《古书隐楼藏书》Vol. 7

Neither fixating on external things nor fretting over illness—this is laying the foundation in internal alchemy: first stabilizing body, mind, and vital essence until they are full and settled. Refining the self and laying the foundation cannot be separated: when you can refine the self, you can lay the foundation; when you can lay the foundation, you are also refining the self. In practice they are one and the same. When refining the self and laying the foundation are accomplished, the returning elixir can coalesce and the great elixir can be cultivated. Alas! Laying the foundation must employ the bellows and key; refining the self still requires true lead—the primordial point of true yang, not ordinary worldly lead. How easy is it to refine the self and lay the foundation?

This passage is the subtle law of attaining the Dao. Students should hold it carefully in mind without pause; walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, silently recite these words in the heart each moment so you can keep hold of them. Reflect deeply on “laying the foundation uses bellows and key; refining the self requires true lead”—this teaching is deeply compassionate. In the annotator’s humble view: if the hidden crucial aperture of inner work does not open, there is no way to grasp true skill. Even if heavenly lead piles like a mountain, when gathering it do not set aside bellows and key. Without the bellows, gathering will eventually be exhausted; with the key, what is gathered can be taken in and stored in the chest. To complete the root of the great Dao, the work lies solely in being careful in solitude.

Inner and outer companions: the scripture says that in primordial chaos, after seven days death gives way to revival—all depends on companions harmonizing water and fire (heart fire and kidney water, the two qi of Kan and Li). It also says: entrust the heart to a trusted friend, guard carefully, and match gathering with the key and storing in the chest. To complete the root of the great Dao, the work lies solely in being careful in solitude.

The scripture states: After seven days, the primordial chaos (Hundun) dies and is reborn, entirely depending on the partner (lǚ) to harmonize Water and Fire (the two interacting forces of Yin and Yang in Neidan). It also says: Entrust the heart to an intimate person, guard it carefully, and attend to the rotation of the fire phases in the alchemical furnace.

To cultivate the Great Way, the partner must be in resonance; only then can one achieve anything. If the partner is unsuitable, or if there is no partner at all, one remains in solitary Yin. As soon as there is movement, danger arises—how then can one seize the mechanism of Yin-Yang or steal the merit of Creation and Transformation?

When two people share one heart, they can cut through metal; when three share one will, they must still beware of danger. The partner is what Nature and Life rely upon and what De (Virtue/Power) depends on. Those who cultivate realization (Zhēn) cannot be separated from this from beginning to end.

Partners are not of only one kind; there are internal partners and external partners. The external partner is a Dharma friend who understands the Way, where mutual life-and-death commitment and mutual support in hardship are shared. When there is goodness, they advise; when there is evil, they admonish. With shared intent and mutual benefit, they cultivate the Great Way together.

The internal partner is the immortal person of the Southwest Kun position (the Kun trigram’s position in the southwest): endowed with resolute Qi (vital energy), possessing an upright nature, and holding a decisive talent. They govern the power of life and death and grasp the handle of vitality and mortality. They eliminate the heterodox to support the upright, rewarding good and punishing evil. They turn misfortune into blessing and transform danger into safety, ensuring internal demons cannot arise and external demons dare not invade. They are used to protect Nature and Life and operate Creation and Transformation. In the realm of the spirits, they are the Lingguan (guardian deity); among the constellations, they are the Tian Gang (Heavenly Gang); in the directions, they are the Metal Star (Venus).

The great practitioner of the Way takes this as their partner, sharing one heart. Entrusting Nature and Life to them, Nature and Life can be preserved; handing Creation and Transformation over to them, Creation and Transformation can be reversed. By this, the Heavenly Gate is opened while the Earthly Portal is closed, the Human Gate is kept while the Ghost Path is blocked (methods in Neidan to regulate the flow of clear Qi, the path of life, and the path of death). Using the "slaying mechanism" to seek the "generating mechanism," the Yin and Yang are inverted, and success becomes truly possible.

Therefore, the external partner may sometimes be absent, but the internal partner must never be lacking. Once the internal partner is lost, the temperament becomes chaotic, Nature and Life waver, and the mind-spirit (Shen) becomes deluded.

To seek the vital force of life through the slaying mechanism—the power of restraint and convergence—and to invert Yin and Yang, is something that can indeed be done with full confidence. Thus one may perhaps do without an external companion (a fellow cultivator), but one must never be without an internal companion. Once the internal companion is lost, temperament falls into disorder, nature and life (Xing and Ming) are shaken, the mind-spirit (Shen) grows dim, the innate original source is lost, and acquired habits flare up; the person leaves the path of life and enters the path of death, and every sort of demonic obstruction arrives from every quarter. Therefore the first essential in cultivating the Way is to bond with a companion of one heart.

This companion of one heart is hardest to recognize. Its substance is without form or image, without sound or color; it has no back and no front. Turned toward evil it becomes the Yaksha (a fierce demonic being); turned toward good it becomes Bodhi (awakening). Its transformations have no fixed pattern, and its hiding and showing cannot be foretold. People miss it face to face and refuse to take it seriously, so day by day they drift apart until at last they are cut off from themselves. If one who truly understands suddenly finds it and joins with it in one heart, never parting for an instant whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down; and if an external companion is also gained to encourage one another, with inner and outer supporting each other together—then both the Returning Elixir (Huandan) and the Great Elixir (Dadan), from restoring the original source to full accomplishment, can be achieved.

Only the internal companion was never easy to obtain, and the external companion is not easily found either. Unless one’s merit, practice, blessings, and karmic affinity are all very great, one cannot have both complete. Those who refine the true cannot afford to lose the external companion, but even less can they be without the internal companion. The internal companion is what completes the authentic body gained on the Way (the true body of cultivation); the external companion is what protects and supports the illusory body (this fleshly frame). What concerns the authentic body is weighty; what concerns the illusory body is light. The Perfect Real Person of Eternal Spring (Changchun, Qiu Chujiu) said: If you are ill, let illness be; if you die, let death be—to the end hold the Way and perish with it. That is to treat the illusory body lightly and the authentic body as what matters. Can students of the Way not know this?

This passage treats highly secret Daoist material on the neilü (inner partner)—the companion who pairs with oneself in cultivation—and distinguishes two approaches, virtual and real, both aimed at obtaining Tianbao (the Heavenly Treasure sought in neidan). One is said to come from Kunfang (the Kun direction in the Bagua, associated with earth and yin—seeking from that quarter); the other from a zhiyin (kindred spirit who truly matches this path).

What comes from Kunfang is originally empty and formless; without mei and zhong (the medium of union and the seed cast in), how could it be summoned? Thus that medium-and-seed can also be regarded as the inner partner. Yet according to what the author has heard, the so-called outer partner—that zhiyin companion—is in fact one’s juanzhu (spouse or kin of that kind). Ancient sages used them as a medium to draw in the formless, imageless treasure, to serve as master of the great elixir, gestating and transforming Zhenyuan (the body’s innate true essence and qi), hence they are also called outer partners. Only the wives taken by the four ancient immortals Ding, Xu, Pei, and Li were inner partners; besides that, an outer partner was additionally arranged for support.

Three essentials matter: first, sufficient worldly resources; second, restraining oneself so cultivation is not harmed; third, finding an wai hufa (outer guardian who protects and assists in practice). Qing (ritual stone chime) and yu (wooden fish) are used respectively to examine the other party and oneself, leaving a method of adjustment: broadly, the qing examines the yang side, the fish the yin side. When the two unite and transform, qing and fish must be neither too early nor too late, neither rushed nor slack, tuned until harmony is extreme. This can only be grasped in the heart; it cannot be fully explained in words.

The author holds that Wuyuanzi (the style name of the Daoguang-era Daoist Liu Yiming) seems detailed in his discussion yet still mixes categories and often stops short of clarity—likely knowing the names without receiving oral transmission. Reading his words, he uses the zhiyin partner to awaken insight into seeking treasure toward Kunfang, hence sayings like “better to do without an outer partner.” The secret of seeking treasure toward Kunfang lies in placing the seed and establishing the medium; within that, huohou (the grasp of advance, retreat, urgency, and timing) depends entirely on the outer partner’s observation and report—no error is permitted.

My late master, Master of Great Void (Taixu Weng), said: What ordinary people attract through resonance includes both “yuan” (primordial origin) and “yi” (unity). Yuan has clear and turbid aspects; yi has earlier and later aspects. When yuan is clear, there is stillness; when yuan is turbid, there is agitation. Tracing its source, the clear naturally comes first and the turbid naturally comes later. To distinguish earlier from later depends entirely on oneself—an external partner cannot take part. What matters most is wholly one’s own cultivation. Only when worldly means are ample and learning has truly reached mastery can one discern earlier and later; only when worldly means are ample can one receive transmission directly without harm. As for whether the huohou (timing of advance and retreat in practice) is appropriate, though one may decide for oneself, sages of old feared error, and therefore established the method of entrusting an external guardian (waihu)—someone who watches over the practitioner—because gain and loss, life and death, are at stake. The oral transmission of the ancients was indeed thus, yet Wu Yuanzi (Liu Yiming) did not emphasize this point—evidence that he had surely not heard the full teaching of the lineage that senses and draws from the void (xukong gan zhi). A true kindred spirit in the mundane world is truly hard to find. Qin Shihuang and Emperor Wu of Han were sons of heaven with dominion over the four seas, yet they could not obtain one. The Venerable Bodhidharma was a prince of the king of Brahma in central India, with no small realm, yet he had to travel to Zhendan Chixian (China) before he found one. The Thousand-Palm Monk lived twelve hundred years on earth and departed without meeting one. Unless one has from past lives the rare karmic bond of mutual verification and support, and the moment aligns just so, it is all but impossible to bring together. Is this not like going to sea to seek a pearl? The Kun direction (southwest—the place sought in the elixir path) could be sought yet is not; instead one hopes to meet someone in the boundless mundane world. I do not have the Thousand-Palm Monk’s lifespan, nor Bodhidharma’s merit—so regarding the gate of “a kindred spirit as companion in the dust,” I only record it and wait for someone in the world with great predestined affinity to carry it on. I dare not obstruct, and I dare not urge.

Scholars should understand that the Kun direction—the fundamental earthly position represented by Kun—is what Daoism calls the “Great Scarlet Heaven Palace” (Dachitian Gong) and what Buddhism calls the “Divine Continent Scarlet Prefecture” (Shenzhou Chixian). The popular story that Shenzhou Chixian refers to Bianliang (the area of present-day Kaifeng in Henan) is a forced analogy and cannot be relied upon. My true master, Master Huang of Chicken Foot Mountain, held that it belongs to Wuji (the limitless) within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate). Wuji has no fixed location, yet “yuan” (the primordial) has definite designations: Heaven Yuan, Earth Yuan, and Human Yuan—the respective primordial roots of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Human beings stand among the threefold estate of Heaven, Earth, and humanity. After death the body sinks into the earth and the spirit rises to attach to Heaven—only because there is form and appearance. That is speaking from the post-heaven perspective. That we are born as human beings is not merely this post-heaven form and spirit. When the pre-heaven primordial One is exhausted, each returns to its kind; hence the sayings about returning to earth and attaching to Heaven. Since that is so, once the pre-heaven primordial One is depleted, one should seek to restore it within Human Yuan. Human Yuan is the pre-heaven in the person, peacefully and fully present within Wuji. Ancient sages called this primordial One “the person of the Kun direction” because the human stands leaning on Kun (Earth). Investigate this Human Yuan: say it exists and it exists; say it does not and it does not—so too with movement and stillness, emptiness and fullness, life and death. If one can have without clinging to having, be without without falling into nothingness, and maintain this whether in movement or stillness, in speech or silence, one has already accorded with the pre-heaven root-nature. Then, with single-minded intent, seek restoration and fulfillment: one obtains it at once, as quick as an echo answering a call, and yuan qi (primordial vital energy) will naturally pour through the whole body. This is the subtle method of fulfilling one’s human way and realizing one’s aspiration. The essential oral instruction of the true master is precisely this. “Exhaust the mind and investigate principle” means to apply one’s whole mind and pursue the principles within it to clarity.

The Classic of Changes says: Investigate the beginning of things, then turn back and consider their end, and you can grasp the principle of life and death. Mencius said: To clarify the thread of principle from the outset is the work of wisdom; to carry that thread through to the finish is the work of the sage. The great Way of sages and worthies has a beginning and an end, a root and branches. Know where it arises and where it stops; pursue the root and exhaust the branches—only then can you fully comprehend it from first to last, so that everything you do brings benefit. If a single point remains unclear, you will be lost on that point; if understanding is not genuine, practice will not succeed. Students must first exhaust the principle, and only then act according to it. Seeking true knowledge and earnestly putting it into practice—neither can be omitted.

What principle is this? It is the principle of how heaven and earth create and transform. The Way of creation has an essence and functions, a beginning and an end. Within it Yin and Yang alternate, wax and wane against each other, and change never ceases. The most crucial point always lies in the “one qi” (yī qì)—the pre-heaven single breath—and yet this qi is nothing outside emptiness (xūwú). This pivot is neither empty void nor visible form; neither sheer “being” nor sheer “non-being.” You cannot grasp it by deliberate seeking, nor obtain it by leaving the mind idle and doing nothing. It is hard to describe and hard to reason about.

Follow it, and people and things come to be; reverse it in cultivation, and one may become an immortal or a buddha. Nature and life (xìng and mìng) are entrusted here; life and death are distinguished here. Those who awaken ascend at once to sagehood; the deluded sink through long kalpas.

“Exhausting the principle” means exhaustively investigating this very principle. Only when it is thoroughly understood can one act according to it. Yet in its application this principle involves firing times (huǒhòu—the timing of practice), stages of work (gōngchéng), flexible adaptation, fast and slow, urgent and relaxed, gathering and releasing, hidden and manifest, square and round, fullness and deficiency, knowing when to stop and when to be content, and many other differing modes of operation. Therefore one must first clearly understand this Dao, and only then master the concrete methods.

When Dao and method are applied together, and nature (xing) and life (ming) are cultivated as one, only then can one speak of the highest grade of the Great Dao—and of a path that is truly grounded in practice. This road must be advanced step by step in proper order; one cannot skip stages or grasp at what is not yet due.

What is gradual progress? First, accumulate merit and establish conduct. Second, refine the self and lay the foundation—that is, gather in the mind-heart and solidify the root of cultivation. Third, use “lead” to restrain “mercury”—in Neidan (internal alchemy), lead and mercury often stand for innate essence and qi on one side and the restless mind-heart on the other; the meaning is to govern the post-heaven with the pre-heaven. Fourth, lead and mercury meet and unite. Fifth, warm and nourish the returned elixir (huandan), gently tending what has been formed within. Sixth, the great medicine arises. Seventh, ingest the Golden Elixir. Eighth, condense the sacred embryo (shengtai), so the inner elixir forms as if into a fetus. Ninth, use mercury to nourish lead. Tenth, draw out lead and add mercury. Eleventh, guard against peril and anticipate danger, lest one stray or come to harm. Twelfth, when the embryo is complete, cease firing—once the sacred embryo is mature, stop advancing the fire. Thirteenth, nine years facing the wall—long stillness and deep refinement. Fourteenth, shed the shell and the spirit emerges. Fifteenth, suckle the infant—warmly nurturing the newly emerged yang spirit. Sixteenth, set up furnace and cauldron (luding) anew—establish afresh the “furnace and vessel” of practice (with body and mind as the alchemical apparatus). Seventeenth, spirit transforms beyond measure. Eighteenth, break through the void (xukong).

These are all essential stages on the path of cultivation and the full scope of sacred work. If one can recognize them clearly and penetrate them thoroughly, and pursue them from beginning to end in earnest without slackening, nature and life can be brought to completion. Yet people who study the Dao in the world often take the false for the true, refuse to exhaust their effort in probing principle, and treat their own nature and life lightly. Before even entering the door they wish to sit in the hall; before human affairs are fulfilled they dream of immortality. They will not exert themselves, yet hope to obtain another’s true treasure. At the slightest frustration or hardship they shrink back, stop halfway, and say they lack affinity. How can such conduct draw near the threshold of the sages?

The learning of sages is the learning that exhausts principle in things, fulfills one’s nature, and reaches up to Heaven’s mandate. Its principle is subtle; its meaning is deep—yarrow and tortoise (ancient divination) can hardly fathom it, ghosts and spirits cannot fully know it; it is not something one can penetrate in a phrase or two. Without decades of bitter effort in exhausting principle, one cannot even grasp a tenth or a twentieth of it.

If one does not accumulate virtue through deeds and put them into practice—advancing with courage and single-minded devotion without turning back—one cannot connect with a true master (a teacher who has attained the Way and can guide others).

A true man of resolve treats xingming (the heart-nature and physical life of Neidan internal alchemy) as the supreme matter, never slackening day or night, probing the subtlest transformations and fathoming the mysterious workings of creation. Sometimes, when suffering ends and fortune arrives, opportunity appears unexpectedly; what was once endless doubt dissolves like ice melting or tiles shattering—and one knows that a lifetime of effort was not misplaced.

Alas, people who study the Way in this world give no thought to what xingming truly is, nor do they investigate what the path of xingming truly is. They learn in confusion and practice in confusion, yet dream of reaching the heavens in one step and becoming a sage at once. No wonder they are led astray by blind teachers and fashionable masters (those of unclear insight or who merely follow trends), and spend their lives in the ghostly cave (a place of delusion with no way out).

Even a single craft in this world requires careful, long study to master—how much more so this matter of life and death, which is among the rarest concerns under heaven? How could it be understood easily?

In former times my teacher Xianliu, at first traveled in Sichuan to study, moving between Baishi and Guiqing for more than ten years without reaching the ultimate. Later he went to the region south of the Han River and took Red Ditch Daoist as his master; his resolve grew firmer and his discipline harsher, yet for eight or nine years he found no moment of breakthrough. Still later he journeyed to Agan Town in Gaolan, Gansu, where he met my elder (zhangren, a respectful term for an elder), and their karmic affinity aligned—only then did he comprehend the Great Way.

One such as Teacher Xianliu, who studied the Way with sincere heart and whose merit and conduct differed from ordinary people, wandered the rivers and lakes for more than thirty years before catching a whiff of the true fragrance (finally touching genuine news of the Dao). Those who are obsessed want to gain it in the evening after learning in the morning, or today after learning yesterday—how foolish!

I exhort fellow practitioners: establish an enduring resolve and cherish a long-term heart; cast off vain imaginings and hold xingming as the weighty matter; exhaustively investigate the principles of creation, and pursue the work with a dead-set, wholehearted devotion.

Peel inward layer by layer, each deeper than the last; peel all the way to the marrow of the Dao, and only then see that every grain of dust on the earth is treasure; walk at ease, and everywhere is the Way; awaken thoroughly, and past and future open as one; press straight ahead—why worry that nature and life cannot be released, or that the great Way cannot be fulfilled?

The “learning” spoken of here is exhausting the mind to fathom principle, and through ke ji—restraining selfish desire—investigating body and end from the very beginning to the very finish. It is the discipline in which knowing and acting advance together. What can know is the heart-mind; what can act is the body. Knowing and acting in parallel, with heart-mind and body not split in two—that alone counts as standing on solid ground. If from the first step you earnestly practice returning the body, layer by layer, to what it originally was, the pass gate (xuan guan)—the critical opening where nature and life meet in internal alchemy—opens of itself. Once that gate opens, the path of the Golden Elixir is restored and no longer falls into empty illusion. The knack for opening it begins with that first step of ke ji; the practice of ke ji begins with purifying the heart and clearing away stray thoughts. From there, settle the mind in one-pointed earnestness and peel inward again and again, until at the marrow of the Way you see that true and false never had fixed forms: when thought turns false, what appears is false; when thought turns true, what appears is true. Both true and false show themselves in the instant a thought stirs.

Sages of old therefore called the place where thought first moves the Mysterious Female (xuan pin): the yang aspect is called “mysterious” (xuan), the yin “female” (pin). The Golden Elixir path is cultivation that returns to pure yang. Yet when yang reaches its extreme, yin is born; to demand that yin be wholly absent would miss the point. The ancients in their practice simply turned everything toward the “true.” Thus each day whatever arose, that day they also returned it, melting it back into “one.” This “one” is hard to name; it is awkwardly called the “opening” (qiao). To “enter the opening” in study is to learn to return to this one—so yang is not lost and yin does not flood. Live one day, return one day; where is the end of such learning?

Hence the ancient immortals said: Yuanshi Tianzun—the primordial lord revered in Daoism as the origin of the cosmos—from the opening of the world until now, never ceases gathering (caiqu, gathering pre-heaven vital essence) and never ceases refining (pengnian, warming and transforming with true intent). From this we know Yuanshi Tianzun never ceases returning to the source, and so knows none of the suffering of birth, aging, sickness, and death. A close reading of the whole of Xiuzhen Biannan (Discriminations on Difficulties in Cultivating Truth)—clarifying what the ancients meant but did not fully say—yields insights too many to count; it is a work that has served the Daoist teaching well.

Regarding the “One Gate of Mystery” (yiguan yi qiao)—the single aperture among the body’s gates that Neidan adepts treat as decisive—one must remove a self-descriptive passage from the chapter before the essay reads as whole. Students of the Way should know: every gate in the body holds both real and illusory qi; this is what the Yijing means by “one yin and one yang—that is called the Dao.” The Xuánmén (Daoist cultivation) line stresses ganying (stimulus-and-response): respond with the real and you obtain a real response; respond with the illusory and you obtain an illusory response. Stimulus and response follow their kind—so it is. Seen thus, “the other house” and “our house” in Neidan speech each also have real and illusory qi. Ancient sages devoted themselves to empty stillness; their aim was to restrain selfish desire and preserve true nature. The root of the supreme Way lies not in qi’s sudden show and hide, but in show and hide beyond measure. When the heart does not waver and thoughts do not arise, that is Complete Perfection (Quanzhen). Real meeting real opens the Mysterious Pass; when what opens is real, what appears and what hides are both real. Once show and hide are real, gathering the medicine, refining, and returning are not empty, and the effects obtained are real. This one Gate of Mystery runs upward into the past and downward into the future; within it, truth and delusion each sense their own kind—sense and respond at once, and even spirits cannot cut it off for an instant. Ancient sages saw this key point; hence for success in cultivating the mysterious learning, the first move is self-restraint. Wuyuanzi (Qing Daoist Liu Yiming) used this chapter to close the whole work—a deep match for the ancients’ purpose in writing. Students must not set the entire book aside because one section is flawed. Wuyuanzi’s slip is precisely the wise man’s one oversight in a thousand plans; my supplement is only the fool’s one gain in a thousand guesses. My learning compared with Wuyuanzi’s is not merely “the little shaman beside the great one”—the gap is far wider. These are my honest words, written for fellow practitioners.

This is a colophon (ba).

The supreme Dao circulates in the world yet appears hidden largely because books on internal alchemy rely on allegory and metaphor, and also because people misunderstand what “secret” (mi) means. “Secret” here simply means that only you know whether the practice feels warm or cold: the genuine experience of the work is clear only to the cultivator—it is not that the Dao is deliberately withheld and not transmitted.

Students of the Way should know that humans and heaven and earth alike issue from one Dao. If a person knows how to let the inner vital essence circulate and return (xunxing huanfan—letting qi within the body travel back along its path to the source), that person can truly nourish the parents who gave this body and fulfill “complete receiving, complete returning” (quanshou quigui—the body received whole from one’s parents should be preserved whole and returned to the source). In principle, someone who serves and honors parents this way—how could that person suffer heaven’s punishment?

Heaven and earth have no mind of their own; mind is entrusted to human beings. That is why people bear the duty of “mending heaven and healing the world” (butian yishi—making up for heaven’s gaps and remedying the age). Writing alchemical books, transmitting true instructions, and guiding people in authentic cultivation is like teaching filial piety and loyalty. To say that doing this invites punishment or execution—is there any law of kings that works that way?

Yet within this there are indeed passages of extreme danger. The student must know: in heaven there are asuras (xiuluo—spirits prone to strife), on earth there are rakshasas (luosha— fierce demonic beings), among people there are villains like the robber Zhi (Dao Zhi), and within the body there are corpse thieves (shizei—yin turbidity that undermines practice from within). If cultivation is not pure, the corpse thieves stir inside and the mechanism of the pre-heaven (xiantian) responds at once—as fast as a shadow following a form or an echo following a sound. Summon them and then go against their tendency, and great calamity falls immediately. Those who do not understand think the Way has condemned them; in truth they have not yet mastered themselves.

If in a single thought you are undivided and settle body and mind before the pre-heaven (before the origin from which all things arise), the corpse thieves vanish of themselves and the original spirit (yuan shen—the innate divine presence) alone appears. With pre-heaven calling to pre-heaven, with “one” calling to “one,” not even a sheet of paper lies between—breath naturally connects, pain and itch are mutually felt, like eyelashes guarding the eyeball. Without deliberately drawing or seizing, the celestial spirit responds at once. Why fear asuras, or rakshasas and robber Zhi? People simply do not know how to extinguish the corpse thieves within themselves.

Moreover, this supreme Dao was entrusted to humans after heaven and earth received their two great allotments. For people to pass it to one another and clarify it together is not called disclosure. Because the supreme Dao is subtle and fine, without form or image, without sound or scent, the perfected person (zhi ren) may know it yet, when teaching, can only show the formless through form and the empty through the solid—hence the many analogies and opportune pointers. When was there ever intent to hide it?

This is like Buddhism teaching “original nature” under the moon: one stretches out a finger and points at the moon for others to see—how plain it was; nothing was hidden. Yet learners take the metaphorical finger as the literal pointer, pick up any finger at random, and think they have received the instruction. The moon was already perfectly clear, but the learner only recognizes the finger and not the moon. Nearby there is a copper basin; the teacher knocks it once as a hint, merely borrowing the sound to suggest fullness and wholeness without lack. Unexpectedly the learner goes home and reasons: original nature has no fixed form—it may be straight or round, and it also has sound; the sound hums, the reverberation is long, enough to move the heart. Then they fancy they have fully awakened to Buddha-nature and turn to teach others in turn. Alas! Was it that the teacher failed to explain clearly? In truth the learner misunderstood. That the supreme Dao is lost is precisely because of such mistaken “enlightenments”—hence some burst out laughing as soon as they hear it. This is why Wu Yuanzi (Liu Yiming) wrote the Further Clarification.

The error of taking “the pointer” and “the basin” themselves as what was awakened to still persists. I have seen it when people discuss the Xuan Guan Yi Qiao (the single aperture of the Mysterious Gate)—what inner alchemy calls the critical portal, not some fixed spot on the body. Their so-called “five in height and four in breadth” is extrapolated from numerological schemes like “five thousand forty.” How could they know that the Mysterious Gate is the Xuan Pin (the mysterious female, the root from which all things arise), that Xuan Pin is body-and-mind, body-and-mind is emptiness-and-fullness, emptiness-and-fullness is Yin-Yang, Yin-Yang is Kan and Li (Water and Fire), and Kan-Li is Earth and Heaven? “Water moves within the earth” speaks of water—and earth is right there within it. The scripture says: “Heaven generates Water at one; Earth completes it at six.” That means this aperture carries both the meanings of “generation” and “completion.” The aperture is the body, the body is the pass; the mysterious is Heaven, Heaven is the One, the One is the heart-mind. Hence it is said the heart-mind embraces the ten thousand things, and also that the heart-mind embraces Heaven and Earth.

Investigating the subtle principles involved, the great path of the Golden Elixir is nothing more than studying with wholehearted devotion and recognizing it in lived experience. When it is released, it fills the six directions—the whole cosmos above, below, and on every side; when it is gathered inward, it withdraws into depths so hidden they are hard to see. Within it are emptiness and fullness, being and non-being: being and non-being accompany each other, fullness and emptiness stand in mutual relation, and only then does the True One appear. This is called neither clinging to being or non-being nor stopping at fullness or emptiness—it is the secret aim of cultivating the true. This aim transcends heaven and earth and goes beyond the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), yet it can keep heaven and earth in their proper places, allow the myriad things to grow, and transform them into the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity). This mind is the Dao Heart; it originally has no name, and we call it only with difficulty the Xuanqiao—the subtle pass in internal alchemy that must not be grasped or fixed. Once it falls into guesswork and debate, it is no longer the genuine mysterious state. You must neither hold fast to it nor stay there, nor try to enter by seeking it. This is the most crucial point in the entire book and must be understood clearly; therefore it is specially marked at the opening of the preface to the “Discrimination” section that follows. Respectfully appended by Min Yide, later disciple of the Jingai lineage.

Correct Meaning of the Mysterious Exposition of the Yinfu Jing: annotated by Min Yide of Gui’an, with editorial collation by Qu Zeng of Wujin.

The Mysterious Commentary on the Secret Scripture of the Hidden Talisman is the work of Fan Yizhong. Although it bears the title “mysterious commentary,” its principles do not accord with the correct Way and its misleading influence is no small matter—hence the need to clarify the original meaning of the scripture itself in order to set it right. Yi De (Min Yide, compiler of this book) also feared that speaking at length would invite reproach. Yet commentaries on the Secret Scripture of the Hidden Talisman number in the dozens, each with its own profound rationale—who would dare pronounce lightly upon them? To claim that any one school holds the definitive reading is something he could not in conscience accept.

His late master Master Taixu left behind Immortal Li of the Mud Pill (Niwan)’s Three-One Sound Talisman, with a postface stating: This scripture of the Hidden Talisman is a text transmitted in the lineage of Kongtong (where the Yellow Emperor is said to have sought the Way from Guangchengzi); without oral transmission one cannot truly grasp it. I once received instruction from Erwu Daoren; when I returned and reflected carefully, his explanations, though close at hand, still left me uneasy at the thought that the Great Way might be wholly contained in them—so I sought further for many years. One day Master Niwan came from afar and said: “What I heard in the past was essentially ancient immortals using the scripture’s words to awaken to meaning. The secret lies in penetrating the whole until surface form is set aside and mystery is sought—then it can be attained. Recently I heard that Zimu’s Revealing the Secret of the Hidden Talisman has appeared, yet his account of the mind-method of application is incomplete. The orthodox line of the Hidden Talisman passed from the Supreme Sovereign (Taishang Laojun) to the Western Regions; when Bodhidharma came east it returned to China. This is the world’s ‘special transmission outside the scriptures’ (jiaowai biechuan—not relying on texts but transmitting heart to heart)—also the subtle point of ‘this mind is Buddha’ and ‘form here and now is emptiness’ (jixin jifo, jise jikong). The founder of our lineage, Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuzhen), practiced it in person; the Way was transmitted from the Fire Dragon Immortal and Chongyang Wang Zu (Wang Chongyang). In his last years Wang Zu heard of it and took it to Pure Yang Lü Zu (Lü Dongbin) for verification. Lü Zu said: The mysterious purport of this scripture lies in ‘observing Heaven’ and ‘holding to Heaven’—observing the Way of Heaven and abiding by Heaven’s course, discerning the moment to take or leave, so that application accords with the times. Its inner meaning concerning sun and moon is in that section. The substance of yin and yang differs; each establishes its own root and has its own subtle use—this again is in the section on the fool. From this a fresh path opens; everywhere one can see through clearly, and in every drop there is the subtle return to the source—this is in the section on the human being.”

To explore how this classic inspires people and how heart transmits to heart, the key lies in one character of negation (bu); the secret within secrets sits in the final section of the original scripture. All of this opens new ground in emptiness, penetrates everywhere, and carries the subtlety of every drop returning to the source—whether one can grasp it depends on whether a person can hold fast to one section of it. Going deeper still, one keeps probing for news within xuji and wuji—emptiness pushed to the utmost, without end. Entry lies in the character for stillness (jing); reaching central harmony (zhonghe)—neither leaning nor tipping, heart and qi in balance—rests in the character sha read in the departing tone, meaning gathering in and ceasing, not ordinary killing. One must further take the two characters qiji (marvelous vessel) at the end of the section as the ultimate of nurturing the embryo and entering the sacred realm, because within them lies a wondrous use that runs through to the bottom.

One may first reflect on the character dao (to steal or draw off) in the chapter. Dao means things are taken in turn into a vessel. That dao already leads toward qiji, though it still leaves traces one can follow; what is drawn in is only yuan—the primordial root. The sage says this is merely cultivating the se shen, the colored, formed body; yet within yuan there is originally a “one,” so it can also be called pei xing—nurturing one’s true nature. The reason one is told to ponder dao first is exactly this.

Qiji is hard to put into words: follow traces and you will not find it; forget form and it appears. The sage holds that Dao is not outside the body, and uses this to cultivate the whole person, refining and settling the shen she—the dwelling where spirit rests. In movement it is like a kite soaring and fish leaping, vitality arising on its own; in stillness the ten thousand sounds are silent. True yuan returns day by day to oneness, and “I” no longer remains, so the shen she is at peace. Only the yin e—the outer envelope of the alchemical embryo—is not yet complete. Then one concentrates spirit and gathers shen, clearing space to coalesce the true one, expanding through the whole person until one merges seamlessly with the three powers (sancai)—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity. One must treat form-color as equal to emptiness and hold and wait for the right moment; the primordial qi of the three powers will surely gather within. Fullness seems to have been there all along; birth and transformation follow nature; purity refines into further purity; the yuan of the three powers becomes a single precious pearl, dim and fleeting, suspended before one—only then is yin e whole. Next the pearl and I suddenly unite, and one feels only boundless light. This is the true one of the three powers and my true one becoming one—called the embryo formed in the vessel; that vessel is qiji, the marvelous vessel.

The function of the extraordinary vessel is truly vast! Yet if you trace the earliest work, it still lies before “refining oneself” (lienji — nurturing body and mind, laying the foundation): the protective barrier around the elixir foundation (yine — the rampart guarding the dan base, meaning the foundation is already complete) is already in place. Then the pearl and the self suddenly unite, and one feels only boundless light. This is when the True One of the Three Powers (Sancai — heaven, earth, and humanity) and one’s own True One merge into one and no longer separate — only then is it called the embryo formed within the vessel; that vessel is the extraordinary vessel (qiqi). The function of the extraordinary vessel is truly vast! Yet tracing the earliest work, one must still begin from refining oneself; only when self-refinement is pure and mature can one engage the extraordinary vessel. Though the scripture shows only the final details, this principle is inherent in the nature of sage and ordinary person, man and woman alike. To speak of it only for men is wrong. Its proper application lies in the moment when heaven and human activate together. Hence it is said: without oral transmission, the heart cannot truly receive it. This is the general purport of this scripture.

When reading this scripture, the eye of the heart must be bright. Taking characters apart and joining them again is indeed subtle, but one must grasp it through and through, sustain and nurture it, and extend the insight by analogy. There is no fixed method — nothing beyond the four words “message, breath, birth, and killing” (the alternation of decline and growth, release and gathering). Within this there are places where both sides work at once — pointers more than words can exhaust, present everywhere — none may be neglected, and none forced by arbitrary interpretation. Once the true aim is lost, one falls sideways onto a bypath; rescue comes too late.

Listen: engagement with this Way has only three steps. First, enter from being into non-being; next, within non-being, recognize being; finally, gather being back into non-being. This is the meaning of “retreat and conceal in the secret” (tuicang yu mi) — entirely natural, with accomplishment that needs no deliberate striving. The Great Way of celestial immortality is complete in this scripture. If cultivation abandons this scripture, what else would one follow? Taking this scripture as the root, its great application can heal the world; in lesser application, when the three thousand deeds are fulfilled and the eight hundred merits complete, one may also verify the fruit. Patriarch Wang (Wang Chongyang) received transmission of it. This exposition was spoken by Patriarch Wang; Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji) recorded its essentials without compiling a book — handed down through generations until me.

Recently I heard that busybodies have misread the correct teachings and let their talk drift into Yin-Yang heterodoxy—doctrines of Yin and Yang that do not accord with the pure, still orthodox Way—words that harm the world. “I will set out the profound original meaning plainly for the people of the world; you must remember this.” The Elder of Great Emptiness (Tai Xu Weng)—the senior who received this instruction—bowed in acceptance and recorded it after the San Yi Yin Fu. This book and the Yinfu Jing (Classic of the Hidden Talisman), a Daoist classic, complement each other inner and outer; I, Yide (Min Yide), have kept it in my collection for forty years. Recently my disciple Shi Zhaolin, while browsing the Mysterious Exegesis of the Yinfu Jing at his desk, asked me about it. I took it and read—and could not help sighing again and again. It was written by Mr. Fan of Shenyang, whose secular name was Yibin; he only wrote down what he saw and heard, and his intent was commendable, but his exposure was incomplete, so his explanations miss the mark. Weighing his wording, he is steeped in heterodox doctrine; when one checks it against the character-splitting interpretations (chaizi jue) circulating in the world, it fits exactly what the Mud-pellet True Person (Niwan Zhenren)—a title for one who has attained the Way—called “writing that brings calamity upon the world.” Yet it has now been admitted into the Daoist Canon (Daozang), the collected scriptures of Daoism. My patriarch and master must long have known this; hence eighty years ago they clarified the profound intent to dispel later confusion—so the Great Way does not stay hidden forever. Since I, Yide, have received transmission from my master, how could I shirk the profound penalty of betraying the orthodox Way? I therefore wrote carefully beside Fan’s commentary and titled it Righteous Commentary on the Mysterious Exegesis of the Yinfu Jing, aiming to carry on my master’s transmission and clarify the orthodox Way. I know my wording is verbose and does not match the usual format of commentary; I hope readers will understand.

Min Yide further notes: Regarding commentaries on the Yinfu Jing, the Daozang Jiyao includes the Shizhen Jijie (Collected Explanations by Ten Perfected Ones). Those ten perfected ones are: Chisongzi; Zhang the Perfected Man of Zifang (Zhang Liang); Ge the Immortal Lord of the Left Palace of the Great Ultimate (Ge Xuan); Xu the Perfected Man of Xishan (Xu Xun); Patriarch Zhongli, Orthodox Yang Emperor (Zhongli Quan); Patriarch Lü, Pure Yang Emperor (Lü Yan); Shi the Perfected Man of Huayang (Shi Jianwu); Cui the Perfected One of Utmost Unity; Patriarch Liu, Bright Duke and Sea-Toad Emperor (Liu Haichan); and Cao the Perfected One of Mysterious Splendor and Pure Emptiness (Cao Daochong). All of their explanations were produced through spirit-writing on the sand tray (fuji). In addition there are the commentary by Zhang Guo, Master of Penetrating Mystery of the Tang, the commentary by Wang Daoyuan, Master of Blended Stillness of the Yuan, and the revision by Gao Shiming, Restored-Origin Daoist of the Ming—all likewise spirit-writing. There are also the commentary by Shen Yafu, the commentary by Cangyai shi, and the eulogistic text by Yuanyangzi—again all spirit-writing. Beyond these, fine old commentaries such as the edition with preface by Zhang Hongyang, the treasured edition of Chen Xiyi, the commentary of Li Quan, and the commentary of Zhu Ziyang (Zhu Xi) were not included in the Daozang Jiyao. Selecting books requires a truly independent eye.

The Yinfu Jing

Fan shi said: What is meant by “yin” is the yin of the Great Yin—the moon.

The Yinfu Jing

Fan says: Here “Yin” refers to Taiyin—that is, the moon. “Fu” (tally) means the meeting of Taiyin and Taiyang (the sun). In one year they meet twelve times; when all twelve new-moon conjunctions (heshuo) run their full course, the dates of those complete conjunctions are the fu-hou (tally-seasons). The moon only shines by borrowing the sun’s light; within it is hidden true fire (zhenhuo), so it is also called the fire fu—the advancing and retreating “fire phases” (huohou) in inner refinement. As for “jing” (classic): each month’s seasonal nodes follow counts of five and six, like the rise and fall of the sea tide—they never miss their term. Earlier commentators secretly took “yin” to mean the yin of an inch or the yin of a moment; all of that is mistaken. Here it is stated plainly: when Taiyin is rightfully manifest, within it lies the sun’s true fire; one must “steal” it according to the fu-hou. That is the profound norm of cultivating the Dao. Thus the three words yin, fu, and jing are the secret gist of the whole chapter.

Yide (the annotator) says: This reading fits well and does not split the meaning into fragments. A student who takes it in and returns to the right path will not fall into the fault of floating in emptiness. But if one clings to this gloss and seeks only by outward traces, one grows slack, wanders into side paths, and comes to slight xingming (nature and life).

Upper Chapter

Observe the Way of Heaven; hold fast to Heaven’s operation—and that suffices.

Fan says: “Dao” carries the sense of handing down and joining below. At the start of practice it is as if one goes downward from the head; “head” (shou) plus “go” (zou) together form the character dao. In the work of the Dao, what one person completes is only “great” (da); here “Heaven” (tian) means pure Yang. Yet this pure Yang is not something one person can finish alone—it takes two. The character “two” (er) is Yin; two people united in one place form the character tian. The character guan (observe) also holds subtle meaning: two mouths above an excellent flower—there is naturally the chance to see with one’s own eyes—so guan is used to conceal this layer of meaning. The opening and closing of Yin and Yang is vacant and still like Heaven itself; light mutually reflects without effort. One must emulate Heaven’s retrograde motion, its holding the center and its passing through—fortunate to obtain one pellet (wan) as the pivot of creation (zaohua). Human effort along this line is where the secret of the Yinfu lies. These two sentences are the spine of the entire classic, leading into what follows.

Mǐ Yīdé said: Fàn did not obtain the true transmission and clung only to the character-splitting method (cāi zì jué)—taking characters apart and matching them to meanings—so he slandered the sages and misled the multitude. Even when what he heard did have a source, it was always a side path (a branch outside the main way). This section is the general outline of the whole classic; one should interpret it according to the text itself, with emphasis on observing Heaven and holding to Heaven. Thus the character for Heaven (tiān) is the substance (tǐ, the root), while the characters for observing (guān) and holding (zhí) are the function (yòng, operational use). The scripture then speaks of the Way (dào) and of practice (xíng). The character for the Way need not be split for interpretation; once you split it for explanation, you belong to the lowest rank among non-genuine methods in the yin-yang line of teaching. That line was opened by foreign monks (fān sēng); after the Han dynasty it entered Central China (zhōng xià)—the so-called blue-eyed foreign monk. Such books exist in the world, yet our school despises them. Therefore the character for the Way is rightly taken in direct interpretation, and the character for Heaven is the same. Only when the character for observing is split does subtle principle appear—but one cannot follow the usual method of splitting the standard form that ordinary people use; the character for holding also yields meaning when split. The method to adopt must start from the standard form of the character for observing, working on emptiness (xū, free of fixation) and stillness (jì, quiet), where subtle meaning and responsive communion well up layer upon layer without end—truly mysterious and hidden. Students are hoped to investigate this as a whole. Where the meaning is most balanced and upright, this section already has the excellence of a two-pronged approach (shuāng guǎn qí xià, working both sides at once). Know how to split the character for observing from its standard form, and the profound explanation naturally appears; everywhere it accords with the Way (dào).

Heaven has the Five Thieves (wǔ zéi, five forces that can steal or harm)—whoever can recognize them flourishes. The Five Thieves reside in the heart, yet their operation is in Heaven. The cosmos is grasped in the hand; myriad transformations are generated from the body.

Fan’s commentary runs as follows: Each of the two people, endowed with their own inborn nature, is burdened by the five—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body. To recognize that these five are one’s own encumbrances is what counts as “seeing”; yet in cultivation one still cannot do without employing the five thieves (the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and body, which can rob and disturb the spirit-mind). One must discern the five thieves in one’s own heart and mind, yet apply the five thieves upon the other person, making them that person’s burden—and must never allow the five thieves to turn back and burden oneself. To load the five thieves onto the other person’s inborn nature is no more than treating them like a straw dog (a grass effigy used in sacrifice, then discarded once the rite is done). With Yin-Yang held in one’s own hands, let the five thieves agitate the other party; one must adapt endlessly—only when myriad transformations arise from oneself will success follow.

Min Yide (the compiler of this book) writes: Fan’s reading is utterly absurd. He treats the classic as if it were written only for men; his view is already partial, nothing but the work of a jingling (a subtle spirit or goblin)—Fan has not thought it through. Those who seek success through deceit will be struck by thunder; after death they fall into snakes and foxes, and in the worst cases into gecko-like creatures, used by others as fangzhong (bedchamber) love charms—karmic retribution goes that far. Do they not know that this passage is the sage’s teaching of self-examination in cultivation, clarifying the purport of “observe” and “hold” in the previous section (observe the Dao of Heaven, hold to Heaven’s operation)? The upright aspect of the Five Phases is the five virtues; what is crooked is the five thieves—and the stress falls on the word “see.” When any element dominates excessively it becomes a five thief; when the heart-mind can detect this and act in accord with Heaven’s Dao, the handle of power can be grasped in one’s hand, and myriad transformations arise from oneself. Both men and women receive life from the harmonizing Qi of Heaven and Earth; each should rectify nature and life (xingming)—where is there a Dao of Heaven that harms the other to nourish oneself? In careful accord with the scripture’s intent: in the deployment of the Five Phases, within virtue there is restraint and checking; one checks excess and takes the mean, so that the root of myriad transformation does not turn into thievery. This embraces men and women alike and uniformly teaches self-examination in cultivation—that is the Great Dao.

The nature Heaven bestows is the human person; the human heart-mind is the pivot of responsive change; establish the Dao of Heaven to settle the human person.

Fan Shi held that the so-called “heaven and earth of two persons”—the small inner cosmos one receives at birth and carries from the start—is inherently very small. Within it there are naturally the “Five Thieves” (Wuzzei), the mechanisms that disturb and drain the qi of the Five Phases or the stirrings of desire. Once the pivot of these Five Thieves appears before one’s eyes, none of them arises from anywhere other than the human heart. Because the heart can recognize this pivot and the eyes are used to observe it, it is called the “scheming heart” (jixin). Those who understand gather this scheming heart inward and then apply it to the heaven and earth of two persons, using it to lay the foundation of cultivation. That foundation cannot be established apart from the innate “Six-One lead” (liuyi zhi qian)—in inner alchemy, the point of pre-heaven lead or true primordial substance evoked by the phrase “Heaven generates one, Earth completes six.” It is precisely with the two characters “Six-One” that one is directed and steadied. Thus heart and nature, Heaven and human, are all indispensable in cultivation; between them there is no gap and no confusion.

Min Yide said: The main point of this explanation is already wrong, and the rest need not be discussed. Having neither grasped the intent of this passage nor recognized the “True One” (Zhenyi), the heart is drowned in heterodox talk, and so the character li (“establish”) is split into “six” and “one.” They do not realize that this section speaks of human beings receiving their heavenly nature—that the human heart is the pivot of change in the ten thousand things—and that the scripture asks people to exhaust nature (xing) in order to establish life (ming), taking the full realization of nature as the foundation of the Dao. How could the mere “Six-One lead” be worthy to serve as the foundation of the Dao? Treating Six-One as the True One is like mistaking commoners for the sovereign. This section treats nature (xing); the next treats life (ming). Preserving life depends on nature, so one must exhaust nature to establish the foundation. As long as one interprets according to reason, above and below connect naturally—there is no need to split the character li and force a fanciful reading.

When Heaven stirs the killing pivot (shaji)—the critical hinge of transformation and restraint—the stars shift and the lodge degrees change. When Earth stirs the killing pivot, dragons and serpents rise from the land. When human beings stir the killing pivot, the normal order of Heaven and Earth is overturned. When the killing pivots of Heaven and human stir together, the root of change in the ten thousand things is thereby established.

Mr. Fan said: Yang relies on the omen of star constellations shining downward—that is what issues from Heaven. Yin relies on the omen of dragon and serpent rising upward—that is what issues from Earth. That is the separate account. Taken together, Earth qi rises because Heaven qi descends to meet it; the light Heaven sends forth likewise depends on Earth qi ascending. When a person perceives the signs of resonance between Heaven and Earth, they invert Yin-Yang and reverse this qi to gather it back inward. The whole matter lies in the two (Yin and Yang) merging into one and no longer separating, issuing from that single opening—seizing this moment to timely uptake Heaven and Earth’s true One qi (zhenyi zhi qi) and capture the profound mystery of Yin-Yang creation and transformation. This is precisely birth that is not birth and transformation that is not transformation—the deep efficacy of returning Li to Qian (from the post-heaven back to the pre-heaven). Nothing more than using the practitioner who has already settled in fixed orientation to stabilize one’s own root and origin. The line “Heaven and human jointly activate” is the secret of the entire scripture.

Min Yide says: This section treats principles of the utmost depth and weight; it is a pity that Fan used heterodox interpretations to force a fit—it is like talking in one’s sleep while dreaming. The section was originally meant to establish the foundation of life (lixing), yet its whole emphasis falls on cultivating nature (xinggong). “Let the waves rise as they will—I do not open my sail” means that within stillness and fixed concentration (jingding) one observes the subtle signs (xiaoxi): when rain has passed and the sky clears, the clouds part and the sun appears, one follows the moment and guides accordingly; myriad transformations then arise on their own—where is there need to force things with human effort? Speak according to principle, and one can grasp it.

What is called “slaying” (sha) embeds the principle of transformation. The generative qi (shengqi) of the Five Phases is invariably hidden within dead qi (siqi). For example, metal generates water and water generates wood; metal is the ancestral qi (zuqi) of wood, yet when wood meets metal it is constrained and imprisoned as if dead—this precisely shows that living qi lies concealed in dead qi. This is the pivot by which austere contraction (susha) and free expansion (shufa) mutually root each other. Without the slaying mechanism, there is only extension and no gathering-in; the Dao then reaches its limit. Stars and the dragon-serpent (longshe) are signs of yin-yang waxing and waning in turn; heaven and earth turning over and back is the rationale of yin-yang inversion. The transforming mechanism is born in “reversal” (ni): generation is accord (shun), slaying is reversal; by reversal one completes accord, and the myriad transformations have a foundation.

The six lines above summarize in general the subtle mutual resonance of the Three Powers (sancai—Heaven, Earth, and Human); the two lines below say that the elixir path (dandao) holds inexhaustible meaning, and the secret lies solely in the moment when natural mechanism first stirs—seeing the right timing and adjusting it so it neither exceeds nor falls short, neither anticipates nor lags; not a hair’s breadth of error is allowed. Unless one is empty to the utmost and still to the depth, one cannot begin. Fan is right that the whole classic is hidden in this; but he wrongly took the yang within Kan as the True One (Zhenyi), and rigidly split the character for “join” (he) into two persons mouth to mouth—a reading that amounts to proof-texting for the Sanfeng line (a school orthodox Neidan dismissed as a side path), far from the text’s intent.

Another reading takes “slay” with falling tone, following the meaning of the Qian (Modesty) hexagram in the Yijing: the dispositions of the Three Powers all dislike fullness and favor modest retreat. That sense, however, applies after the mechanism has already stirred—it is the method at the handover when receiving and initiating connect; it is also something the elixir path must know. The “fixed” (ding) in the section carries both “settled stability” and “definitive fixing” in layered meaning. All of these operations are nothing other than preparation for obtaining the True One; once the True One is obtained, the foundation is set. But this is not something cleverness can seize. If one is benighted, when slaying is required one does not slay; when one wishes to fix, one cannot fix; when one seeks union, union will not hold—miss by a hair, and error runs a thousand miles. This is precisely the greatest crux of the section.

Human nature can be clever or clumsy. When one ought to cut off attachment yet does not, when one seeks calm yet cannot settle, when one seeks harmony yet cannot align—the slightest deviation leads to error a thousand miles away. This is the crux of the section.

Though nature may be sharp or dull, both can be gathered inward and concealed. The way perverse influences leak through the nine apertures (the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, the mouth, and the two lower openings) hinges on three crucial points, and these can be applied in both stillness and activity.

Master Fan said: The Qi of True Unity (Zhenyi zhi qi—the primordial, undivided vital energy) arises from the utmost subtle “small”; without dedicated effort it cannot be drawn forth, without proper method it cannot be lifted up. Whether it is used well depends entirely on the heart’s initiating power. If one is driven by emotional nature, what looks clever becomes clumsiness; if one is not driven by emotional nature, what looks clumsy is actually upright and correct. True cleverness withdraws and hides, taking concealment as the standard; what seems clumsy is precisely where cleverness works. Drawing true Yang from within true Yin, holding it tightly hidden, it rises and falls before and behind the body, circulating along the Ren and Du channels without blockage or stagnation—only then can it endure. This is the meaning of “to attain longevity one must conceal the Qi” (fusheng xu fuqi—nourishing life by gathering and storing vital energy). Ordinary people do not know the subtlety of concealment, nor do they guard against leakage through the nine apertures, and so they lose the spark of life. Among the nine apertures, none is more sensitive than the ears, eyes, and mouth; these three matter most. Using the three in motion and stillness is exactly what the Supreme Sage (Taishang—Laozi) meant: wanting to contract, first expand; wanting to weaken, first show strength; wanting to discard, first promote; wanting to take, first give. The three treasures are gathered in one, and the one contains three. Though the teaching speaks especially of ears, eyes, and mouth, it still cannot leave aside the Western Maiden (Xinü—the inner-alchemy image of the western Dui metal and the true yin aspect)—she hides within this, and that is precisely where the work of sage cultivation (shenggong) is most essential.

Min Yide says: The “nature” (xing) spoken of here means temperamental nature—the acquired disposition one inherits after birth—and the meaning is to conceal it and not let it stir. The slow and clumsy are bound by yin turbidity; the clever are also driven by the bustle of worldly affairs; both should be kept concealed and still. In time great wisdom arises: cleverness is not worth boasting of, and slowness and clumsiness do not become a harm.

Note carefully: This section follows the word “foundation” (ji) in the preceding text. Human endowment may be clever or dull; if one knows how to conceal and not employ it, one will not be pulled by the deviant qi of the nine apertures (eyes, ears, mouth, nose, and the other sensory openings). Forgetting cleverness and dissolving dullness—the secret lies in guarding the three essentials (often the eye, ear, and mouth as gates to be held). One must not act rashly even in movement; that is what is meant by stillness in stillness and stillness in movement. This is the sense of “stillness begets wisdom” (jing neng sheng hui), pointing to the knack of nourishing nature (xing).

Fan’s school is sunk in heterodox doctrine and does not grasp the aim of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming). What is meant by “hooking out and hand-supporting”? Nature (xing) can be awakened to, but cannot be grasped; life (ming) can be perceived, but cannot be seized. Both are utterly subtle and spirit-like, with no solid bodily form. Nature and life both dwell in empty stillness; what the ancient scriptures call “giving birth to dragon and tiger” refers to this. Yet he would hook something out of the ordinary body of the Western Woman (xinu—the Kun yin, female-body metaphor in alchemical texts) and support it with the hand—that is merely Gui Water (gui shui—the visible, yin-turbid water). The alchemical books say: “What can be seen cannot be used; what can be used cannot be seen.” Fan ought to know this—how could he speak such outsider talk? Moreover, the one yang contained in Kun within Kan still belongs to true primordial yuan (xian tian yi dian zhen qi—innate primordial true qi); what has that to do with “nature” (xing)? What has he taken nature to be?

This section is addressed to those who stumble in practice according to the previous section; the next section is the same. The focus here is on “concealing”; the next picks up from the closing line of this one. When the main point is traced, the key is illuminating the mind (ming xin); only when the mind is clear can one discern the right moment.

Fire is born from wood; once disaster breaks out, it must in turn injure the wood. Treachery is born within the state; once the moment moves, the state collapses. One who understands this principle and applies it in cultivation is called a sage.

Fan says: The opening two lines mean that if a person lacks the sincerity of holding precepts and entering samadhi, they will be driven by shi-shen (the acquired mind that discriminates), throw themselves into reckless action, lose true origin once, and turn into dead decay—like fire rising and wood being consumed.

The middle two lines carry double meaning: they can be read in line with the previous two, and also refer to “three women forming jian” (the character jian is composed of three “woman” radicals, a metaphor for evil falsity arising on the body). This movement arises from one’s own body; I follow its activation and make it necessarily disperse. When heaven and human activate together, I employ my naturally inherent mechanism of killing (gathering, storing, restraining, control—the pivot from killing back to generating life), returning the acquired back to the innate. One who knows how to apply this orally transmitted practice may be called a person who completes sage merit. This character for sage must not be overlooked: ear is Kan, mouth is Li—meaning Kan and Li intersect, obtaining zhen-yi qi (innate unified original qi), returning to the middle earth to become sovereign. This character for sage, by no means let it slip lightly.

Min Yide (a Qing-dynasty Daoist) said: Fan’s commentary is gravely wrong and cannot be followed. Not only is the gloss on the character for zhi (knowing) absurd; the parsing of sheng (sage) also does not match the character’s meaning. In the standard form of sheng, the lower component is ren (the ninth heavenly stem), not wang (king).

This book takes zhi as substance (ti) and xiu (cultivation) as function (yong). It continues the closing line of the previous section; the core is entirely in the one word zhi. First there is substance, then function—without knowing, how can one cultivate? Cultivation means applying remedy before the pivot between stillness and movement has yet appeared. Only when one can discern this subtle turning can one begin earnest practice. Hence this section stresses zhi; a straight reading of the text suffices—there is no need to hunt hidden secrets in the strokes of the characters.

The main point is that the movement of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) must not be indulged without restraint. This follows the prior text and reminds the reader not to forget the meaning of sha (restraint, the destructive or “slaying” aspect). The first two lines say that within generation lurks sha; the middle two say one must not settle for ease; the last two say the subtlety of knowing first and then cultivating.

Reading the lines plainly: when generation runs to excess, the sha mechanism stirs; the harm that injures oneself comes from within, not from without. Fire is qi born from Wood; when Fire rises, Wood is burned. The traitor is a person born within the state; when treachery moves, the state is ruined. Such harm is nearly impossible to guard against in time. Once the mechanism has moved, there is no turning back. What is this mechanism? Generation pushed too far, without measure—thereby becoming disaster and treachery. The sage therefore warns. Governing the world and cultivating the person are not two different principles. That is the plain sense of the scripture.

Fan’s account is both mistaken and forced, yet he calls it shengong (the sage’s achievement)—which is virtually slander of the sage. As for splitting zhi into “shi” (arrow) and “kou” (mouth), the Daoist text Sanhuang Yujue (Jade Instructions of the Three Sovereigns) can be consulted for comparison.

Fan’s explanation draws on popular oral formulas of recent times and does not grasp what the Jade Instructions (Yu Jue) point to—something far more grand and upright. Even in the busiest streets or the most public gatherings, one may use this “Shikou” (mouth of the arrow) method; one need not even loosen one’s clothes or belt, and need not face another person directly—the distance between near and far no longer matters. The saying goes: mountains, rivers, and the great earth are all alchemical furnaces (the place where refinement takes place), and every moving, sentient being is medicinal material (the nourishment used in internal alchemy). One need only empty one’s form and appearance, still one’s thoughts, and hold to a single primordial Qi (xian tian yi qi)—boundless and without limit—regarding the six directions (above, below, and the four quarters) and the three powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity) as no larger than grains of rice. From within this “inner” realm, radiance shines outward, as if responding and issuing forth, straight and swift as an arrow. Then one sees the sacred sun and sacred moon, golden light blazing, five-colored clouds and mist floating in the void and pouring down, fast as a gale, nothing blocking the way. Sun and moon unite and hang in one’s Golden Court (Jin Ting, an inner landscape in the head in Daoist practice), drawing nearer and shrinking until they are as small as beans, like a lamp of colored glaze before the Buddha—vast within, nothing it cannot contain; subtle without, nothing it cannot enter. This is called the “mouth” (kou). At this moment, not a single thought arises. At first there must be something coming from emptiness and nothingness; one feels fullness and ease beyond description, which can only be apprehended, not pinned down. The Three Sages say this is the utmost of true primordiality (zhen yuan), and it is not yet true unity (zhen yi). The arrival of true unity also comes suddenly of itself—silent and without form or color, one only feels utmost peace and stability here, firm as bedrock, beyond words. True primordiality and true unity, like an arrowhead striking the target—this is called the “arrow” (shi). It is also what Buddhism calls Mani (Muni Ali).

What is called the "mouth" (kou) is what our Daoist tradition calls the xuanqiao (mysterious aperture)—the aperture that matters most in cultivation. From the closing section of this scripture, it is the "wondrous vessel" (qiqi) in the text: the marvelous instrument that can generate and transform the myriad forms. Once one punch breaks through and fully penetrates, that is the Buddhist "other shore" (liberation), and also the Confucian wuji (the origin before all things were differentiated). In olden times when the Buddha taught the Dharma, five thousand in that land followed his instruction. In the luminous stillness of samadhi, the assembly saw a ray of light enter the Buddha's breast; the Buddha image seemed to sink into intoxication then awaken—and so arose the phrase "the five thousand withdrew from their seats," meaning the disciples thought the Buddha was weary and left. That can serve as one proof of "speaking straight from the mouth" (shikou)—only Master Fan had not heard of it. As for the character gu ("therefore" / "old") in the scripture, there is no need to force it through character-splitting mnemonics; even if one splits the character, the meaning stands on its own: when ornament outweighs substance and that tendency appears, one should return to plain simplicity—that is Laozi's "letting the mind wander at the beginning of things" (youxin yu wu chu). How could one use the methods of the Sanfeng lineage (a school that took male–female complementarity as cultivation) to verify this? The several hundred words above fully disclose the fundamental path of celestial immortality (tianxian dadao) right here. They were not originally meant for this section; they were added only to first pierce "shikou." Unless everything is laid open, the subtle meaning of the character zhi ("knowing") cannot show. It is not that one only begins to use "knowing" when practice reaches this section. As far as the scripture's meaning goes, it was already present in the two lines on "heaven and human triggering together" (tianren hefa)—those who see it should examine closely.

Middle Section

"Heaven generates, heaven kills"—that is the principle of the Dao.

Master Fan says: "Heaven generates" is the forward course of the ordinary Way (changdao); "heaven kills" is the reverse return to the Great Dao. Now, using this body that grows naturally along the ordinary course, to practice the marvel of returning to the Great Dao through natural reversal—that is why it is called heaven generates, heaven kills. Here one must specially apply the subtle principle of reverse return and inverted operation—only then does it deserve to be called the great path of becoming a sage and ascending to truth.

Min Yide says: This section continues the meaning and thread of the upper section's "heaven triggers the mechanism of killing" (tian fa shaji). Among the Five Phases (wuxing), there is no inherent "heaven generates, heaven kills." Here one must specially apply the subtle principle of reverse return and inverted operation—only then does it deserve to be called the great path of becoming a sage and ascending to truth.

Min Yide (a Qing-dynasty Daoist scholar and compiler of this book) says: This section continues the reasoning and sequence from the preceding “Heaven unleashes the mechanism of killing” (Yinfu Jing language for the pivot by which heaven and earth bring severity and renewal). If the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) lacked that mechanism of killing, the four seasons would run together in confusion and lose the principle of orderly rotation. Killing contains generation; generation is concealed within killing—so order holds, alternation continues, and the cycle never ends.

The scripture says: Heaven and earth are thieves of the ten thousand things; the ten thousand things are thieves of humans; humans are thieves of the ten thousand things. When each of the three thefts finds its proper place, the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, Humanity) are settled.

Commentator Fan says: The flourishing and withering of the ten thousand things follow the turning of heaven and earth, so heaven and earth steal from the ten thousand things. When people cannot hold fast, their true nature is injured by the ten thousand things, so the ten thousand things steal from people. If people can guard themselves without loss and absorb the true qi of the ten thousand things, then people steal from the ten thousand things. Three such thefts complete one line; nine thefts complete the full Qian hexagram (the text reads “gan gua”). As for the order of steps, it is only a matter of the human “one mouth” (kou, a standard alchemical pun) matching what is fitting; the three lines all rely on the “female” (the yin side) to reach safety.

Yide said: Older commentaries put the meaning in the plainest terms: Heaven and Earth are what the myriad things draw upon; the myriad things are what human beings draw upon; and human beings are in turn what the myriad things draw upon.

The scripture picks up from what precedes and develops the subtle teaching of the first section of this chapter. It uses the Three Powers (San Cai)—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—as a figure for the three fields (upper, middle, and lower dantian). To “draw upon” and make use must be timely and fitting, not against nature; each has its proper limit and settling, like laying a foundation of stillness and security. That is the way of the Three Powers. The gloss on “dao” in the sense of mutual taking and lending has already been given above. Taixu Weng said that the marvelous vessel (qi qi) in the later part of the text belongs originally to each thing as its own endowment, so things can borrow from one another. The deeper point of this term is passed mouth to mouth; in the end it is nothing but seeming dull, seeming awkward, and also seeming empty—only when substance and function are both complete can whatever arrives be taken in. Again it is like a house: the vessel holds, and things can rest; the hinge is the word he (harmony). Fan’s reading—“gaining the feminine and then finding peace”—is truly odd. “Both fitting and secure” means all three fields should be full. Each field has its own thing that fills it; success comes in order and has its steps: when jing is sufficient, qi is sufficient; when qi is sufficient, shen is sufficient; when shen is sufficient, jing is truly sufficient—and within that there is still another path to peace. That is the gist of this section; the secret by which the Three Powers establish peace and stability is in the next section.

Hence: “Comply with the season in nourishing intake, and the hundred parts of the body are put in order; stir the pivot, and the ten thousand transformations are at peace.”

Fan said that “therefore” (gu) follows the line that peace and stability have another path. The gist of this section is as above; the secret of the Three Powers establishing peace is in the next section—hence “shi qi shi, bai hai li; dong qi ji, wan hua an.”

Fan explains: Here, “therefore” (gu) picks up the preceding word an (peace, settling). An is written with “woman” (nü) under a roof—placing the “ten” of perfection upon the “mouth,” so that Zhenyi (true unity, innate pre-heaven qi) in the mouth can return inward; only then does “therefore it is said” carry real meaning. “Eating” (shi) means taking the Great Medicine—the elixir of internal alchemy (neidan)—as in the saying, “whoever obtains it is often as if drunk.” One must still wait until the right moment; when it comes, activating signs always appear, and those signs are exactly when one should take the medicine. That is also what is meant by “humans are thieves among the ten thousand things” (people draw refined qi from the myriad phenomena). Hare marrow and raven essence (yin essence and yang essence)—once swallowed, the bones throughout the body are opened and harmonized. Driving out turbid yin and turning it into clear yang depends on daily practice: withdrawing the yin talisman and advancing the yang fire (in regulating the fire phases, retreat from yin and advance yang) and circulating through the cycles. Only after essence (jing), qi, and spirit (shen) have been transformed ten thousand times can a single dose of medicine bring settled peace within that transformation. How could all these changes find an without the “woman” (nü)—the yin root on which an rests?

Min Yide says: Do not miss the moment—then you can eat at the moment meant for eating. Do not go against the mechanism—then you can trigger the circulating wheel. With the work of transforming essence, qi, and spirit ten thousand times, one ingestion can settle you within transformation. How could all these changes find an without “woman” (nü)?

Min Yide said: Only by not missing the right moment can one truly benefit from that moment; only by not going against the stirring of Qi can one advance that Qi. Thus the two characters “therefore” and “said” conceal subtle meaning—the Jade Formula of the Three Sovereigns (a Daoist formula attributed to the Three Sovereigns) expresses the same idea. The secret lies entirely in return: do not let essence and Qi leak outward; revert to the primordial state of antiquity—that is the meaning of “returning to destiny” (fuming). To attain utter oneness, the crux lies in the single character “said” (yue).

“Said” means: within it one releases the myriad entanglements and gathers body and worldly affairs into this one “center,” boundless in extent; one allows Qi to flow naturally, like clouds and rosy mist. Suddenly the ten thousand sounds fall silent, inner and outer grow still; then one fixes awareness with intent and feels only something that wells up of itself, silent and without sound. The Three Sages spoken of in the scripture call this the return of the “True One” (Zhenyi)—precisely the arcane image of the character “said,” also what is meant by form without form. If one clings to images that have shape, what one obtains must be false. If one begins from emptiness and non-being, then so-called “time” and “opportunity” (ji) both accord with the Dao.

What Fan expounds was originally an ancient immortal’s formula, using outward figures of speech to describe inner practice; yet when he says “how could one be at peace without leaving women,” he falls into heterodox talk. My private view is: characters such as “ancient,” “know,” “therefore,” “said,” “Yu,” and “sage” all hinge on recognizing the right moment. Fan only knows to fix on one clock-hour and does not know that every moment can be used. Hours divide into “living” and “fixed”—not only midnight and noon are so; from zi through hai all twelve double-hours have both living and fixed aspects, and both matter greatly.

The so-called True One and true primal Qi are not outside this single body, yet one must not be trapped in this body alone. Roughly at the moment practice begins, one discerns the present situation to fix the hour—that method is most flexible and most efficacious. As for the one body, time has fixed and living phases; as for the Three Powers (Sancai: Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) and the Six Directions (Liuhe, the cosmos above and below and on all sides), time likewise has fixed and living phases. They respond to one another: fixed aligns with fixed, living with living, and between them not a hair’s breadth of gap is allowed. Thus within time there is inherently mechanism (ji): when the hour arrives, the opportunity stirs; when the opportunity stirs, transformation runs its course. This is nature’s subtle principle and nature’s great Dao. Fan is merely a frog at the bottom of a well, measuring the sky by the mouth of the well.

People only grasp the still more wondrous layer within Shen (spirit), yet they fail to see why what looks quite unmysterious can, in fact, be wondrous.

Fan said: Shen is Yang; “the Shen of Shen” is Yang within Yang—what the tradition calls “mysterious upon mysterious” (xuan zhi you xuan). This speck of true Yang lies concealed in true Yin. To obtain it one must rely on what is encoded in shi and kou: the subtle efficacy of “mouth meeting mouth,” as Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) put it. Split the character zhi (to know) down the middle and you get precisely shi (arrow) and kou (mouth)—hence the phrase “knowing its Shen of Shen.” Yet this working never departs from the plain and everyday; there is no forced artifice. It looks like Wuwei (non-action) yet is action; within action it remains Wuwei. That is why it is also called “knowing why what is not-Shen is Shen.” To gather this Yang Qi one truly needs the qiqi—the wondrous vessel, the subtle instrument of the human body in Neidan (internal alchemy)—and the method of “the not-Shen that is Shen.” When Yang Qi arrives, it is the primordial Qi (shi qi) from before one’s parents conceived you.

Yi De (Min Yide, the compiler and annotator of this work) says: The two occurrences of “know” (zhi) here—Fan did not receive the true transmission, so his interpretation drifted into heterodox views, because he failed to grasp that within emptiness (xu) there truly is the subtle principle of mutual resonance between self and other. The upper part of this passage means that when external things and my qi and shen (vital energy and spirit) meet in emptiness, what is produced is only true primordial yuan (zhen yuan—the root produced when qi and shen unite); the lower part means that the true yuan of the three powers (sancai: Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) rises upward as qi, calling forth my qi and shen to ascend together, responding and merging with it, so that in emptiness they combine and give birth to true unity (zhen yi).

According to the meaning of the scripture: if one takes only what arises from the ordinary mutual resonance and union between external things and oneself, that is merely true primordial yuan—hence it is called “spirit of spirit” (shen zhi shen) and is not precious. Only when one obtains the upward resonance between the other’s qi and shen and one’s own, with the great human yuan (ren yuan) of both sides descending and meeting in emptiness, does what is born count as true unity; possessing it, one can form the embryo of sage and truth (sheng zhen zhi tai—the “sagely fetus” of inner alchemy), and that alone is the supreme treasure. When spirit meets spirit, the product can only be called true primordial yuan—that is, spirit of spirit—and is not worth cherishing. As for the “one” that emerges from within that union, it has become emptiness to the utmost and can no longer be called spirit, hence the name non-spirit of spirit (bu shen zhi shen). The rhetorical weight of the passage falls on the latter phrase, which is why there is a distinction between “knowing” and “not knowing.”

The sun and moon each run by fixed degrees, and each has its allotted magnitude; sagely achievement arises from this, and numinous clarity manifests from this.

Fan said: The sun is yang; in essence it belongs to the Li trigram (the fire trigram in the Bagua, whose middle line is yin), and the yin within it is “lesser yin.” The moon is luminosity; in essence it belongs to the Kan trigram (the water trigram in the Bagua, whose middle line is yang), and the yang within it is “greater yang.” Each has a tally that must be complete: the sun’s tally must fully reach sixteen, and the moon’s tally must fully reach five thousand forty-eight days. To explain these tallies by the degrees of the sun and moon as they move in the sky is mistaken.

What is meant by “first three, last three” is that among the ten heavenly stems, jia stands paired with geng, and ding joins with ren. Suppose one is forming the first line of the Qian hexagram (a hexagram of six yang lines, pure yang; the source text writes this as “gan”): first, from before jia count backward three steps and take the ren after gui to join; next, from after geng count forward three steps and take ren to join—which is the same as counting backward three from before jia and taking the ren before gui to join; finally, again from before jia count backward three steps and take the ren after gui to join. This is exactly the secret of “first three, last three” in the interval “after the first-quarter moon, before the last-quarter moon.” First-quarter and last-quarter moons mark the boundary, by lunar phase, between the earlier and later stages of the fire phases. Joining in this way three times completes the first line of Qian; joining in this way nine times completes the third line of Qian, and only then does one arrive at pure yang.

This requires that the tallies of sun and moon are already full and settled before they are applied to the work of becoming a sage, so that the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) gather in the central palace (zhonggong) and the spirit-person is generated and appears from there. Unless sun and moon join and brightness is manifest, the spirit-person cannot be achieved. That is precisely what is meant by “what is not spirit is therefore spirit.”

The “first three, last three,” the first- and last-quarter moons, and the references to jia, geng, ding, and ren spoken of here are the fire tally (the measured advance of yang fire and retreat of yin tally in the fire phases). When the tallies of sun and moon are full, the tallies of the fire phases are full. When the moment comes to activate and reveal it, one truly knows “the spirit of spirits.” Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) said, “Pointing from afar to the sun-and-moon wheel at heaven’s rim,” and also, “The sea tide below, the moon above in heaven”; Cui Xifan said, “Heaven responds with stars, earth responds with tides”—all of this rests on this reading. It is indeed the great Way of sagehood through the hidden tally (yinfu), a profound teaching not handed down for a thousand generations.

Min Yide said: Using the sun and moon to calculate the geng and jia stems, and using large and small to speak of yin and yang, is inherently the logic of the Yijing (Book of Changes); Fan’s reading is correct.

A close reading of this passage shows that it develops the meaning of the earlier line “people know,” and is in fact the root oral formula passed heart-to-mouth for ages—though the scripture puts it as “people know.” In the Yellow Emperor’s era many cultivated the Way, and everyone understood this doctrine, hence “people know its spirit as spirit.” Fan did not grasp this and treated the passage as an untransmitted secret, so he read it as “the spirit that is not spirit”—because he had not yet heard of the supreme method of the Yinfu Jing (Classic of Hidden Talents). This section stays close to the moment when yin and yang qi is full, the time has come, and living force is about to stir; it explains the even, transparent fire phase of sensing and response in practice—it has not yet reached the method where the six harmonies and the three powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) respond everywhere and merge as one. Even so, sage accomplishment arises here, and spirit illumination emerges here.

My late master Master Taixu therefore said this passage follows tightly on the opening line above. As for the supreme method, one begins from before Heaven and Earth existed and before father and mother were born—so one does not rely on yin-yang, the Five Phases, or year, month, day, and hour. Once living force stirs, one restrains desire and returns to true nature, forming a single precious pearl and drawing it into the wondrous vessel (the place in the body that holds pre-heaven qi). Day by day it accumulates until at last it merges with the true unity of the three powers, without duality or difference, and the sanctified embryo (the embryo formed by internal alchemy) is complete. Then even if the three powers are destroyed, I endure. This is the esoteric practice formula of the Three Sovereigns’ age—not a secret those of the Yellow Emperor’s time could yet know. The next line in the text above points to this; that is why it says “do not know.” This is practice at the top of the hundred-foot pole—wondrous Way that meets opportunity on every side and brings all under Heaven to benevolence. What Yide heard from his late master is precisely this.

The late master also said: The arcane principle of this passage is the foundation of establishing the person; forget this passage and the supreme method has nowhere to advance. How could one set this passage aside even for a moment?

This kind of “seizing the hidden opportunity” (dao ji)—covertly drawing upon heaven’s timing—is something no one in the world can see and no one can truly know. When a superior person (junzi) attains it, he can stabilize his own person; when a petty person attains it, he will instead lightly throw his life away.

Fan says: To “seize” (dao) is the Dao (the Way); the Dao is “seizing.” The work of sage-power lies in observing this pivotal moment and drawing upon the “Heaven” in each of the two parties—their respective innate sources. A spoonful of true yang (zhen yang, pure yang qi) cannot be seen with the eyes; the next spoonful of true yang can only be obtained through what is spoken from the mouth. The superior person knows that the sliver of yang (cun yang) in the two parties must be recovered by means of the “ten” (cross) together with the methods of the great and small openings, so as to stabilize the body and endure. The petty person cannot guard himself, relies on cleverness and acts recklessly, drifts into heterodox paths, loses his life yet never wakes up—hence it is called “light life.” This is to show the fortune and misfortune that heterodoxy and orthodoxy each bring.

Yi De says: The “its” in this section refers to the Dao spoken of in the previous section. To seize is to take in secret and store away; ji is the pivot where each side’s dynamism meets. If one does not store, it disperses—so the precious thing is knowing how to seize. Precisely because it cannot be seen and is not known is it called seizing. Yet one must keep a fair mind and not let one side prevail excessively; within this there are two layers of meaning—“taking” and “giving.” Whoever understands this is a superior person; whoever does not is a petty person—and between them heaven’s mandate also plays a part. How can those who observe Heaven and hold fast to Heaven neglect the hidden opportunity? Aligning with Heaven, one can guard the self; seizing with private intent only cheapens life. What is meant by “attaining” is attaining this principle of both taking and giving. This section still belongs to the path of preliminary trial and verification (xiao shi zhi dao), hence this admonition. Fan did not see this layer; his explanation falls into the “light life” line of thought and should not be followed.

Lower section: The deaf excel at seeing; the blind excel at hearing. Cutting off distractions and guarding a single source—its efficacy equals tenfold the use of armies. If in three days and nights one can go back and forth and reach this, the efficacy can equal ten thousand times the use of armies.

Fan says: This refers to the moment in practice when one should employ the “beautiful mouth”—one must be like a deaf person who is adept at seeing, and like a blind person who is adept at hearing. These two kinds of “adeptness” are images of single-minded focus; they also imply using the mouth while the heart does not cling to the mouth. Understand that in practice, employing daoji (the opportune “seizing” of living potential) cannot succeed without the mouth. The subtle benefit at the source of true unity—zhenyi—depends above all on the mouth as that source. Therefore one first applies ear and eye to ji (the timely pivot); only after obtaining ji does one use the mouth; and once the mouth is used, one must rely on the shizi (the “cross,” the place where breath converges) to attain it. If one truly returns to the root three times by way of the shizi, it is as urgent and stern as deploying troops in battle. This is precisely planting a lotus in fire—nurturing purity amid the furnace—and the harvest is indeed multiplied many times over. Hence ear, eye, and mouth must not cease day or night, so as to complete the benefit of daoji and lead into the application of jixin (the mind of the opportune mechanism) in what follows. The character bei (“fold/multiply”) has a further hidden meaning; I dare not write it down—please do not overlook it.

Min Yide says: The upper and middle loci are exactly where one plants a lotus in fire, with a harvest truly multiplied many times over. Therefore ear, eye, and mouth do not rest day or night, completing the benefit of daoji and thereby initiating the use of jixin in what follows. The character bei has a further hidden meaning, which I have not dared to set down—please do not ignore it.

Yide says: The upper and middle sections explain how things ought to be in principle, and they already touch on benefits and pitfalls. The lower section explains concrete practice methods, with principle implied throughout. If you can weigh these three, choose and discard, add and subtract, the method is complete.

Take it all together and recognize it in your body: the key is single-minded focus—stillness pushed to the limit, emptiness pushed to the limit, no sense of self versus others in the mind, fully trusting what is natural. Whether something seems to be there or not, look only at the movement and change of qi. Here it is often utterly silent; forget even that silence, and you can be responsive in daily affairs while remaining constantly clear and still.

The first two lines of this section mean “focused”; the third means “unified.” The eyes are good at seeing and the ears at hearing, which easily leads to division; the deaf and blind, by contrast, can cut off those side paths, so the source returns to one. The fourth line gathers the meaning of “benefit” and can be checked against the line on the “three returns”—that is, “constancy.”

“Shi” (the master/teacher) means “many.” The Image of the Hexagram Shi (Troops) in the Yijing speaks of gathering and nurturing the multitude—meaning that among companions and the broad crowd, there is also the great Way that turns toward benevolence and meets the source wherever you are.

The three returns day and night are thirty-six hours. Thirty-six is the extreme of yin number. The idea: if you are unified and also constant, yin is exhausted and turns into yang—what is meant by “the thirty-six palaces are all spring” (the whole being brimming with vital spring).

“Ten times” and “ten thousand times” are rough figures. The point: unity lets you use the hours and also govern the multitude; constancy lets you use them all the more in multiplying folds.

If you analyze the character for “bei” (fold/multiply), it involves the gate of yin and yang and the interaction of earth and heaven—you must also read it together with “ten.” If you analyze “wan” (ten thousand), it splits into “cao” (grass) and “yu”—cao belongs to Kun qi, yu to yin categories. That is Master Fan’s exegetical approach. Strictly speaking, developing the sense from “bei” works better than what Fan relied on. But the scripture’s main point is simply that the Dao is not cultivated in isolation. If the student follows this classic’s orthodox line, even practicing alone in one room, empty space will draw Zhenyi and Zhenyuan (the pure, undivided innate origin) to come; gathering never exhausts what can be gathered, and there can be harvests of tenfold or myriad fold. The scripture’s main intent is not character-splitting.

This section aims at establishing life (liming), yet the wording falls on nature (xing), because the fulfillment of life lies in xing. If the student examines this closely, they will know where to apply effort.

The mind is born through external things and dies through external things; the pivotal mechanism lies in the “eye.”

Fan Min says: When the mind is pulled along by the mechanisms of external things, it becomes a tool of those things; though it seems alive, it is in fact hastening its own death. When the mind is not dragged by the mechanisms of external things but instead makes external things serve the mind, the mind may seem dead yet thereby gains its own vitality. This is what is meant by “neither dying nor living, neither living nor dying.” Yet the path of life and death must be observed through the eye, which watches that mechanism and serves as the bridge and ford for pursuing the Dao. For the mind to work through the eye, one must learn to be as still and unmoving as the dead—this is the most essential work of the highest method.

Yi De (Min Yi De) says: When desire arises because one is stirred by external things, that is “born in things”; when one is enslaved by external things until spirit is drained and decline sets in, that is “dead in things.” That the mind lives and dies because of external things does not mean it inherently has life or death. Whenever one can be aware and watchful while being stirred by external things, one will not fall into the mechanism of death. Only the eye can see this mechanism. Here “eye” means the heavenly eye, located between the eyebrows—not the two physical eyes, but the place where the True One (pure, undivided authenticity) presides. When the eye fixes on the mechanism, though its threads are countless and changes unfathomable, the eye can see its beginning and know its course, see its course and know its beginning, and the mechanism cannot escape. How great is the function of the eye! Hence it is said, “The mind is born in things, dies in things,” and again, “The mechanism is in the eye.” This is to show that one must rely on the True One as master. Whether one succeeds depends entirely on this one mind; therefore what is prized is clarity of mind. Only when the mind is clear can one see true nature; thus in practice the thread running through beginning and end is to illuminate the ground of the mind. Here “eye” is the core of the word “observe” (guan) in the preceding section. The reason the sage uses the eye is to clarify the mind; the intent lies beyond words. If you quietly ponder the text above and below, the main aim will appear of itself.

Heaven seems not to bestow favor, yet great grace (da en) arises from this; thunder and fierce wind likewise stir into motion from it without exception. The nature of supreme joy is abundant and full; the nature of supreme stillness is pure and free of contention. What is most hidden in the world, when put to use, is most impartial.

Fan says: When the two are without gap between them, unbound by worldly desire and disturbance, and do not generate or fabricate along ordinary paths at all, this is called “non-favor” (wu en). When the moment arrives and the pivot (ji) appears, the great medicine (dayao)—the elixir formed in neidan (internal alchemy) practice—is produced. One must then distinguish Ren and Gui (the yang and yin aspects of Water in the heavenly stems), unite Geng with Jia (Metal and Wood), take them into the belly, and return to the Qian body (the purely yang form), thereby attaining longevity—is this not great grace? The merging of Metal and Wood is no more than the blink of a fierce wind; add a single shock from above, and it stirs at once, breaks free of delusion, and innate truth (tianzhen) pours forth—all through that one divine strike. Hence Patriarch Lü’s (Lü Dongbin) line, “In the crash of thunder one finds one’s own root,” stands as proof. The bit of Si earth (si tu—the hidden central earth of the middle palace) present from birth can strike forth a thread of white metal from Dui (the trigram of the west, associated with Metal); though the amount swallowed is small, it suffices to fill the six directions (liuhe). This speck of earth is originally still and clear; it receives only a drop of qingyang (green yang—the first yang qi of the east), settles without contending, its nature pure and slight. The work of this Si earth between the two is invisible and private; yet when I give one shock in the great void and return to true realization, the effect shows in this Si earth between self and other—so it is also called “public” (gong). These four words “supreme” (zhi)—each one is the message of returning to the center (guizhong) and holding the center (shouzhong).

Min Yide said: What is called “ultimate joy” (zhile) is the state when one’s original nature is stirred into activity; what is surplus overflows outward. What is called “ultimate stillness” (zhijing) is the state when one’s original nature is settled; “clear restraint” means turning inward to constrain and measure oneself. When thunder and rain shake and heaven and earth are filled, there is a responsive overflowing of fullness; when sudden thunder and fierce wind arrive, people inevitably compose themselves with solemn respect—hence the need to guard against the fault of extravagant indulgence. “All things without exception stir and move” speaks of this efficacy operating openly among the myriad things; only those who cultivate the Way can, by feeling wind and thunder, receive benefit—this is the portion of heaven’s favor received alone. The arcane principle of this section is just this. Among the summons of sound, nothing is greater than wind and thunder. This section continues the meaning of “good listening” in the passage above; the previous section continues the meaning of “good seeing.” The two sections together speak of the spiritual clarity of seeing and hearing: one can respond to circumstances without obstruction—only then does the function of the next section, “controlling birds” (zhi qin), arise. Fan’s explanation may be adopted in essentials, but one should grasp its intent and practice it within emptiness and stillness; once one clings to outward forms and traces, it is no longer the Great Dao.

“Controlling birds lies in Qi.” (Here “birds” (qin) means subduing and capturing; Qi (qi) is the innate primordial breath. The whole line means: the key to subduing lies in Qi.)

Fan said: This line focuses on Qi—precisely pointing to the wonder of heaven and the human being activating together. What is employed is Qi, not the physical form—like cranes who, by cry alone, can meet and connect with one another. The Qi spoken of here is not the ordinary breath in the body. Without effort to govern and control it, Qi will not come of itself; if one’s Ren and Du channels (the main vessels behind and before the body) are not open and the paths of ascent and descent are blocked, even what is temporarily obtained will be lost—there is no place to attract, gather, or store it. Qi is yang: when a person obtains yang, they live; when yang is lost, they die—in the whole person, immortal and ghost each occupy half. To cultivate this art is precisely to remove yin and increase yang. Yet when spirit is already confused amid worldly splendor and qi is depleted in desire and love, if one does not seize the right moment to subdue and employ the subtle use of mutual induction through Qi, how can one return to the root?

Min Yide said: Fan’s treatment of this section fully deserves the two words “profound explanation” (xuanjie); truly there is nothing to regret. It is only a pity that the character for “contemplation/observation” (guan) in the earlier chapter was not analyzed according to the Hongwu Zhengyun (the Ming official rhyme dictionary).

Min Yide, the commentator on this book, says that Fan’s section here truly deserves the label “profound interpretation” (xuanjie) and is without flaw. It is a pity that in the earlier passage on the character guan (observation), the gloss does not follow the Hongwu Zhengyun (the Ming official rhyme dictionary) in analyzing the components, but instead follows a popular written form of the character—hence talk of “placing two kou (mouth) shapes above zhui.” If one splits the component zhui and looks at it properly, one sees why the line is worded as it is. Zhui (pronounced zhui) is an extremely keen bird that stirs at the slightest touch; therefore jian (seeing/perceiving) is added on the right to inspect its disposition, and Qi (the pre-heaven true Qi spoken of in neidan) restrains it so that it does not notice. When the moment arrives, the two Qis appear; it then craves union and forgets to soar upward. The meaning of guan lies here; its operative force lies in the word Qi. This Qi is the Qi within Kun Yuan (in the Yijing, the earthly virtue-source that receives Heaven and generates the myriad things). This bird is the li bird (linked to the Li trigram and the spirit-mind); it holds true Jing (essence)—that is, the liuzhu (flowing pearl, easily scattered true essence)—and its nature is sharp and responsive. The Cantong qi (Zhouyi Cantongqi, the classic “Kinship of the Three”) says: the sun’s flowing pearl constantly wants to leave the person; suddenly it obtains the refined essence and then turns to cling to it. What is Jinhua (the refined essence of practice)? It too is Qi within Kun Yuan. When the time comes, the Kan marrow (true yang governed by the Kan trigram) rises—that is “rabbit marrow”; Kan and Li meet and turn into white fluid, congealing extremely firm so it no longer scatters—that is what is meant by “control” (zhi). An effect like this is the spontaneous subtle function; the secret lies in hunmu (deep stillness and quiet). The Yijing says: “How great is Kun Yuan! The myriad things rely on it for life; it gently receives Heaven.” That is the marrow of this section—something Fan had not yet seen.

Life is the root of death; death is the root of life. Favor arises from harm, and harm also arises from favor.

Master Fan said: Death is the outcome of following the ordinary course of the Dao; life is what is achieved by working against that course. The ordinary course of the Dao brings birth into the world, yet once the heart sinks into desire, Jing, Qi, and Shen—the body’s essence, breath, and spirit—drain away and one inevitably moves toward death. That is why this kind of “life” is treated as the root of death. The reverse path is what builds the body of cultivation: toward desire the heart is as if dead and no longer pulled along, so Jing, Qi, and Shen can be kept whole and one inevitably reaches true life. That is why this kind of “death” is called the root of life. This is the meaning of Purple Yang (Zhang Boduan)’s line: “Only take the gate of death as the gate of life; do not treat the gate of life as the gate of death.” In short, one uses the reverse path to conceal and store Jing, Qi, and Shen: before the body is dead, one must first learn the practice of making the desiring heart die; only then can one gain life in its fullness.

When dragon and serpent rise from the ground, it is because blood and Qi are nourished and surge upward; when thunder rolls and wind stirs, it is the moment when the moon’s image appears on the elixir platform (the inner site of alchemical work). Hence it is said that favor is born from harm. When treachery piles up within the realm, the time will eventually come when invasion and ruin cannot be avoided; when leaves are thick and blossoms bright, it is the sign that Yin is spent and Yang is turning back. Hence it is said that harm is also born from favor. The next two lines speak precisely of fire phases—the art of knowing when to advance, retreat, and hold still in practice. The pivot where fire timing and “punishment and virtue” (restraint and nurturing) support and transform each other should be read together with that pair.

Min Yide said that in the Five Phases, birth and death are each other’s root, so favor and harm likewise depend on one another and turn into each other. This passage follows the original text in a straightforward exposition; it is meant to open what comes next and to carry forward the idea of “control” (zhi) from the previous section. The crux is to observe the flow of Qi—the moments when vital energy stirs and shifts—and not let it run to excess or lean to one side; when the right moment appears, apply counter-control, and then the approach is fitting. Within this lies the principle of “using harm to complete favor, using death to complete birth.” The deeper meaning of the next section teaches how to begin actual practice. Timing of the fire phases (huohou—the moments to advance or hold back in cultivation) rests on “time” (shi): one examines how sequences of qi depend on and conceal one another. Selection of the “medicines” for practice (caiqu—what is taken and refined in self-cultivation) rests on “things” (wu): one adjusts the imbalance of Yin and Yang within oneself. The efficacy is extremely subtle; the mechanism is endlessly shifting—yet none of it falls outside what this section states. Its aim is this: only one who can fully exhaust nature (jing xing—investigate and fulfill one’s inherent nature) can accomplish and complete fate or life (zhi ming—reach and finish one’s allotted life-root). What follows is entirely doctrine of ming (life cultivation), though “nature” (xing) still presides throughout. Fan’s explanation of this section also has points worth taking up.

“Fools regard the pattern and principle shown by heaven and earth as sagehood; I regard the pattern and principle that appear with time and with things as wisdom.”

Fan said: Yu refers to the female monkey. The “world” of the female monkey—when its qi tally is full—naturally displays a luminous pattern and principle; he takes this as the place where Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) meet and enter the center.

Fan said: Yu refers to the mother monkey—the kind of macaque or rhesus spoken of in antiquity. When heaven and earth in Yu reach fullness of qi allotment, the patterned brilliance of light and texture appears of itself; this is taken as the sign of Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) meeting and entering the center to generate Earth. The “observing heaven and inspecting earth” here is not the worldly learning of reading stars and geomantic texts, but the arcane norm whereby sun and moon have fixed numbers, large and small have fixed measures, and heaven and human activate together. The principle of “seizing divine function and altering the mandate of heaven” lies entirely in this. Therefore those who treat the patterned principles of heaven and earth as sagely are what we call the views of fools. I, on the contrary, rely on the fixed numbers of sun and moon, the fixed measures of large and small, and the timing when signs appear; I employ “spirit that is not spirit”—seemingly ordinary yet truly wondrous—and must work through daoji (seizing the moment when heavenly opportunity stirs and taking it), discovering patterned brilliance that fits the season, so that sageliness aligns with wisdom. Moreover, amid the turmoil of external things enticing and confusing, I let those who take heaven-and-earth pattern as sagely silently turn the qi mechanism—thus the wisdom of the principles of things becomes manifest in me. At that point the patterned principle is in what is most intimate and nearest to a person from morning to night, in the utterly ordinary place—precisely the pivot where sage and ordinary turn. Do not misrecognize it; you should investigate with care.

Min Yide (a Qing-dynasty Daoist, styled Yi De) said: What shows outwardly is called wen (pattern/form); what runs through within is called li (principle). Sages and worthies all understand this clearly. What is called “celestial pattern” (tianwen) refers to the stars; what is called “terrestrial form” (dili) refers to mountains and rivers. Even if one masters astronomical constellations and geomantic orientation, one has only grasped the traces of heaven and earth—not the great Dao of heaven and earth.

“Timing” (shi) speaks of both heaven and the human being together: heaven has fixed seasons; the human body has turning moments of opportunity. Their alternation, concealment, and emergence all have distinct wen and orderly li; practice must not be confused or out of step. The role of timing is immense!

“Things” (wu) is a term relative to “I”—here it means the person. What appears below as form gathers into human culture; what rises above as spirit and qi each has its own order, responding and harmonizing without disorder. The reach of “things” is truly vast!

Those who aspire to the Dao all seek it far off in heaven and earth. They overlook timing and things, yet do not know that the great Dao lies right within timing and things. Qi flows through heaven and earth and can be calculated to match what the eye sees; messages and responses work through timing and things and can be quietly attested to match what the eye does not see. This is the aim of the Scripture of the Hidden Talisman (Yinfu Jing); the plain meaning is just this.

This section points to the great intent by which the Yin and Yang schools each rectify xing (inner nature) and ming (life)—and it holds the subtle rationale of both sides working together from the start.

What is called “foolishness” (yu) refers to the heart of woman. The Zuo Zhuan says: woman is a yang thing, yet her nature is single-minded and still. Therefore one should begin from how the mind is used, merge the celestial and terrestrial wen and li of one’s own body, follow the season to resonate with the zhenyi (True Unity) born from emptiness, and use it to form the shengtai (sacred embryo—the inner elixir body of condensed jing, qi, and shen).

I take wuwei (non-action)—understood as not deliberately fabricating or letting deluded thoughts arise—as my method of practice. Only when the season’s timing and the natural order of things are fully ripe, and the ji (the pivot when change is about to break forth) appears, do I reach utmost emptiness and utmost stillness; then the ji comes of itself to meet me. I then wrap it with zhenyi (single-minded true intent), and only then can the shengtai (sacred embryo—the inner elixir body formed from Jing, Qi, and Shen) be formed. Yu (the counterpart to “I”) is originally without mind, so its ji is easy to resonate with; I am originally full inwardly—without emptiness there is no receiving. That is the principle.

The central purport of the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) is this: Yu and I each occupy one side; each has Qi that penetrates outward, yet that Qi never leaves the self—hence an obscure subtlety that seems to appear yet does not. The Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) and the One Yuan fill the liuhe (the six directions, all under heaven); “that” and “I” can both be cultivated and each reach the realm of emptiness. The Three Powers and the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen) take wuwei as their place of rest. Emptiness meets emptiness; they unite without distinction—yet within, each still holds Yin-Yang; they join and congeal in the void, and transformation arises from this. To describe its wonder, not all the bamboo of the southern hills would suffice.

Add stillness to emptiness, and the intercourse of myriad changes will necessarily flow freely; what is produced will necessarily be full. When the moment is not missed and one receives what comes with emptiness, both sides gain: “that” and “I” each amass jade into mountains and spread gold over the ground within it. This is precisely the function of the passage in the upper section, “Heaven sends forth the killing ji”—the foundation is established in that passage. The sage embraces men and women and saves universally; hence there is the practice in the next section, opening another path. The oral formulas are extremely abstruse, yet their use is utterly plain and close at hand. Through the ages few who read this jing have truly understood, because there was no master’s oral transmission. Yide (Min Yide, the author’s name for himself), having privately grasped the master’s intent, has spoken out the entire arcane purport; may those who see this encourage one another.

People measure the sage with foolishness—I do not measure the sage with foolishness. People expect wonders from the sage—I do not expect wonders from the sage. To sink into water or throw oneself into fire is to seek one’s own destruction.

Fan says: What is meant by “yu” (foolishness) is not knowing and not recognizing, muddled and unclear—it means that in cultivation one’s outward bearing should resemble a fool. What is meant by “yu” (caution/vigilance) is fear that others will detect what one is doing; here “mouth” (kou) is also used as a metaphor for one’s zhonggong—the central palace in neidan, the place in the middle of the body where qi converges and interacts. What is meant by “sheng” (sagely) is that it is not the same as ordinary approaches; hence the phrase “yi yu yu sheng”—using a dull exterior and careful concealment to guard this extraordinary sagely achievement.

I understand it thus: the cosmos is as if held in the palm of one’s hand; myriad transformations arise from the body. Kan and Li intercourse (water and fire joining), metal and wood unite—sagely work is produced thereby, spirit and clarity manifest thereby—all as spontaneous, natural activity. Again “mouth” stands for my zhonggong. The sagely differs from the common Way, so it is called “yi yu yu sheng”; yet these things belong originally to the Way of natural non-action (wuwei), so it is also said “bu yu yu sheng” (not foolish-cautious-sagely in the contrived sense). This is the secret purport of the three characters “yu, yu, sheng.”

Min Yide, the commentator of this book, says that Fan’s reading of the scripture goes wrong mainly because he treats the work as written only for men, and because he fixates on splitting characters apart. Without oral transmission he relies on his own cleverness—even mistaking yuan (primordial origin) for yi (the One)—and wears himself out until he lands on side paths (routes that diverge from the main Way). It is better to take the wording at face value; the sense then opens by itself.

Yu here means to measure and fathom. Sheng means thorough penetration and clear understanding. Yu in the sense of “fool” means holding still and settled like a simpleton—yet not truly stupid. Qi means effects that look wondrous and uncanny. The sage’s Way comes from ziran (naturalness, spontaneity); it is not about chasing the bizarre. Forced artifice is self-destruction. This passage is meant to lead into the word ziran below: it looks plain on the surface, while the hidden intent runs very deep.

In the age of the Yellow Emperor people spoke of Dao alone, not yet of dan (Neidan, internal alchemy). Later doctrines multiply, but they never really leave the pair body and mind. This section breaks from the last into a new plane: the subtle art of holding the myriad within “the One,” the great Way on which self and other succeed together—yet nothing here is manufactured, which is why the text soon names ziran. Practice starts from jing (stillness); through utmost stillness and utmost emptiness one can employ the qiqi (wondrous vessel, another name for true unity)—that is real accomplishment, until one “shatters the void” (breaks even emptiness itself) and the work is complete. The scripture still holds something back and does not say everything outright.

The deeper meaning of this passage must be opened through the orally transmitted formulas that Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin) sealed and passed down. The previous section gave the entry rule: breathe by breathe, in quiet inquiry into season, things, and inner pattern, divine operation shows within sun, moon, great and small. Here sun, moon, great and small, time, things, and pattern are all set aside: the three powers (Heaven, Earth, and Human) are folded into one—head touching Heaven, feet on Earth, made into a single body; animals, plants, and every living being share the Way as companions. Within one’s own nature everything is already complete, suspended like a single pellet.

When advancing fire and withdrawing the talisman phase (the advance and retreat of huohou, alchemical timing), the body crouses on the pellet’s apex to watch the fire tokens—this is the work of expanding and mending Yinge (the boundary that guards the cinnabar body). When huohou is sufficient, the body enters the pellet, gathers and nourishes: primordial shen (pre-heaven spirit) rests, and quietly holds Yinge. Then ears and eyes take in nothing; outwardly one seems foolish—yet only when great wisdom looks like foolishness does one enter sagehood; Heaven and Earth turn and reverse, inner scenes look strange—yet only when one knows that jiaotai (the mutual harmony of Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang) does not depend on strangeness does one become a sage.

The operation in the earlier section means true yuan scattered through the three powers, used to expand and repair this one Yinge of mine—only auxiliaries to my “true unity,” not yet the same as my inborn true unity—somewhat like amassing bodily sharira (relic-pearls) in Buddhist practice. The qiqi at the end is another name for true unity, with great function. All of this belongs to natural ultimate principle. The closing states plainly: what fails to accord with ziran falls to side paths, burned in fire or drowned in water. That is the aim of the holy scripture.

The Way of nature is inherently clear and quiet, and that is why heaven, earth, and the myriad things can come into being. The Way of heaven and earth works through gradual soaking and accumulation, so that Yin and Yang can take turns prevailing. Yin and Yang push and press against each other, and transformation proceeds along with that.

What Fan Chenshui describes is exactly this meaning. The aim of the sacred classics and scriptures is the same.

Fan explains: “The Way of nature is quiet” refers to the undifferentiated original body of pre-heaven Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). When stillness reaches its extreme, movement arises, and heaven and earth are produced; these two great measures—the pair of measures—interact and further give birth to the ten thousand things. This speaks of pre-heaven’s accord with the seasons and natural generation and nurturing. Meanwhile the qi mechanism of Yin-Yang and heaven and earth flows and circulates without cease, seeping in gradually; when the tally is full and the moment arrives, Yin and Yang prevail over each other in turn and flare up. The practitioner then follows that momentum, pushing and stirring so that change goes smoothly, and both persons and things complete their lives. This speaks of the post-heaven qi mechanism aligning with celestial timing. What is meant by following celestial timing is to discern the moment when heaven and human activate together, the moment when the time is right to gather and receive, and the moments of the waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness of sun and moon. All these “times” are precisely the root source of huohou—the measure of advance, retreat, stillness, and movement in cultivation.

Yi De (Min Yide) said: “Jin” (infusion) means mutual seeping and permeation—yin within yang and yang within yin, hence “yin and yang mutually prevailing.” Fan’s commentary on this section fits the subtlety of the Great Dao well. Yet one must also know: apply effort while there is still “something”; when there is nothing, go further until even in nothingness it is as if something remained. The hidden meaning in this reversal can only be grasped inwardly, not put fully into words. In all of it, “profound emptiness and stillness” (xu ji jing du) is the root. Emptiness pushed to the extreme leaves no obstruction—you are not bound by post-heaven form-qi and mind-intent, yet you can still use the Dao to refine and fuse, returning them to emptiness. First emptiness, then stillness; in stillness the inner is clear and bright. When ji (the moment qi stirs) arrives, you will surely notice it and not fall into dullness; actions fit the occasion and you avoid acting against the right time. At that very moment, the showing of ji may be pre-heaven (xiantian) or post-heaven (houtian); some should be welcomed, some set aside. Advance fire when you should advance; withdraw the tally (tuifu) when you should withdraw. Though this follows nature, it still depends on intentional transformation—sometimes restraining, sometimes lifting; sometimes soft, sometimes hard; sometimes slow, sometimes fast; sometimes penetrating, sometimes hidden. Change arises here; the sage’s work appears here. My predecessor Master Taixu spoke of withdrawing the tally in the same way: though it comes from nature, it still relies on intentional operation—restraining and lifting, soft and hard, slow and fast, penetrating and hidden each in its place—and change and the sage’s work both emerge from this.

Master Taixu said: The saying “the sage transmits the medicine but not the fire” does not mean withholding instruction in huohou—the art in Neidan (internal alchemy) of sensing the right moment and adjusting the “fire” of practice—but that huohou must arise in step with the seasons and be applied when the moment is ripe; it cannot be copied from a fixed pattern. The highest dharma is passed through heart-to-heart resonance; the middle way requires oral transmission; the lowest relies on written words, because that path is cumbersome. The Yinfu Jing is written in yunzhuan—the mysterious seal script of Daoist tradition—and spans more than ten feet in length; it was obtained by the Yellow Emperor at the Heaven Altar on Mount Kongtong. Even one as sage as the Yellow Emperor still had to grasp it through question and answer. The editions honored in the world are roughly the text the Yellow Emperor handed down in his own hand; though it exists as writing, its subtle intent still lies in transmission beyond words. Settle the mind and enter it—in that opening line of this section, the highest teaching of the scripture is already disclosed. Laozi also said: “Humans follow earth, earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Dao, and the Dao follows ziran (naturalness/spontaneity).” In the first line of this section, the Yellow Emperor has already revealed the aim: to establish yourself in the place before your parents were born, before heaven and earth appeared, before creation showed any sign. Understand entry through ziran, and every bit returns to the root; every affair accords with the Dao. It is also said: the previous section both fully embraced and fully cleared away the size of sun and moon, the seasons, things, and their patterns; this section hides within yin-yang transformation the meaning of “knowing the time”—that is what one must grasp most. The previous section’s aim was to warn people not to cling to outward form; this book’s aim is to warn people not to miss the moment. My teacher Niwan shi said that certain subtleties are fit for oral transmission—he meant truths of this kind.

Min Yide (Yide) notes carefully: In this section, the character in current ancient and modern editions is written as tui (push). Going by the Yijing line “the firm and yielding mutually push (gang rou xiang tui),” the word would seem to be tui. At Taiwei Luyuan (the Daoist academy for transmitting precepts), the Vinaya master Yunyin possessed ritual objects secretly handed down by the national preceptor Wang Kunyang (Wang Changyue). These items had been passed from master to master since Patriarch Qiu (Qiu Chuji)—robes and bowl, scrolls, ruyi scepter, scripture staff, and the like. Among them was Kongdong Wenda (Questions and Answers at Kongtong), bearing an imperial inscription and seal of Emperor Taizong of Song, called a treasured edition of Chen Xiyi (Chen Tuan), and preserving a precept-transmission verse (chuan jie ji) in the hand of Patriarch Wang of Chongyang (Wang Chongyang). That book is a pre–Song–Yuan antique; the character there is definitely cui (overthrow/destroy). So cui here has a basis and is not a slip of the pen. Again, the Yijing line “dragons battle in the field; their blood is dark yellow” (long zhan yu ye, qi xue xuan huang) already carries the sense of mutual overthrow (cui); therefore Min Yide keeps cui as in the authoritative copy. In the earlier section, the phrase “know it and cultivate it” (zhi zhi xiu zhi) appears as “cultivate and refine” (xiu lian) in other editions; only the Lü text in the Vinaya collection has xiu zhi, which is more archaic in grammar. Fan’s copy evidently came from the Vinaya lineage (the precept tradition within Quanzhen), so the whole scripture’s chapters, paragraphs, and wording follow the authoritative text and not other editions’ section titles—readers should judge for themselves.

Therefore the sage knows that the natural Dao cannot be violated, and so accords with it while applying restraint. The Dao of supreme stillness cannot be matched by pitch pipes and the calendar. Hence there are qiqi (marvelous vessels): the ten thousand things arise from them. The hidden workings lodged in the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and the sexagenary cycle (jiazi) lie concealed; the methods by which Yin and Yang overcome each other are already plainly displayed in the images of things.

Fan said: The way of nature is precisely the accomplishment of the three-part practice of fetal breathing (taixi). So-called fetal breathing is not what worldly people mean by fixing the mind in the Dantian (energy center) and forcibly pulling the Heavenly Cart (He Che); rather, one first performs the union of Heaven and Earth, then harmonizes Kan (Water) and Li (Fire), and finally applies the subtle point of returning to the center. This imitates the state of a person in the mother’s womb, opening the Ren and Du channels so that ascent and descent circulate freely, thereby assisting generation and transformation. In the method, one invariably takes the character formed from “ten mouths” plus the reverse “wen” component, so that Yang Qi descends—hence the expression “therefore” (shigu). In former times, those who became sages or ascended to perfection all came by this path; therefore a kind of Wuwei (non-action), unmoving practice was established as the most fitting and unalterable rule. This is not something that can be matched by reckoning with calendrical numbers and numerology; hence there is the use of the extraordinary vessel (qiqi). This vessel is truly the source of the Dao, the root of Qi (vital energy), the foundation of the myriad transformations, and the ancestor of the Yin Talisman (Yinfu). The sage borrows it as the pivot for initiating practice: relying on it, one can carry out “killing” and “stealing”; one can steal the marvel of “the spirit that is not spirit”; and effects can appear at once. The circulation of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), the sexagenary cycle (Jiazi), and water-and-metal can all be reversed through it; when Heaven and humanity move together, spirits come to meet while ghosts hide—all by virtue of its function. This instrument is the art of Yin-Yang overcoming each other. Once it is applied, one is sure to obtain the Yang of the hidden “knife-point” measure (daoge) mentioned in the text, so the signs are clear. When the vessel is spoken of in the final chapter, it again indicates that one uses this extraordinary vessel only at the very end. People take it to be the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin), the furnace and cauldron, the Dantian, the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), and so on—all of which are incorrect. It is the form described in phrases such as “round three-five, one inch one division, mouth four-eight, two-inch lips, length one foot two, thickness and thinness equal” in the Cantong qi (Zhouyi Cantong qi). Here the word “vessel” (qi) conceals the secret of mouth facing mouth and aperture facing aperture; the word “advance” (jin) further marks the place where this extraordinary vessel is used. When practice reaches the stage of employing the extraordinary vessel, nothing fails to obtain the “one” whereby all affairs are completed. Alas—the holy canon is before one’s eyes, the subtle formula rests in the heart, and creation is already complete in itself; why willingly abandon it and not know that this is the urgent task? Strive on, strive on!

Min Yide said that interpreting the character for “qi” (vessel or instrument) in that way does not connect with the surrounding passage and is not a correct reading. Some cite the Cantong qi (the Zhouyi Cantong qi, the classic of internal alchemy attributed to Wei Boyang of the Eastern Han), treating “qiqi” (the extraordinary vessel) as a physical object with a definite shape—that is to fall into the skewed views of commentators and is even less to be followed. Only the Yunyang daoren’s commentary on lines such as “yuan san wu” (round three-five) by means of the Hetu and Luoshu (the two ancient diagrams of cosmic generation and numerical cosmology) is most precise. If one also uses the Hetu and Luoshu to explain this “qi,” one comes close to the correct path.

What lies above form is called the Dao; what has taken form is called qi. Here, qi is the image (xiang) through which the Dao appears. This word qi should be read as the Dao, and can also be understood as a “measure” (liang). Ordinary vessels have material form, size, inside and outside, and a point at which they are full; this vessel has no material form, no size, no inside or outside, and no end—hence it is called the extraordinary vessel (qiqi). It embraces heaven and earth and completes the myriad things in their curvature, and therefore is named qi; heaven and earth are truly generated from it, and the myriad things issue from it, so it is said that “from this the myriad things are born.” As function it is called qi; as substance it is the Dao—that is, the Dao of nature (ziran zhi Dao). The Dao of nature is still. Calendrical astronomy can measure the movement of the postnatal realm but cannot accord with the stillness of the prenatal; what the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) and the jiazi cycle calculate is likewise only this postnatal movement.