《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 24

This passage describes the moment when the original mandate of life (yuanming) returns. At this point, the Shen (spirit) has been fully nourished in the temporary lodging of Yinggu (the Responding Valley); it rides the Qi along the microcosmic orbit (zhou tian, the circulation of vital breath within the body), shifts back to its native Niwan Palace (the upper Dantian at the crown), and dwells in the Heavenly Valley (tian gu). This is what is called the Valley Spirit (gu shen). Shizi names this step “separating the embryo”; Baizi calls it “moving the spirit and changing the cauldron.” Hence the saying “keep mercury in the golden cauldron”—letting mercury (here, the Shen) remain in the golden cauldron. Qi likewise returns on its own to its proper place, entering the crimson palace (jiang gong, the middle Dantian in the heart region) within Yinggu. Hence “send lead into the jade pool”—bringing lead (here, Qi) into the jade pool. This transfer is not accomplished by deliberate contrivance; it completes itself naturally.

Zhang Zi (Zhang Boduan) in the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) says: “In deployment one must distinguish left and right ranks; let him be host and me be guest.” This chapter deliberately clarifies that meaning: it teaches one to let Qi be host and Shen be guest. In truth there is no left or right—only merging with the Dao into one, turning toward neither death nor birth. When the Shen rests securely in concealment and does not, outside its proper role, manufacture schemes to seek life, Qi then fills out vigorously, temporarily holding the Shen, and thus one can avoid death. Only the infant can guard the pure unified Qi in this way; hence “host and guest have no left or right—one need only recognize the infant.” The Yang Shen obtained at this stage is just like a newborn infant; guard the pure Yang body with pure Qi as an infant would, and the Yang Shen will naturally grow strong and mature.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Four. Together with the preceding nine chapters, it explains the subtle purport of exhausting principle and fulfilling nature—how the original mandate returns, and the functions that naturally appear when mandate is restored. The next chapter continues with nurturing by warmth.

The Yellow Woman’s (Huangpo, a metaphor in Neidan for upright intention, like a nurturer) breasts are full; Elder Ding (Ding lao, often standing for heart fire) is wholly compassionate. Warm nurturing has no other method than raising this infant to completion within emptiness and stillness.

Elder Ding refers to the heart. Here the text asks: when life-force is restored, where does the practice come from, and what spontaneous efficacy arises at that stage—as already explained in the previous chapter; the next chapter then treats the principle of nurturing and warming.

The Yellow Matron, with full breasts, and Elder Ding with a single compassionate heart: for nurturing and warming there is no other method—you only raise the infant within the “non.” The Yellow Matron is the intent that harmonizes Yin and Yang in Neidan, a figure for the nurturer; the infant stands for the newly formed inner elixir.

Elder Ding as the heart means that once life is restored, the secret instructions are as in the last chapter: when all is settled, nothing else remains to be done. The practitioner need only avoid taking oneself to have attained anything, and go on nourishing the formless spirit: take purity and stillness as the root, and hold sincerity in guard; treat lead and mercury as guests, in quiet harmony. Lead and mercury are the medicinal pair of water and fire, essence and Qi. Then Qi will circulate on its own and nourish the chamber of spirit. Like a wet nurse feeding a child, letting it suckle at will, the heart stays kind and follows the breath’s coming and going with steady attention—then warmth spreads through the body, the infant naturally grows, and beyond this there is no other art. “Within the non” means this “center” was never something that existed from the start. The Diamond Sutra says that if one seeks me by form or by sound, that is not the right path; one must use the method of “contemplating at ease”—simply forgetting the body and forgetting the breath—to nurture the spirit that is not spirit. The spirit that is not spirit is the true spirit that does not fall into deliberate, contrived action.

Right: Chapter Sixty-Five. The thread here is that those approaches are not the right path; one must use the method of contemplating at ease—only forgetting form and forgetting Qi—to nurture the spirit that is not spirit.

Right: Chapter Sixty-Five. This chapter follows the last and explains the furnace fire at the time of nurturing and warming: the single secret of forgetting form is the way to long-nurture the valley spirit. Furnace fire is the rhythm and measure of practice; the valley spirit is the numinous clarity that is empty yet can be nourished.

Above the crimson palace gate a green phoenix soars; in the Dantian a jade toad is kept and fed. Within the gourd it is forever day; fine white snow drifts down. The Dantian is the place of refinement inside the body; the jade toad stands for the inner medicine; the heaven within the gourd is the small cosmos inside the person; white snow stands for pure, subtle Qi descending.

The Crimson Gate refers to the corresponding crimson palace in the body—in internal alchemy, the heart’s location is taken as the crimson palace. “Soaring azure phoenix” means that at this stage qi has just newly emerged from its home in the crimson palace, like an azure phoenix in flight. The Yinfu Jing says, “What governs birds lies in qi,” hence the phoenix as an image for qi. The Shiming says that “qing (azure) means birth,” so the azure phoenix stands for newly born qi. The dantian here is the upper dantian, the heavenly valley and mud-pill palace within the crown of the head. The jade toad refers to the yang spirit in this valley; by now it has been warmed and nourished and is no longer cold like freshly arisen yang, but warm and smooth as jade. White snow refers to qi circulating to the upper valley; when spirit and qi meet once, they become spirit water—qi clear, bright, and full throughout the body, like white snow. This means the yang spirit is gradually growing stronger; one must not stir it rashly, but only quietly nourish the state of “non-spirit”; let qi flow on its own, like an azure phoenix soaring upward to the mud-pill palace to nourish this spirit. When spirit and qi meet once, that is spirit water, like fine snow falling everywhere; the whole body feels clear, harmonious, and still, as if day that never turns to night.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Six. It describes how, during warming and nourishing, one lets qi flow naturally. This is the true method of nurturing life—how does it compare to the various minor life-nurturing methods pointed out in the Cuixu Yin? If the mind is clear and the eyes discerning, one can surely tell the difference.

Once qin and se are in harmony, the inheritance is complete in its time. There is no need to apply firing times (the work of regulating advance and retreat of the fire); otherwise one may harm the infant (the yang spirit or holy fetus nurtured in internal alchemy).

What is being discussed here is nurturing the Original Spirit (yuanshen)—the spirit one inherently possesses from before heaven—which is no longer the same as the earlier stage of refining the Valley Spirit (the responsive spirit that is empty yet responsive), when one had to manage the fire phases with precision. Once the Valley Spirit has joined with the life-qi (the pre-heaven qi of life), it is like the lute and zither already in harmony: one need only let the qi turn naturally on its own. The Yang Spirit (the refined pure-yang spirit) has already grown strong; this is the moment when the fruit can be received and the work brought to completion, with no further entanglement in likes and dislikes of conscious mind. If one still uses heart-fire to orchestrate things and forces the qi by straining the spirit, the qi cannot fully fill the empty, and the spirit cannot fully settle in the solid—when then can accomplishment come? That would harm the Yang Spirit considerably. Therefore the teaching is to release body and mind entirely, settle the spirit in quiet clarity, and let the qi circulate freely; then fullness comes of itself. One must on no account go back to probing for fire phases.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Seven. This chapter says that in nurturing one must not force growth. Before this, the path was to exhaust Nature (xing) in order to establish Life (ming); at this stage one should settle Life in order to follow Nature (xing), and only then can one return to the root source.

The eldest son (Zhen ☳) has just entered Dui; the youngest daughter (Dui ☱) then returns to Qian (☰). The palace of Xun (☴) aligns with the earth position; the passes and orifices close by themselves, and the circuit of the microcosmic orbit (zhoutian) completes naturally.

In the pre-heaven arrangement of trigrams, the eldest son refers to the Zhen (Thunder) trigram, which symbolizes yang qi just arising; the young girl refers to the Dui (Lake) trigram, which symbolizes yang qi already grown strong. “Entering Dui and returning to Qian” is spoken in terms of the pre-heaven directions and line images: when yang first appears with only one yang line, that is Zhen; when it grows to two yang lines, that is Dui, the young girl; when all three lines are yang, that is the purely yang image of Qian. Saying “just entered” and “at once returns” is meant to show how swiftly the yang spirit matures.

The Xun palace refers to the human nose opening; the earth position refers to the physical body. What is meant by “merging” is what chapter forty-nine earlier called the palaces of Gen and Kun. One yin line is Xun; two yin lines become Gen; three yin lines become Kun—and Kun is the earth position.

This means that once nature is settled and life is restored, the yang spirit at first is like the single yang line of Zhen, hidden in the tiangu (the “mud pill” region at the crown in neidan), while one lets qi circulate naturally; the body then quickly fills out, like the two yang lines of Dui, and soon becomes the purely yang Qian image, with spirit properly enthroned and dwelling in the body. Qi likewise goes from the single yin of the Xun palace just ceasing, then settling in stillness like Gen’s stopping, and hiding in quiescence like Kun’s storing—beauty contained within and extending through the four limbs, beauty at its utmost.

Thus when spirit can concentrate, it grows ever stronger; when qi can be still, it fills ever more fully. The principle is naturally so, and there ought to be no fault of one side overpowering the other. Yet in the womb-body a trace of blood-qi ultimately is not fully eliminated. At this stage, if one cannot strictly guard oneself and deeply hide in a secret, secure place, one also fears being too prone to movement and unable to rest in stillness. When walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, if one hears one’s own breathing at the nose, or the body is worn with toil, qi turns back to disturb the heart, and spirit often scatters outward—this becomes “passing the passes” with leakage of qi. The fruit of the path achieved later will then be partial and not round, because qi has overpowered spirit.

Therefore true breath must be long, slow, and gentle; the body must be relaxed and at ease; the complexion mild and moist; one follows the six qi in circulation and keeps pace with the degrees of the celestial circuit, so that qi naturally closes and locks within the body, without the flaws of imbalance or loss. Only then is one truly skilled at nurturing the haoran zhi qi (vast, flood-like vital breath).

The preceding was Chapter Sixty-Eight. That chapter means: when nurturing has reached full vigor, there is no need for further deliberate contrivance—only restraint and caution, holding the measure, keeping fullness without letting it spill outward.

After the bowstring’s tension and before it, images the waxing and waning of vital qi; the full moon and the waning moon stand for surplus and deficit in one’s temperament. “Adding and subtracting” follows the pattern of punishment and virtue: using firmness to correct is “punishment,” using softness to subdue is “virtue”; “bathing” is arranged according to surplus and deficit. When spirit is strong and qi is full, the great qi naturally fills heaven and earth. It must neither be allowed to surge wildly nor be suppressed even slightly. Simply when full, subtract; when empty, add—still employing firm restraint and soft restraint—so that upright qi is always kept in harmonious balance, and this itself serves as bathing. The body then stays easeful, expansive, and broad, awaiting the renewed union of innate primordial yang and the return to the original root.

Chapter Sixty-Nine means: with gentleness and steadiness, hold this fullness and wait for innate primordial yang to return to the root. The stronger the qi grows, the more spirit must withdraw and hide; do not let spirit be driven by qi, and the yang spirit will naturally become full and complete. While holding fullness, spirit must be clear and qi tranquil, so that spirit and qi do not deviate into excess or deficiency.

Old mercury weighs three jin and is white in color; true lead is a single point and is red in color. Seize the marrow of heaven and earth, and in an instant they unite.

What is called “old mercury” is achieved by merging the body’s Jing, Qi, and Shen into one. “Three catties” means that all three—Jing, Qi, and Shen—are fully sufficient in measure. “White” means pure and whole, keeping one’s original face, untainted.

“True lead” is that bit of innate, primordial yang Qi from the Wuji (limitless) endowment within my Taiji (the root of body-mind and cosmos)—that is, my original nature (yuanxing, the nature one originally has). True lead has neither form nor color; calling it “a single point” shows that it is one, not two—a dot, not a drop. Calling it “red” is what Zhang Zi meant by “turning from black to red.”

The constant nature received and upheld by a person stems from heavenly nature. Heaven bestows nature upon the person, descending into the person to become the heart (xin); among the five colors the heart belongs to scarlet. The nature restored at this stage is the primordial nature of heaven and earth, originally what Wuji gave to Taiji to serve as the heart. Hence the realm where the Emperor of the Great Pure and Perfect Heaven dwells is called the Great Scarlet Heavenly Palace. Past masters often called the original yuanxing the Golden Elixir, and honored this restored yuanxing as the “Primordial Taiji Moral True Person.” What the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean) calls “honoring moral nature” (zun dexing) means honoring this yuanxing—not nature mixed with acquired temperament.

Here it says “red” rather than “scarlet” because the lead obtained earlier had already turned purple through the intermediate hues of water and fire; by then the three grades of Jing, Qi, and Shen in the body were as purely white as the chastity of Great Simplicity (Taisu, the primordial simplicity of the cosmos). When this great-scarlet true lead is further obtained and the two intermingle and fuse, scarlet and white interweave and become red. “Marrow of heaven and earth” refers precisely to this true lead.

At this point Shen, Qi, and Jing are all full and utterly untainted, so it can be called old mercury. One need only complete the work of gentle nurturing; when a bit of true lead is obtained and turns red, that is the Golden Liquid Returned Elixir (jinye huandan—the inner elixir perfected and returned). Then the yang spirit within the body keeps to quiet concealment alone, letting heavenly processes run naturally; when the cycle is round and complete, Qi also rests in stillness.

What Baizi said — "quiet the mind and concentrate the spirit, reach emptiness and hold to stillness, and from the empty heart light will naturally arise" — is indeed something that happens of itself. One then feels the body as solid and heavy as a mountain, towering and vast. Before long, a point of true lead (the innate pre-heaven true qi spoken of in internal alchemy) rises from the depths, light blazing forth like the realm of Chiming (the Daoist stage where primordial light first opens). This is the marrow of heaven and earth, and the warrant for my original nature (yuanxing, innate true nature) to return. Let heaven and earth overturn and rush into primordial chaos — my spirit follows in the same muddle, knowing nothing, as if sunk in deep sleep. After a moment, clarity and freshness suddenly return; the body burns like fire, and inner blockages melt like ice. If one speaks of further practice, at this stage one must still engage in combined refining (hunlian, merging and refining yin and yang essences); if one speaks of results, the light of original nature shines everywhere, penetrating the subtle and hidden, the ears hearing the nine heavens, the eyes seeing ten thousand miles, the whole body pure yang, sinews like gold and bones like jade. This is the Yang Spirit (Yangshen, the spirit formed from pure yang) manifesting a form and moving in and out at will. As far as the path of longevity is concerned, the work is complete here. Yet fear that where yang is, yin must also be paired — if the mind still holds views of the six directions (liuhe, above, below, and the four quarters) and of emptiness, one cannot escape the distinctions of coming and going, hiding and appearing. How then could one roam with the Creator and grasp beginning and end? Therefore one must take the former chaos within oneself and the myriad things of the present world and refine them together into the Golden Elixir Great Returning Pill (jinye da huandan, the great elixir of internal alchemy that returns to the source) — otherwise one surely cannot reach this stage.

The preceding Chapter 70 describes the moment when Yang Shen (the yang spirit consciousness refined in internal alchemy) is fully formed and is just merging with Yuan Shen (the inborn primordial spirit). The word “seize” (duo) in that chapter matches what the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) calls “Daoji” (stealing the mechanism). The Zuo Zhuan cites the Military Classic: “He who moves first has the heart to seize from others.” That is about warfare: speed matters—you must strike before the enemy’s intent stirs and seize the decisive point. Here, in self-cultivation, what counts is spiritual boldness: before your own intent moves, seize the pivot of Yin-Yang. The marrow of Heaven and Earth is precisely this pivot of Yin-Yang.

“At the place where fire phases (huohou—the rhythm of advancing and withdrawing heat in practice) meet the Mysterious, who in past or present has been willing to transmit it? If you do not yet know how to gather the medicine, do not yet ask about orbital circulation (zhoutian—the flow of qi through the body in a full circuit).” Xuan here is Heaven. The meaning is: primordial nature has been restored, Yang Shen is complete, and within the body there is no further fire work to do; fire phases exist only where they connect with Heaven. From antiquity to the present, who has been willing to teach this clearly? It is because in the world there is no one who can truly return life and nature, and no wisdom to know whom to ask; the medicine of the Golden Elixir of Great Reversion (jinye dahuandan) is not yet understood in how it is gathered—so for now, do not inquire into the fire phases of orbital circulation.

Chapter 71 picks up the “seize” of the previous chapter and slightly reveals the edge of fire phases. “Clouds scatter; the moon shines on crabapple. Spring deepens; willows feel the wind. Who knows this meaning? Raise your eyes and ask the empty void.” Clouds have cleared, crabapple in moonlight; spring is deep, willows in the breeze. Who understands this? Look up and put the question to the void.

This commentary holds that at this stage one has already taken the original nature within the Taiji (the source before Yin and Yang were divided) as the foundation, while the firing regimen (the measure of movement and stillness, advance and retreat, and the weight of intention in practice) consists simply in forgetting attachments, resting in emptiness and stillness, and merging with the Dao, until spirit and qi are both surrendered to mutual oblivion. The opening line of this chapter, “Clouds disperse and the moon reaches the crabapple,” is a metaphor for spirit having become utterly pure and luminous, without sound or scent; the next line, “Spring deepens and the wind stirs the willows,” is a metaphor for qi having become utterly smooth and expansive, without form or trace. When the practitioner applies this to body and mind and completes this stage, the first line describes the “center” (zhong) before joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have been aroused; the second describes the “harmony” (he) when, once aroused, all responses accord with measure. In terms of practical effect, the first line treats the Three Universal Virtues (wisdom, benevolence, courage) as one’s innate knowing—the knowledge shared by all; the second treats the Five Universal Relationships (ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger brother, friends) as one’s innate capacity—what all ought to follow. Yet regarding the subtlety of the firing regimen of the celestial circuit (the timing of qi circulating through the microcosmic orbit in Neidan), the essential point of single-minded purity at the entry stage is not yet visible here. Why does the text below again say “the eyes question emptiness”? Each person must experience and awaken to this for themselves; understanding one matter opens the way to all matters, provided one seeks the goodness of one’s own original mind. Then in movement one accords with what human nature shares in common, and in stillness one aligns with how Heaven’s mandate originally is—constantly nurturing that state of undifferentiated wholeness, so that wherever one is touched, clarity opens, and one knows that one’s spirit and qi have long since blended and transformed of themselves between heart and eyes, their traces vanishing again into emptiness. Why is this so? The movement and stillness of qi follow spirit, and spirit is prior to qi; the ascent and concealment of spirit arise from the heart, and the heart is prior to spirit; the heart’s first trigger lies in the eyes, and the eyes are in turn prior to the heart. The Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) says: “The heart is born from things and dies from things; the pivot is in the eyes.” Thus the eyes are the heart’s first trigger and the place where one must first apply effort in harmonizing spirit and qi. When the gaze flees outward, the heart follows into hiding, qi is blocked, and spirit is lost; when the eyes are clear and can look inward (neishi, inward contemplation), the heart grows pure, spirit gathers, and qi expands greatly.

Those who probe the void with their eyes find the heart roaming in the time before things took form—nowhere to rest, while Shen and Qi remain clear and still, ever tranquil. When cultivation reaches the point where even stillness cannot be clung to, one realizes that the ten directions and three realms (the four quarters above and below, and the desire, form, and formless heavens) are none other than this single mind, and past and present are none other than this single self. What was never born before is not destroyed now; what was never less before is not increased now. The meaning is just this—who truly knows it?

I once took this meaning to the dwelling place of vast emptiness (taixu) to ask my teacher. The teacher was reciting the Wordless Guanyin Sutra (a classic that bypasses words and points straight at the mind) and said: The former phrase is the finger pointing at the moon—do not mistake the finger for the moon; the latter is like a banner lifted by the wind—do not mistake the banner for the wind. This means that only after thunder and rain fill the body and Qi saturates the form does the clear, bright realm of open wind and parting clouds unfold. The character “scatter” (san) in the first phrase is like saying, “Simply sit at heaven’s edge—there is no need to turn and look at the white clouds beneath your feet.” It refers to Shen; Shen is the Ming within Xing (nature)—how can one grasp the metaphor and fix on Shen alone? The character “deep” (shen) in the latter phrase is like saying, “Recognize the face of the east wind wherever you are—ten thousand reds and purples are all spring.” It refers to Qi; Qi is the Xing within Ming—how can one fixate on the metaphor and take it as Qi alone?

My master Niwán left this Daoist verse: “Willows too dance toward the bright moon; crabapples too grow lovely in the fair wind.” He also said: “When clouds scatter across the sky, every home has the moon; when spring comes to the earth, flowers bloom everywhere.” This is the light of heaven, mild and boundless, like a mirror without edge—each thing holds the other, and no limit can be found. If you hold fast to integrity, abide in hidden stillness, and balance concentration (ding) with insight (hui), sincerity opens into clarity, clarity without confusion, and you fully fulfill the Xing heaven bestows, so Xing and Ming return together to the original root. At that point, what void remains to be forgotten? Contemplating nature and thereby aligning with the Dao is uniting with the Dao in truth, forever preserving true emptiness without obstruction.

Then I bowed my head and intoned: Within vast emptiness, Xing and Ming unite in the original root—what void is there left to forget? Contemplating nature to accord with the Dao is uniting with the Dao in truth, eternally preserving unobstructed true emptiness.

Then he bowed his head and praised in verse: “Within the Great Void (the realm of utmost emptiness and stillness), empty and bright, clear through and through, nothing at all exists. Ease itself is innate genuineness; a clear breeze stirs the bright moon.” Such orthodox teaching of the Great Vehicle and this wondrous Dao of emptiness and non-being—unless one has long cultivated it in daily life with sincere, constant recitation, and unless one has first grasped even half a line of its essentials and then had it confirmed as true by my master Void Treasury—even traveling to the ends of the earth, who could understand this meaning? In the Commentary on the Hexagram Tun in the Book of Changes, the phrase “thunder and rain in motion, full and overflowing” uses the character for “full” (ying); in Han Confucian annotated editions the word appears as “form” (xing), referring to the Kun trigram formed by lines two, three, and four of Tun. Ancestors of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school all explained it according to “form”; that usage is retained here.

The above is Chapter Seventy-two. This chapter continues the two before it, pointing out the key timing (the rhythm of advance, retreat, warming, and nurturing in practice)—that is, the prior opportunity to unite with primal Qi (vital energy). Read further against the Emerald Void Chant of the mud-pill palace and Master Lü’s single formula, and you will see more clearly that the subtle body and subtle function are at once vast and fine, and that the true realm of the Great Void holds such ineffable wonder.

On earth one is no longer tied by outer things; in heaven there is already a place on the ladder to immortality. Once you know how to ride the clouds, the white crane will come to accompany you.

At this point, having obtained the formula, matters are direct and settled—you have already “exhausted the ore and refined the gold pure, smoke gone and fire extinguished,” containing such ineffable wonder within.

On earth one is no longer tied by outer things; in heaven there is already a place on the ladder to immortality. Once you know how to ride the clouds, the white crane will come to accompany you.

The meaning is: at this stage, with the formula clear and decisive, you have already exhausted the ore and refined the gold pure, smoke gone and fire extinguished, embracing the ten thousand images without a single thread clinging. Worldly burdens of things no longer concern you, and a rung on heaven’s immortal ranks is already yours. Yet you still must not ride the clouds straight up on your own; you must wait carefully for the crane to arrive, then surge into the azure heights. This teaches one not to treat entering and leaving, hiding and appearing as one’s special skill—then naturally one can reach the way of transformation and ascension.

The above is Chapter Seventy-three. This chapter continues the last: once the firing times are fully understood, one enters the realm of the completed elixir.

“When the night is still and the moon bright” describes Wuji (the formless origin before manifestation) and Taiji (the moment yin and yang are about to divide yet still undivided) concealing and revealing each other—an image for the instant when stillness has reached its limit and movement is just beginning, when the spirit of true yang and primordial qi unite. “A single cry of a spring bird” means that within Wuji a trace of the true mechanism starts to stir.

This means: once you have settled in concealment and steadiness, you regard stopping-and-stabilizing and insight as equal partners in contemplation; mind-nature is naturally clear and bright. Yet you should only harmonize your light and mix with the dust—having the Dao without displaying the Dao, having De without displaying De—so that face, bearing, and conduct are like those of ordinary men and women in the world. You follow conditions to deliver people and benefit the myriad things in many ways; whether you let your hand fall and walk into the marketplace, or enter purity, or go out into defilement, nothing is forbidden. When merit and practice are complete, the true mechanism naturally issues from Wuji—this is the congenital “two-five” essence (the refined union of yin-yang and the Five Phases), also the speck of gold born from the “Heaven-One” within. Earlier Confucian Zhou Dunyi called it “the truth of Wuji”; Chen Niwan called it “a cup of primordial wine.” To “take it in”—in Neidan, ingestion is a metaphor for gathering and nourishing within— is to escape the oppositions of yin and yang and no longer be bound by the Five Phases.

The above is Chapter 74, on the principle of warming and nurturing the original spirit.

“White gold is cooked through the six hexagrams; black tin passes the three passes”: white gold and black tin are metaphorical names for inner-alchemical substances—the former refined by the firing times of six hexagrams, the latter passing the three passes of weilü, jiaji, and yuzhen. “In the depth of midnight’s third watch, the golden crow enters the vast cold”: at midnight the golden crow (the sun, standing for yang) enters the vast cold (the lunar palace, standing for yin), showing yang arising within yin.

White gold is a metaphor for the primordial spirit (Yuanshen) having become utterly pure and single-minded, with no second stray thought—just as when golden fluid first returns. The six trigrams are Zhen, Dui, Qian, Xun, Gen, and Kun; the six qi circulate in that order without cease, together forming the image of one Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). “Cooking” here means dwelling in utmost emptiness and stillness, no longer presiding or fabricating. Black tin is lead—a figure for the yang spirit having obtained the primordial spirit’s inner hold, body and mind extremely supple, like lead and tin awaiting transformation. The three passes mean blending and cultivating essence (Jing), qi, and spirit so that the three grades transform in sequence and return to emptiness; at that stage all three “leads” are complete. Midnight at the third watch points to the moment within Wuji when Yuanshi’s true mechanism is about to stir—the “still night, bright moon” of the previous chapter. The golden crow takes the sense of “three-legged”; in heaven it is the sun’s soul, here standing for Yuanshi’s true mechanism, the “spring bird” of the earlier chapter. There one only heard its cry (voice-hearing); here one awakens through contingent encounter (conditioned awakening). “Vast cold” symbolizes Taiji. The meaning is: the season of nurturing warmth is sufficient; primordial nature embraces the six qi in circulation, utterly empty yet not governing; primordial life has passed the three passes to the utmost, with no further way of deliberate action. Then from Wuji a thread of true mechanism issues naturally—it is one’s own wondrous, empty Yuanshi qi returning to merge with the primordial spirit. That is the great return of the golden elixir; true primordial qi bursts forth and one becomes a wondrous Dao adept. In truth the golden crow is primordial nature, stilled to the limit then stirring again; vast cold is primordial life following nature’s stirring and joining it—sun and moon in one disk, the unity of nature and life (xing and ming). This is what the master called timely union with primordial qi: not another true mechanism arriving from outside, nor something contrived by scheming mind, but the wondrous Dao of empty spontaneity. Therefore obtaining it one becomes true—a wondrous Dao adept who may guide the world or withdraw from it. His traces lions cannot hide; his subtlety dragons cannot match—depth and wonder to the limit. King Wen’s line under Qian’s “Use the Nine”—“Seeing a group of dragons without a head: auspicious”—speaks of this. It is called refining emptiness to unite with the Dao, nature and life meeting in primordial unity, one with Taiji in enduring presence. Yet after first receiving heaven and earth’s root source, one must go further to unite truth with the Dao, lest one ever fall away.

The Purple Mansion (Zifu) is the place where Donghua Qingtong Mugong Daojun selects those who will become immortals. This Daojun is the great patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) lineage, titled Donghua Zifu Fuyuan Liji Shaoyang Dijun. The meaning is: one must complete the internal elixir (Neidan), undergo birth from the elixir and transformation, and unite with the Dao to become a true person (Zhenren)—only then is the road to the Yellow Springs (the underworld) blocked, and one no longer falls into birth and death, but goes straight to the door of the Dao ancestor to await selection as an immortal. Those of higher rank receive heavenly eminence; those of lower rank may still become masters of a generation.

Earlier, the cold toad (Hanchan) metaphor described the valley spirit (Gu Shen) as fully formed; the jade toad (Yuchan) metaphor described the yang spirit (Yang Shen) as flourishing. Here, the sea toad (Haichan) metaphor describes the original spirit (Yuan Shen) as having received the true pivot of transformation from within the Wuji (Limitless); it then emerges through the Mud Pill Palace (Niwan, the upper dantian in the head) and soars upward like a crane. The crane stands for the true person: the cultivator is like one who transforms from toad to crane—not a reference to Master Liu of the Southern School, known as Sea Toad (Haichan).

The above is Chapter Seventy-Seven, on birth from the elixir, spirit transformation, and ascending to pay homage to the Dao ancestor—that is, attaining the fruit of the path and completing oneself as a true person.

Where do rivers and seas ultimately flow? To whom do mountains and cliffs truly belong? Once the Golden Elixir (Jindan) is mature, all of these are merely treasures within one’s own house.

The way of the Golden Fluid Great Returning Elixir (Jinye Dahuandan) has been explained again and again through the whole text, yet the author still feared that after reading, people would know but not love it, or love it but not gladly practice. The reason is simply attachment to the world of dust—unable to summon a single upright thought to refine the self and lay the foundation (first purifying mind and heart and solidifying the root). Hence this chapter is written with special emphasis: when the Golden Elixir is mature, one is of one body with the Great Void (Taixu); rivers, seas, mountains, and cliffs may all be set aside; what is worth guarding is one’s own inner treasure. By mentioning rivers and mountains, even things smaller than rivers and mountains are included. This teaches one to release the myriad ties, hold fast to a single thought—then there is naturally a path in cultivation, no demons on the way forward, and success is assured; one can even deliver others. Otherwise, when impermanence arrives, nothing of the ten thousand things can be taken along—only karmic residue follows the body; then, though one regrets, how can one turn back?

The above is Chapter Seventy-Eight. This chapter was written to stir people toward right mindfulness—pure, upright thoughts—hence it says that once the elixir is complete, one merges with Heaven and becomes one with it; mountains, rivers, and the great earth are all one’s own treasure. The ancients said, “The vast expanse of the eight directions all lies within my gate”—was that empty talk?

Lü received the oral formula from Zhong; Ge passed the heart teaching to Zheng. Beyond that there is no idle talk—the whole matter comes down to mercury and lead alone. Lü is the Pure Yang Emperor Lord of the Dao, Lü Dongbin; Zhong is the Orthodox Yang Emperor Lord, Zhong Liquan. Ge refers to Immortal Lord Ge Xiaoxian, the Left Lord of the Grand Ultimate, Ge Xuan; Zheng refers to True Person Siyuan, Zheng Siyuan. From antiquity, accomplished immortals and perfected ones have been beyond count. Of Lü and Ge, none do not know them, none fail to revere and trust them—yet the oral formula they transmitted says nothing else: only mercury and lead. Mercury and lead mean the two medicines of yin and yang within the body—not metals outside the body. This teaches people not to believe other doctrines in passing, and not to seek the Dao outside the body.

The above is Chapter Seventy-Nine. This chapter says that this return-to-source elixir method (the practice of returning to the root source) is indeed the authentic transmission of ancient sages and perfected ones; it is the simple supreme Dao, unlike other heterodox arts that are troublesome and difficult. Mercury and lead return to one cauldron; sun and moon must be in the same furnace. Advancing the fire requires guarding against taboos—only then can it congeal into jade cream. Sun and moon mean yin and yang; cauldron and furnace are the place of cultivation; advancing the fire is applying the fire phases in practice; jade cream is the form the elixir takes when it has congealed.

This passage presents the master formula of the Neidan (internal alchemy) path: mercury and lead—standing respectively for the Primordial Spirit (Yuanshen) and Primordial Essence (Yuanjing)—must return to unity, and nature (Xing, innate nature) and emotional consciousness (Qing) must be brought into harmony. In refining, in the “bathing” phase (pausing the fire to nourish and subdue), and in advancing and withdrawing the fire, the essentials are to guard against anger and restrain desire, and to adjust additions and subtractions (in fire and “medicine”) with moderation. One must work day and night with caution and in secrecy, until self and things are forgotten, the six roots (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are quiet, and the square inch of the heart is clear—then the elixir naturally congeals. The term “jade butter” (yusu) means that by thus hiding the spirit and nurturing qi, one attains both fine warmth and dense smoothness in the work. If the three great transition passes are nourished in this way throughout, the achievement comes without strain and quite swiftly.

The above is Chapter 80, which sets forth the master formula of the Neidan path.

Gather the medicine and join it; advance the fire and take the bath; when the time of shedding the embryo arrives, the nine-times-nine count of yang is complete.

This chapter summarizes the whole treatise, marking the ordered stages of alchemical work and teaching the reader to advance step by step. When the yang count is full and pure yang is sufficient, one naturally sheds the embryo, is transformed by spirit, ascends, and attains the Dao. Readers should not fail to honor the earnest intent of this text—to return to the root and restore the source.

This is the eighty-first chapter, which clarifies the sequence of alchemical formulas and serves to sum up the main themes of the preceding eighty chapters.

The essential practice in this chapter begins with youwei (deliberate, structured effort) and concludes with Wuwei (non-action). The work of youwei is nothing more than establishing one’s proper place and consolidating life (zhengwei ningming), and nurturing within oneself a robust, upright qi; the formula for Wuwei is nothing more than unceasing self-cultivation and nourishing that aspect which has no visible form.

My teacher often said: one must keep the body upright and straight, the heart-mind empty and open, and the intention pure and undivided. Then, once one has received the oral formulas, refining the elixir comes naturally; even without dedicated practice, it is enough to ward off illness and prolong life, remaining vigorous into old age. This is truly the master key at the very start of the path. Several in our lineage have followed this, and at seventy, eighty, or ninety years of age they remain spirited and strong, surpassing their prime.

When the body is kept upright, there is no slouching or leaning; the five senses, the four limbs, and every joint of the body fall into alignment, and external things can hardly disturb one. When the inner mind is empty and bright, qi flows freely and fills the body; the channels, vessels, sinews, and bones are free of blockage, and qi can return to emptiness and stillness. When intention is unified, one meets affairs with sincerity and directness, without hesitation in the heart; the yin essence within the heart constantly condenses together with upright qi, forming spirit, and spirit returns to its true root. Then the three “houses” of body, heart-mind, and intention often merge into one; the Valley Spirit—the spirit nourished in emptiness—is cultivated without one noticing, and the body grows healthy and strong as a matter of course. Why seek minor techniques elsewhere as methods for preserving life?

Therefore I say: the method of returning to the source must begin with holding fast to upright mindfulness. When mindfulness is sincere, the body naturally stays upright and the heart naturally empty and clear; when the heart is empty and clear, the “medicine” (the refined essence produced in practice) arises, and the firing times are necessarily correct. Then there will be no fault of Metal and Wood blocking each other, nor worry that Water and Fire fail to harmonize—only spirit and qi subtly meet, condense, and unite.

Within this there is foundation from the outset. From here one nourishes that formless thing, gradually reaching a state with no image and no form, and the great reversion of the Golden Elixir is accomplished. “Gold” is the gold from which Tianyi (Heaven-One) emerges—Tianyi is the pre-heaven Qi (vital energy) of true unity; “liquid” is the fluid at the moment Tianyi is about to generate water. “Great reversion” means subtly joining and condensing this gold and liquid—that is, the refined essence of the Two and Five (Yin-Yang and the Five Phases)—into the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), and using it to return me to my original pre-heaven self in Wuji (the Limitless).

Once gold and liquid have condensed, one adds the work of “bathing” and “nurturing”—guarding the condensed elixir with stillness, steadiness, and gentle warmth, neither forcing ahead nor letting it scatter. Day by day it accumulates, from subtle to manifest, and enduring De (Virtue/Power) is achieved. Thus, how could this body fail to become the indestructible vajra Dharma-body? The source has always been thus; returning to the source is exactly this kind of return. From this one can suddenly grasp how essence is refined into Shen (spirit).

What is called “dan” (elixir)? The character dan closely resembles the character for “body.” If you shave three strokes from the body character so that the top does not fly off, the bottom does not leak, and the middle is not split in two, with only a single dot hidden in the cavity—that is the character dan. That dot is my “upright command” (zhengling). When the upright command is stored in the heart and has not yet issued outward, it is called right mindfulness; when it reaches the heart, gives forth sound, and is about to become speech, it is then called intention. “Sincerity of intention” means carrying this out before that dot has issued—keeping it secret and firm. After it issues, it is the upright command; right mindfulness and true intention are both the beginning of its functioning. Before it issues, it is nature—that is, Shen. Shen has no fixed place or shape and no fixed measure, so it can become the Valley Spirit, Yang Spirit, or Primordial Spirit—all by filling this single dan-heart with substance, sending forth light, vast and ever-changing. From this one can further see clearly: dan is Dao. What this section discusses is precisely this Shen.

This section is titled “Clarifying the Subtle,” borrowing from the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean): “Nothing is more manifest than what is hidden and subtle.” Only when one understands how the hidden and subtle becomes manifest can one enter moral and spiritual cultivation. The names and meanings are therefore unpacked again for fellow practitioners to compare and verify.

The method of an lu (establishing the furnace) should follow the thin crescent of the new moon on the third or fourth day of the lunar month—its gentle, nourishing shape is most suitable; the subtlety is hard to put into words, hence the saying “To refine the medicine one must seek the yanyue lu (tilted moon furnace)” (the tilted moon furnace is shaped like a new moon; old commentaries: the base of the furnace is engaged with force, close to the lower palate, with the middle and four sides rising upward). The base of the furnace should be spread open and lightly, emptily rest against Lianquan (the acupoint under the tongue); the sides should loosely approach the lower teeth and the huiyan (the throat opening), in a downward-hanging posture, close to the Adam’s apple, like an infant nursing—then the breath easily sinks downward. If the base of the furnace once becomes open and unobstructed, the qi of heaven and earth—spring birth, summer growth, autumn harvest, winter storage, cycling without cease—enters through Xuanpin (here, the nostrils), pours into the Dantian (energy center), and runs through the Governor and Conception vessels. The signs are not only that in men the testicles contract and in women the breasts contract (the scripture holds that massaging the breasts is a serious error), but also that this qi can reach the heels, so that the area of Yongquan (Bubbling Spring) at the soles feels as if ants were crawling. When this appears, one may say the furnace is established and the dan (elixir) is refined to maturity.

From the moment one leaves the womb, one gradually forgets the original pathway of birth; with each passing year, the Governor and Conception vessels are blocked for another year. If one further suffers wind, cold, heat, damp, and other pathogenic influences, the viscera and bowels become obstructed, even to the point of death. Thus the opening of the Suwen chapter “On the Truth of Ancient Heaven” runs from “Those who know the Dao have constantly open qi and vessels” to “Sages transmit heaven’s qi to connect with spirit and clarity”—unfortunately in brief form, not in full detail. Yet the Dao of cultivation was already so highly valued by Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor) and Qibo; how easy is it for people today to open and carve out the path of the Governor and Conception vessels? One must sit facing south with legs crossed at zi and wu hours, forcefully hold the breath as if it had stopped, and with each breath exert oneself to send it downward and hold it, repeating two or three times, up to ten, twenty, or thirty times—there will eventually be a day when the channels open. Winter is best: while heaven and earth store and hide yang qi, this vigorous method allows qi to be stored and guarded without harm. If one proceeds slowly and at ease, one must wait a full year before the channels open.

Cui Xu Yin (Chant of Emerald Void) was composed by Perfected Chen Niwan, the fourth patriarch of the Southern lineage of Daoist internal alchemy (Neidan).

The poem has one hundred thirty-six rhyme sections. It was passed from the fourth patriarch to the fifth, Perfected Bai Ziqing. It rejects side paths and heterodox arts one by one, shows that fragmentary minor methods and empty talk are useless, and sets out the oral instructions for the golden elixir great returning pill (Jinye dahuandan)—the method rooted in inner refinement and forming the elixir within. The wording is concise and the method complete. A careful reader should read it together with the commentary on Huanyuan Pian (Return to the Source); the learning is not difficult, and practice according to the method can succeed—enough to awaken the world and dispel delusion. My teacher also examined each section and clarified what helps and what harms; that is appended below. Min Yanglin of the twelfth generation of the Longmen branch of the Northern lineage records this with care.

In the eighth month of autumn in the renshen year of the Jiading reign (1212), the Emerald Void Daoist was on Mount Luofu. The ten thousand affairs of the present pass like flowing water; heaven and earth are no more than a bubble on the water’s surface. I am about to shed form and shadow and return to the jade palace of the immortal realm, so I speak the oral instructions on the fire phases (huohou) of the golden elixir (Jindan) to Jade Rabbit of Qiongshan, so that he may deeply know the root of creation and transformation.

This means that he was about to shed the body and ascend; he had to transmit the Way. Having met someone fit to receive it, he wrote this chant.

Chan Master Da Guang, Xue Zixian, transmitted Guigen Fuming Pian (Return to the Root and Restore Life) to me and pointed out the two words “lead” and “mercury”—that is the true mystery within mystery. In internal alchemy, lead and mercury refer to pre-heaven essence-qi (Jing) and the two aspects of yin and yang; they are not ordinary minerals. The whole effort of refinement spans at most ten months: gradually gathering, gradually condensing. Now the entire body is like white blood (a pure image of yang qi), and the four limbs no longer feel cold or heat.

This recounts how he formerly visited many people and, by fortune, met a true teacher who directed him to work from lead and mercury; he now has clear proof, so he teaches from his own experience. Afterward he still went out to visit others.

After attaining the Way, one must still go out among people and test oneself against the world before one can expose the many “wild fox” adepts—those who pose as enlightened yet peddle deception through heterodox side paths. None of them recognizes the locus of the true True One (Zhenyi)—the foundation of orthodox internal alchemy (Neidan)—and all follow byways rather than authentic transmission. For fear that you may squander your youth in vain, the matter is explained from the beginning, point by point: unless it is the Golden Fluid Returned Elixir (Jinye Huandan)—the orthodox elixir formula that refines one’s own jing, qi, and shen—other methods are not worth emptying your spirit upon. What follows identifies, one by one, the various arts that waste effort in vain; once the student distinguishes the True One clearly, they will naturally avoid every crooked path.

Some people, infatuated with sexual cultivation (caizhan)—the art of drawing another person’s vital essence through sexual union—fix their minds on bedroom affairs alone. They call this the method of Yin Elixir and “conducting the female” (yudan nü): pressing the hand on Weilü (the acupoint at the base of the spine), swallowing inhaled qi downward, intending to seize another’s true qi to replenish oneself, while clinging to the heterodox notion of the “Three Peaks” (Sanfeng)—treating certain parts of a woman’s body as peaks from which essence may be harvested—and naming the birth gate as the place where life itself is generated, repeating the pattern of “nine shallow and one deep” (jiu qian yi shen). Legends speak of the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi), Peng Zu, Rong Cheng, and figures such as Huang Gu, Shou Guang, and Zhao Feiyan, along with another all-night method practiced in taverns and houses of lust as “training.” Say what you will about meeting immortals amid flowers— it is only trading a golden fine-tooth comb (one’s own precious essence) for broken tiles. The root is already rotten while the leaves still look green; when the sea of qi churns violently, death arrives like an arrow.

This is a heterodox art that harvests others’ living vitality while marching oneself toward death. The law is plain in daylight; spirits watch in the dark—those who practice it invariably meet disaster. It must never be attempted.

Besides these, there are many other side paths that can still forge a kind of fortunate, peaceful bond. Some call qi ingestion “Central Yellow”; guarding the crown of the head “Primordial Unity”; circulating qi “Pre-Heaven”; swallowing saliva “Spirit Spring.” Some fix on a point beside the spleen and stubbornly call it the root of breathing; some treat mouth and nose as the Mysterious Female, taking inhalation of clear qi and exhalation of turbid qi as “return.” Some silently bow to the exalted Lord on High, heart and eyes turned upward, guarding the Niwan (upper dantian); some visualize qi rising and falling and call that the Jiaji Pass. Some hold the breath and swallow saliva and name it Jade Liquid or Golden Liquid elixir; some keep the spirit at the navel, some fix thought between the eyebrows. Others send intent to the Jiaji region, or close the mouth with the tongue pressed to the upper palate, shoulders hunched and head drawn in, spine arched backward—calling that “straight entry to Mount Jade Capital.” The mouth is called the Flowery Pool, the tongue the dragon, and it is said that divine water trickles and flows. These are all common side-path methods for ease and comfort; to expect immortality as a celestial immortal through them would be very hard indeed.

None of the methods above has yet clarified the true, orthodox formula of the One; therefore all are called side paths. They do not benefit body, mind, nature, or life—they only mislead one’s own form and spirit, and do not yet incur punishment, which is why it is said they can still forge a bond of peaceful fortune. Yet spirit has already been wasted in vain; they are decisively not the way of immortals. If followed for long, they may even bring illness—so these too should not be practiced.

In eighty exhalations, nine parts disperse and only one part is swallowed back, gathering the qi at the navel—this is called fetal breathing (taixi). Counting with prayer beads, one breath in and one out; timing the hours with ice vessels and earth sundials. Some follow the Lingbao Bifa (Spiritual Treasure Secret Methods), guiding force from the coccyx (weilu) and swallowing essence fluid; others study the Xishan Huizhen Ji (Records of Meeting the Real on Western Mountain), remaining silent all day and sitting facing a wall. Though people learn seated meditation (zu chan), when have they ever seen clarity like the moon reflected in a cold pool? Though they learn embracing the One (bao yuan), when have they ever been like jade naturally hidden in stone? Some say the Great Dao (Da Dao) is fundamentally non-action (wuwei), and so sit like withered wood and dead ash, lonely and silent; some say they have already achieved cultivation—then ask: from where did this illusory body come? Still others wear out the body gathering sun and moon, calling it the heavenly soul and earthly soul; stay up all night ingesting qi from the seven luminaries, calling it the true blood and vessels of creation; still others fly golden essence from behind the elbow, only to see qi rise upward and essence fluid drip; still others practice Taiyi containing true qi, with nothing but a drowsy mind and a silent kidney region. Some circulate and move flowing pearls; some sit in stillness visualizing vermilion oranges. All such methods are merely life-nourishing techniques (yang ming fangshu), not generating spiritual substance from the formless.

How can such minor methods truly nourish life and nature (xingming)? Calling them life-nourishing methods is merely what people of the day say. Even when one occasionally obtains a formula and practices it, one only guards this physical shell with caution. Whether moving essence and circulating qi, toiling the body and exhausting the spirit, or sitting like withered wood and dead ash—none grasp the secret of the True One (Zhenyi); clinging without knowing transformation, they vainly delay what matters; practiced wrongly, they can even cause illness—truly not to be done.

The essential path is to nourish that “child” in emptiness (xu); within it there is a real core. Precisely because simplicity holds the workings of heaven (tianji), it is scattered through alchemical texts yet never openly revealed. One must meet someone who can subtly understand and transmit it in time; if not the right person, the Dao (Dao) will not spread on its own.

Pitiful that fools cling to their own delusions, and the deluded point one another on— all is reckless action. Such strange doctrines still require someone who can subtly understand to transmit them in time; if not the right person, the Dao does not travel in vain.

Those poor fools cling to their own delusions; the blind lead the blind, and everything they do is reckless nonsense. Such bizarre, frenzied people sit shaking and trembling for long stretches, bending, stretching, bowing, and posturing in every way, crying and shouting like children at play. All of this comes from the heart (the “square inch” of spirit) losing its master: essence grows weak, qi scatters, and spirit flies wild. Bands of deluded people egg each other on and use these displays to deceive the world and lure the ignorant. They do not know that union with the Dao is what is real; instead they align with ghosts and devils and act in vain. As soon as a thought moves, intention follows, and then they leap and tremble, manipulating what they call “divine mechanism.” Some say the spirit-qi has arrived; some say the dragon and tiger (in inner alchemy, heart-spirit and kidney-essence) are contending; some say the “river chariot” (qi and essence circulating along the governing and conception vessels) has turned millions of times; some say water and fire (heart and kidney, Kan and Li) are racing and meeting. Such swaying stirs up the qi of the five viscera; once there is leakage from the brain or loss of essence, the spirit grows feeble. The elixir formulas left by the holy ancestors of old take “creating from nothing” as the root of refining the elixir—when did they ever prescribe these ghostly antics? All such people are of the lowest sort, no better than icchantikas who have severed their roots of goodness (here: those who cling to heterodox methods and cannot enter the true Way).

This is transmitted by deluded people; it must never be believed.

I have heard that the holy masters of former ages all accomplished “doing nothing, yet nothing left undone” within wuwei. Everything arises as real form from formlessness, without relying on deliberate imagination or contrived practice.

The true One within is the real source—like moonlight on a pool, like jade hidden in stone: from the formless, form is born; within non-action, action takes place. Therefore in the twelve double-hours one need only seize half a “living zi hour” (the moment yang qi returns—it is not tied to a fixed clock time). That is “having action within non-action.” Gathering, joining, and refining in the elixir path all lie in this; at other times one is only still yet empty, active yet upright, with manifest and hidden mutually supporting. So it is with “bathing” (evening the fire, not forcing or rushing) and with “nourishing by warmth” (nurturing the elixir embryo with a gentle fire): wuwei, yet nothing left undone. In daily ethical life as well, stillness, emptiness, upright movement, and directness are the “fire times”: inwardly maintain uprightness through reverence; outwardly handle affairs with rectitude and propriety; freely nurture that formless body. Then naturally real form arises from the formless, the complete substance stands alone, and the ever-present true nature shines forth. Why resort again to deliberate imagination and contrived practice? What follows will point out that fault in detail.

There is another even more peculiar point: heart and kidney were never Kan and Li in the first place. Liver, heart, spleen, lungs, kidneys, intestines, and gallbladder are only like empty houses and old fences; tears, saliva, essence, fluids, qi, blood, and humors can merely be pointed to in order to illustrate what is wrong.

The song continues: there is further subtlety—heart and kidney were originally not Kan and Li (in internal alchemy Kan refers to kidney water, Li to heart fire). Liver, heart, spleen, lungs, kidneys, intestines, and gallbladder are nothing but empty rooms and old hedges. Tears, saliva, essence, fluids, qi, blood, and humors can only be borrowed for a time, used as steps on a ladder. Essence, spirit, hun soul, po soul, mind, intention, and qi look as if they match up, but in fact they do not. Why must one look inward and mirror the body? Why listen for spirit sounds or gaze into deep pools? Swallowing rosy mist, drinking dew, ingesting primordial qi—the effects cannot be verified, and spirit grows weary instead.

This speaks of the errors of practice through imagination, clearing away the faults of all the methods described above.

Some preach purity and emptiness while also playing with furnace fire; they demand written pledges from people and accept gold and treasure. They dare to belittle the ocean with the view of a frog in a well, claiming that Yuanshi Tianzun (the supreme deity in Daoism) is themselves. They wear empty titles, fake spiritual powers, point at ghosts and spirits, and preach cause and effect; today they submit a name in memorial, tomorrow they submit again, saying both Neidan and Waidan (internal cultivation and furnace refining) are equally feasible. They deceive worthies and sages, obscure the three luminaries—sun, moon, and stars—and measured against their own merit and virtue, all is shameful. They gather disciples to parade through the markets, drunk together in crowds eating meat. The Great Dao originally has no name or form; true immortals never relied on flashy appearance. Making others swear oaths to practice arduously—how does that compare to your own hard work? One person confused is tolerable; to believe in confusion because of confusion and stay confused to old age will not do. These people are one blind person leading a crowd of blind people into the same maze, suffering worry and torment. Suddenly one day blessings are exhausted and karmic retribution arrives; having offended Heaven, there is nowhere to pray. The Three Offices and Nine Bureaus (celestial offices in Daoism that record wrongdoing) enter the offenses, pursue soul and strike spirit; in the underworld one undergoes interrogation.

This means that those who falsely borrow the names of alchemists and ritual masters will in the end surely bring disaster on themselves.

Everyone in the world likes to study immortality, yet how many go day after day to investigate the profound? Each absurd and ungrounded, praising one another, they do not take what is real as the real principle.

This passage criticizes those who pretend to expound the Dao and peddle its teachings to the world: they do not put real effort into genuine practice, and what they say has no solid foundation.

The ancients’ good words must be kept in mind: only when practice has reached full mastery can speech truly connect with the way of immortals. When words do not align, you are not on the same path; when accomplishment is lacking, things cannot come to completion. Another saying goes, “If the work is not there, it cannot count as the true exposition”—meaning that until practice has arrived, it must not be taken as real doctrine.

Those who seek the Dao must first hold to right mindfulness, cleanse stray thoughts, and let go of desire. When practice is fully ripe, they can take in the teacher’s words, grasp them at once, hold them in the heart, and harmonize with the Dao in every situation. The careless and hot-tempered, even if they meet a true master’s secret oral instructions, hear without listening; even when they do hear, it is like a square peg in a round hole—nothing fits at all.

The author takes himself as example: in former days, after one year of dedicated work, my six pulses had already stilled and qi (vital energy) returned to the root source (as inner alchemy describes deep fixation of breath and return to the origin). In the dantian (the lower abdomen, the place of cultivation), a “sacred embryo” took form, in appearance the same as myself. Looking back at those in the world who study the Dao, after three or nine years they still drift idly like cloud-and-water wanderers. I watched coldly to see who was truly worth receiving transmission. They burned incense to ask the Dao and gladly took the lower place of students; I, for my part, distinguished the perverse from the correct and told fool from sage. Returning, I wrote this Cui Xu Yin (Green Void Chant), like the bright sun hanging high in the blue sky.

This uses firsthand experience to point straight at the Great Way of the Golden Elixir (the orthodox path of inner alchemy): true accomplishment does not lie in empty years spent; therefore one must discern perverse from correct and inform those who come after—the next step is to understand clearly how the true secret is passed on.

First clear away minor branch techniques and focus single-mindedly on distinguishing the firing process—the rhythm of advancing fire and withdrawing tokens—and on gathering and refining the medicinal materials: the essence-qi in the body used to form the elixir. Take only the one ingredient, the metal in water (the true yang concealed within Kan water), and settle the womb of creative transformation in emptiness. Gather all the hundred vessels back to the root source until the pulses are stilled and breath is even; only then does the elixir begin to congeal. At first it is like dead wood leaning against a cold cliff, utterly unmoving; suddenly dragon and tiger qi meet, swift as lightning. At the central true position the mystic pearl appears—the first sprout of the elixir; wind and waves subside and thunder and rain cease. In an instant the head of the elixir shows itself, soft as cotton yet hard as iron. This is the blood of the red phoenix of the south—the sign of true yin and true yang joining—and gathering it requires knowing the right season. Once this one matter is obtained, all things are complete; the place of returning life and reverting to the root is the true aperture. Within it lies the true gourd heaven of the body: the scene is luminous, the moonlight clear. Dragon roars and tiger cries; lead and mercury intertwine, and yellow sprout and white snow stand plain to view. Whenever heaven and earth unite, seize the pivot of yin-yang creation. At Mao and You, and at Jia and Geng, you must observe bathing—gentle nurturing and rest, without rashly advancing the fire; at the phases of the string, full moon, dark moon, and new moon, guard against peril. Weights and measures follow the season; drawing out and adding must always be moderate and easeful. Of the twelve double-hours, what truly matters is a single hour; nine returns and seven reversions are nothing but this work. In nurturing warmth, sealing must be firm and tight, so that Xun wind constantly blows into Kan. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, in eating, drinking, or sleep, remain unmoved in suchness; fear only that the fire grows cold and the elixir’s power comes late. In the yearly circuit, Mao and You must be set aside; the nine-turn work uses nine each month. When in the tenth month jade frost flies, the sacred fetus is full and wind and thunder roar together. In one year one fetus is completed; the child begets a grandchild, and the line branches again. The subtlest point of billions of transformations—how could it be lightly taught? Forget the body, extinguish the deluded mind, cut off the distinction of self and other; in survival and perishing, movement and stillness, distinguish guest from host. Morning and evening the medicine floats or sinks; fire and water tokens must be checked at every moment. True qi steams and permeates, no longer divided into cold and heat; pure yang fills and overflows, never falling into birth and death. There is also the place where mother and child separate as fetuses; the wonder lies in the positions and timeliness corresponding to Tail, Winnowing Basket, Dipper, Ox, and Girl.

This commentary explains that the passage describes the process of huandan (returning the elixir—the neidan (internal alchemy) practice of bringing jing, qi, and shen back to their source)—from gathering and joining, through refining and “bathing,” up to “separating the embryo.” The phrases “sweep clean,” “take only,” “gather up,” “capture,” and “seize”—each step tighter than the last—are all good substitute words in oral formulas; you must not fix on the literal surface. Compare the Huanyuan Pian (Return to Source chapter), and you will see the method is essentially the same.

If you only want to extend life and remedy old age and infirmity, cut off lust and practice the comfortable methods of the side paths. If you truly want the body to remain long in the world, you must circulate fire to refine the spirit elixir. The spirit elixir requires three hundred days of work, passing through seven liberations and seven transformations, before the great return (dacheng huandan) is complete. When qi gathers it becomes form; when it disperses it is still qi—the same principle applies in heaven and on earth. Better to seek a teacher for the comfortable methods than to follow the path of lust and “extracting and supplementing” others’ essence and blood. The ancients said that all things in heaven and earth ultimately return to their root; one must learn the oral formulas of wuwei (non-action) and quiet purity: “Bind the green mountains’ ten thousand acres of cloud”—that is to rein in wandering spirit-qi; “Draw up from the jade pool one round moon”—that is to obtain the clear original nature. The yinguan yiqiao (the mysterious pass where nature and life meet) is known to few; this is the daogui (the “knife-and-spatula”—the subtle measure of timing and “medicine” in the cauldron), and it is most wondrous.

The later note continues the above: the moment of “separating the embryo” is the “returning to original life and opening the gate” (fuming kaiguan); the foundation of the yang shen (the refined pure-yang spirit) is already established. It also alludes again to “one round moon,” the yinguan yiqiao, and daogui. If you stop there and only seek robust old age, you can follow the side-path comfortable methods in section five above and still dispel illness. To remain in the world in bodily form, you must further blend and refine the golden-fluid returning elixir, nurturing it warmly for three hundred days before the yang shen can burst forth—hence it is called the spirit elixir. Seven is the number of lesser yang; “liberation” and “shedding the husk” mean the yang shen completes its transformation and only then merges with the yuanshen (original spirit), becoming the golden-fluid great return. What follows explains the method of blending and refining the spirit elixir.

At night one meets Scholar Lü (traditionally associated with Lü Dongbin and similar neidan masters) and receives an especially marvelous elixir formula: take the great void (taixu) as furnace and cauldron, capture the black rabbit and white rabbit (the sun and moon—yin and yang qi) as ingredients, let mountains, rivers, and the great earth blaze with fierce fire, and the ten thousand phenomena arise from it. The note adds that what comes next is precisely the way of blending and refining the spirit elixir.

Last night I met Scholar Lü (Lü Dongbin) and received an extraordinarily subtle elixir formula: take the Great Void (vast empty space) as furnace and cauldron, and capture the Black and White Hares (sun and moon, standing for yin and yang) as the ingredients. Let mountains, rivers, and the great earth blaze with fierce fire, and let clouds and thunder arise within the ten thousand phenomena. What was once primordial chaos now transforms into the myriad things; in one moment they interweave and form the sacred embryo (the spiritual fetus produced by inner cultivation). There is no barrier of metal and wood, no dragon and tiger split between south and north; one does not ask about mother and child, male and female, or husband and wife, black and white. Such a Great Reversion Elixir (Da Huandan) even the Supreme Old Lord (Laozi) could not swallow—it is reserved only for those who cultivate in quiet leisure; once taken, one ascends and enters the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Drink again a cup of Hongmeng wine (the primordial chaos qi), take this single knife-edge measure (the tiniest dose of elixir), and your complexion and vigor flourish at once.

This describes what comes after opening the pass: blending and refining the yang spirit until it merges with the original spirit (yuanshen). Hold steady, and in an instant the golden liquid completes its great reversion; fierce fire will naturally cook and form the elixir. The formula has been revealed; read it together with the Huanyuan Pian (Return to Origin) and you will grasp its depth.

Let the blue sea turn to mulberry fields—the gourd within (the inner realm of cultivation in the body) has not yet seen a full year. Knowing early that your heart is firm as iron, line by line the secret was passed mouth to mouth. The subtlety cannot be put in half a sentence; the immortal’s method lies entirely in ziran (naturalness). Hurry to set hand to forming the embryo immortal, chant aloud, and return toward the paradise of Penglai.

Though this poem runs to more than a hundred and thirty rhymes, it still says the secret is passed mouth to mouth and the wonder has not half a sentence—showing that the true correct formula needs no more than half a phrase and was never something language could convey. If a person can hold right mindfulness and refine the heart until it is hard as iron, taking naturalness as the method, and set hand to forming the embryo immortal, then one can open the pass, blend and refine, and achieve the true person. All of it depends on one’s own tasting and one’s own awakening; only when you have got it and go practice do you know this method is simple—not something pursued in haste or hard to carry out.

This work comprises eighteen sections. The first three explain where the orthodox line of the Dao transmission lies; students must first distinguish the orthodox from the deviant. Sections four through six take up one by one why heterodox arts and side paths must not be cultivated. Section seven makes clear that the true key to practice is in fact simple—it is only scattered across various alchemical texts. Sections eight through twelve add that petty techniques and idle talk are not to be trusted. Section thirteen teaches that one must first temper and purify oneself; only when one’s skill is mature can one receive it in the heart and pass it heart to heart. Section fourteen states that the way of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) is actually not hard, and there is no need to dread its difficulty. Section fifteen speaks concretely: from recognizing the “medicines” and gathering them until just before the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan)—that critical node in internal alchemy—is about to open, what is refined is the Jade Liquid Returning Elixir (Yuye Huandan). This is still work on the physical body—the so-called completing fate (liao ming) by external medicine. Section seventeen treats refining the Golden Liquid Returning Elixir (Jinye Huandan) after the pass has opened: one must refine dharma and form together before success is possible—the so-called completing nature (liao xing) by internal medicine. Section sixteen deliberately breaks off at “opening the pass,” explaining that after the separation of the embryo, when above and below are unsettled and advance and retreat are unfixed, everything depends on where one’s aspiration turns—the crossroads of form and dharma, of life and death. In section eighteen the truly orally transmitted secret formula amounts to less than half a sentence, yet it is expressly noted: one must first bring body and mind under discipline until they are clear and bright; when one’s will is truly firm as iron and one has trained to the point where the work seems impossible to begin, then upon meeting a master and receiving transmission one conforms to the dharma of immortals.

In sum, when reading alchemical classics one must first distinguish grades of elixir. Those that take essence (Jing), blood, marrow, Qi (vital energy), and fluids as medicinal materials and use casual swallowing of saliva, rubbing, visualization (cunsi), and ascending-descending to regulate the fire phases (huohou—the rhythm of practice) belong to the lower grade. Those that take heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys as materials and regulate fire phases by year, month, day, and hour through embracing the One and guarding unity belong to the middle grade. As in Master Shi’s (Shi Tai) Return to the Source (Huanyuan pian), which takes essence, spirit (Shen), hun soul, po soul, and intent as materials and in walking, standing, sitting, and lying regulates fire phases through quiet clarity and naturalness—that is the upper grade. The upper grade is simple and easy to accomplish; the middle is subtle yet achievable; the lower is tedious and hard to finish. The Fifth Patriarch, Perfected Bai (Bai Yuchan), set out his master’s teaching in detail in the Discourse on Distinguishing Doubts in Cultivating Immortality (Xiuxian Bianhuo Lun); one can see that the Fourth Patriarch (Chen Nan) was urgent to deliver people, and his great vow to transform the world and make people into immortals was already manifest in this text. Those who aspire to seek immortality should not weary of reading it a hundred times.