follow.

In the “Appended Remarks” (Xici Zhuan) of the Zhou Yi, the phrase is written as “tracing to the origin and returning to the end” (yuanshi fanzhong). The reading that adds “extending to the end” appears in commentarial editions by Han Confucian scholars: it means that a person can proceed from beginning to end and therefore understand the teaching on birth and death. The sense is perfectly clear, and this text follows that reading.

Keep mercury in the golden cauldron and lead in the jade pool. Host and guest do not lean left or right; you need only recognize that infant. Mercury, lead, golden cauldron, jade pool, and infant are all metaphors in internal alchemy (Neidan). The gist is that spirit (shen) and true qi each stay in their proper place, without confusing host and guest; the crux lies solely in recognizing that bit of innate truth.

In the language of inner alchemy (Neidan), mercury stands for Shen (spirit) and lead for Qi (vital energy). The Golden Cauldron (Jinding) is the Heavenly Valley (Tiangu) in the upper body—the site where spirit was housed in infancy; the Jade Pool (Yuchi) is the Responding Valley (Yinggu) in the middle of the body—the site where Qi was housed in infancy. The “infant” is the Yang spirit first condensed from the Valley Spirit (the empty, luminous spirit) once primordial destiny has been restored. This section follows directly from Chapter 54 above.