《古文参同契集解》Vol. 5

Can the principle of creation and transformation not be sought from here?

Names are used to fix what is meant by qing (emotion/desire), and words are used to explain xing (innate nature). Only when metal returns to the original root of xing can it be called Huandan (the elixir that returns to the source). I dare not speak groundlessly; I only follow the wording of the sages. Ancient books take the dragon and tiger as their theme; the Yellow Emperor praised jinhua (golden flower); Huainan refined qiushi (autumn stone); Yuyang commended huangya (yellow sprout)—all of these are alternate names within the elixir path. The worthy can hold to them and practice; the unworthy cannot walk the same road. The Way of past and present is one path; face to face, one can speak of what is sought. Those who study the Way must strive all the more and keep these words in mind for deep reflection. The most essential meaning has already been stated plainly and clearly; it will not deceive us.

Zhenyi zi Peng Xiao said: Metal refers to qing, water refers to xing. Once metal has produced shuiyin (liquid mercury), qing has returned to xing. Moreover, metal is born from within water; water is the child of metal. The child is born again from metal, so water in turn becomes the mother of metal—hence the name Huandan. When the text above says the mother hides in the child’s womb and the child is concealed in the mother’s chamber, it means exactly this. What Master Xu said is largely not false: he uses the hexagrams of the Yi (Book of Changes) and the ancient Longhu Jing (Scripture of Dragon and Tiger) to discuss the matter, and praises the ancient perfected sages such as the Yellow Emperor, Huainan, and Yuyang as able to hold to and practice it. Past and present share one gate; it is not something the unworthy can reach. Therefore he admonishes those who come after to ponder with care: the crucial words are already fully revealed, clear and plain, and will not deceive us.

Baoyi zi Chen Xianwei said: Here the text explains why Huandan is called Huandan. Huan (return) is spoken with regard to qing; dan (elixir) is spoken with regard to xing. “Metal comes back to the root of xing” means that the Golden Duke (a hidden name in elixir texts for lead or true lead) was originally produced by my xing; now it is made to meet the mother again, return to the beginning, and pair with the Radiant Maiden (a hidden name for mercury or true mercury) to form the infant (the elixir embryo born of their union)—hence it is called Huandan. Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) has a poem: “The Golden Duke was originally the son of the eastern house, sent to be fostered in the western neighbor; once recognized, call him home to be nourished, and give him in marriage to the Radiant Maiden to form a kinship.” That is precisely this. Though names differ in ancient and modern times, it is in fact the same Way.

Chen Zhixu of Shangyangzi said: Metal and Water together are called qing (the affective aspect), while Wood and Fire together are called xing (nature). Qing resides in the northwest, and xing governs the southeast; the southeast is called “self,” and the northwest is called “other.” The qing of Metal and Water naturally comes from outside to restrain Wood and Fire, while the xing of Wood and Fire turns inward and returns, thereby forming the Golden Elixir. This is what is meant by “when Metal returns to the beginning of nature, it may then be called Returning Elixir (Huandan).” These two lines are the marrow of the Cantong Qi. I dare not speak at random; I only follow the phrasing of the sages. Master Xu received the true transmission and essential method from Boyang (Wei Boyang), cultivated according to the law until the elixir was complete, and only then wrote this book to instruct those who came after. He also recounts in order: the elixir that the Yellow Emperor refined was named Jinhua (Golden Flower); the elixir that the King of Huainan refined was named Qiushi (Autumn Stone); the elixir that Yuyang refined was named Huangya (Yellow Sprout). After the elixir was achieved they were able to ascend in flight; each established a separate name, yet none of them was anything other than this Returning Elixir, none other than the primordial single Qi (the original breath), none other than substances of the same kind. Later people hear “Golden Flower” and guess it means the five metals; hear “Yellow Sprout” and guess the eight minerals; hear “Autumn Stone” and guess excrement and urine—how could they know that the ancient sages and worthies only chose names as expedient labels, and that the elixir they refined could not follow some path outside Yin-Yang? On this Way only sages can cultivate with diligence; from antiquity to the present there is only this one path. The great sages of the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) must use substances of the same kind before they can apply their skill. Therefore it is said that the Way of past and present all proceeds from this single track, and what is sought in conversation is also this. Apart from this one path there is no other technique. Those who come later should reflect deeply and seek instruction from a clear-eyed master; then they will know that this book has stated everything plainly and does not deceive us.

Yu Yan, Master Quanyang (a Yuan-dynasty scholar of Daoism), said: The Fu Ming Pian (chapter on “Returning to Life”) explains that when one thing divides into two aspects, each aspect receives a name—Metal and Wood. Metal and Wood are not two separate substances: call it Metal and Wood serves as its designation; from the Wood side it is xing (nature), from the Metal side it is qing (emotion/feeling)—yet it remains one and the same thing.

Jin Gong (in neidan, a metaphor for true Yang) is originally the son of the eastern house; sent to dwell in the western neighbor’s form to be born, at that stage it cannot yet be called huandan (return elixir). Only when it is poured into the furnace of creation in the eastern Yang and returns home to meet Qing E (a metaphor for true Yin), giving birth to a pearl round as the full moon, may it be called huandan (elixir that returns to the source). Another reading holds that in utter stillness without movement, qing returns to xing—hence the name huandan; that too is a valid meaning.

The essentials of huandan are fully set forth here. In ancient books, “dragon and tiger,” the Yellow Emperor’s jinhua (golden flower), Huainan’s qiushi (autumn stone), and Yuyang’s huangya (yellow sprout) are all borrowed names pointing at this one meaning. The Cantong qi is not empty invention or arbitrary fancy; it likewise follows the ancients’ habit of lodging deep meaning in hidden, allusive language.

The Fu Ming Pian says: this Way is supremely sacred and must not be lightly disclosed. Cultivation depends entirely on de (virtue/power); levity and frivolity must be strictly avoided. From this we see that regarding the Dao, one neither wishes it to die out nor wishes it passed to the wrong person.

“Gain this one root, and the myriad affairs are complete”—that saying is truly trustworthy. Under heaven there are not two Ways; sages do not have two hearts. Whatever the myriad volumes of immortal scriptures say converges on the same point: the golden elixir is the root teaching. Students who ponder this book again and again, once mind and meaning unite, will know that these most crucial words have already been spoken with perfect clarity, without the slightest concealment.

Postface

The Cantong qi uses few words yet its principle is vast; its language is subtle and its purport far-reaching. It cites the Five Emperors to explain how to establish the work, and aligns them with the Three Sovereigns to explain how to set up governance. If the gradations of ruler and minister slip even slightly, or upper and lower miss by a hair’s breadth, the meaning is obscured and no longer clear.

The Cantong Qi (a classic that joins the principles of the Yijing with the way of the elixir) uses few words yet expounds a vast teaching; its language is subtle while its intent runs deep. It recounts how the Five Emperors of antiquity established their achievements and how the Three Sovereigns of an earlier age set up their governance: if the names and ranks of ruler and minister are confused and there is no standard above and below, rule by such means cannot bring great peace; to follow only the method of ingesting the compounded elixir cannot confer long life, and to study nurturing the nature alone cannot extend the years. As for one who can analyze yin and yang and make the finest “ounces and grains” tally, discern the moon’s waxing and waning and the images formed by the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), understand the “male and female” transforming and generating (the image of yin and yang mutually begetting each other) together with rigidity and yielding, stillness and movement, and distinguish them as finely as telling rice from salt, then corroborate all this with the Yijing—only then is the intent truly forceful and complete. For this reason commentaries were written on it to pass it to later worthies. Whoever penetrates its great images (the overall symbolic teaching) is sure to attain long life, strengthen the body, and benefit one’s physical being. Those who practice this way should apply themselves with extra care.

Baopuzi Inner and Outer Chapters, juan 3 (lower fascicle).

Imperially commissioned Siku Quanshu, Subsection 14 of the Masters section, Daoist category: summary notice for Baopuzi Neiwaipian.

Your servants respectfully report: Baopuzi Neiwaipian in eight juan, compiled by Ge Hong of the Jin dynasty. Ge Hong, courtesy name Zhichuan, was a native of Jurong in Danyang. Deeply devoted to arcane arts (that is, esoteric practices and the arts of immortals and formulas), he heard that ingesting cinnabar could prolong life and therefore requested appointment as magistrate of Goule; he later withdrew to Mount Luofu to refine elixirs. His writings expound the methods of guiding and nurturing life (daoyin, breath regulation, and preserving life) and the “yellow and white” arts (external alchemy for smelting gold and silver). He styled himself Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi), and the book takes that name. In his own preface he states twenty juan for the inner chapters and fifty for the outer; yet the Sui shu, Tang shu, Tong zhi, and Tong kao record differing juan counts, likely because copies were split or merged in transmission. Chao Gongwu says the Jin shu records one hundred sixteen pian in the inner and outer sections combined, while only forty pian circulate today. Chen Zhensun also notes that the palace library catalogue lists fifty juan for the outer chapters, which he himself never saw. When the pian titles preserved in the Yongle dadian are checked against the present edition, eight pian including Dansha fa are already missing—showing that complete Song–Yuan copies were already rare. This edition was printed by Lu Shunzhi of Wucheng in the Ming, after collating a Song copy he obtained with two Daoist canon copies from the princely household; it is less defective than other versions. Its listed pian count matches the juan count in Ge Hong’s preface, so at the time Hong apparently treated roughly one pian as one juan. Only Chao’s figure of one hundred sixteen pian has no clear basis. The outer chapters discuss the gains and losses of current policy and the good and bad in human affairs, with wide citation and indirect argument, and contain substantial reasoning; the inner chapters treat immortals, tuna (breath regulation), and fulu (talismans and registers). Some earlier Confucian scholars dismissed the work as absurd and unsound, yet its argument is learned and its diction rich—it is genuinely not something post–Six Dynasties writers could have produced, and it should not be discarded wholesale simply because it belongs to Daoist discourse. Respectfully submitted for collation, eleventh month, forty-fifth year of the Qianlong reign.

Chief compilers: Ji Yun, Lu Xiong, Sun Shiyi. Chief collator: Lu Feichi.

I, Ge Hong, am of ordinary talent and possess no exceptional gifts; I merely happen to take delight in the quiet path of Wuwei (non-action). Even if I could spread my wings and soar straight to the heights, or stride and keep pace with wind and shadow, I would still wish to fold strong wings among flocks of wren-sized birds and hide outstanding tracks among lame donkeys and the like. How much more so when Heaven and Earth have granted me only common, short feathers, and Creation has given me feet that are feeble and halting. Those who know their measure see clearly: what cannot be done should be abandoned. How then could I, like a fly, envy the vault of the sky, or drive a lame tortoise to follow the trail of the flying hare, adorn the ugliness of Mogujiang and ask a matchmaker to praise her beauty, or take worthless gravel to a jade market and demand a thousand in gold?

To match Kuafu’s stride with the tiny steps of the dwarf Jiaoyao is why men of Yue stumble and fall; to bear the weight of lifting a tripod on the frame of the slight Yaoli is why men of Qin break their backs. Therefore I have cut off hope on the road of rank and splendor and am content to dwell in poverty and obscurity. Coarse greens and wild herbs can taste as sweet as the eight delicacies; a hut of rushes can hold the joy of painted beams and carved rafters. Even when a great house stands within a stone’s throw, I do not go to fawn upon it; when one who understands the Way is far away on a hard road, I am sure to go to him.

The strange books I have examined and read are already many; most are written in hidden language and are not easily understood at a glance. Unless one studies to the utmost, one cannot probe them; unless one truly practices, one cannot fully see them. Among Daoist practitioners, those broad in learning and hearing are few; those who rely on their own opinions, assert things arbitrarily, and explain them wrongly are many. Often someone eager to cultivate and act does not know whom to follow in haste, and has nowhere to put a doubt in the heart. Now in writing this book I only sketch in rough the principle of changsheng—the pursuit of extended life and transcendence in the Daoist tradition; what is most subtle cannot be put into brush and ink. Still, I set out the general outline and open one aspect, in the hope that those whose minds seek clarity may, on reading, grasp more than half. This is not to say that the dull and closed will surely exhaust the subtle and reach the deep by this means; I speak only of what ought to be brought up first.

Worldly Confucian scholars know only to follow the Duke of Zhou and Confucius; bound by that, they all die in the end. They do not believe in the matter of immortals and call such talk deceit and delusion. When they see this book of mine, they will not only laugh loudly but also slander the true principle. Therefore I do not make it conform to the vulgar world, nor do I count it among the sections of my other philosophical writings; I compose it separately, entitled the Neipian (Inner Chapters), twenty scrolls in all, arranged in its own order apart from the Waipian (Outer Chapters). Though it is not enough to store in a famous mountain stone chamber, I still wish to seal it in a golden cabinet and show it to those who can recognize it; those with whom one cannot speak, one does not let see it. What matters is that later generations who love changsheng may use it to undo confusion—how could that mean seeking trust from those who do not believe?

Respectfully prefaced by Ge Hong, Zhichuan.

Ge Hong (an Eastern Jin scholar of Daoism who styled himself Baopuzi) said: Xuan—the deep, unfathomable source spoken of in the Daoist tradition—is the ancestor of nature and the root of all things and kinds. Because it is unfathomable, it is called “subtle”; because it extends beyond all bounds, it is called “wondrous.” It is high enough to cover the nine heavens, broad enough to shelter the eight directions. Its brilliance surpasses sun and moon; its speed surpasses lightning. At times it flashes past like a shadow at noon; at times it drifts away like a shooting star; at times it rests deep and still like clear water in an abyss; at times it billows lightly like rising cloud-vapor. It follows the first signs of things to appear as “being,” yet lodges in silence to become “non-being.” It can sink into the darkest depth, or ascend above the Pole Star. Neither metal nor stone outmatch its hardness; neither pure dew outmatch its softness. It is square without the carpenter’s square, round without the compass. No one sees it come; no one catches it going. Heaven relies on it to be high, earth on it to be low, clouds on it to move, rain on it to fall. It nurtures the Primordial One (Yuanyi), casts the Two Modes (Liangyi—Yin-Yang and Heaven-Earth), breathes the Grand Beginning (Taichu), smelts the myriad kinds of things, turns the four seasons and the seven luminaries (sun, moon, and five planets), opens the world at the first chaos, and holds the subtle pivot. It blows forth the qi of the four seasons, holds empty stillness within, eases what is blocked, presses down the turbid and lifts the clear—harmonizing the myriad things as if adjusting the Yellow River and the Wei. Add to it and it does not overflow; take from it and it is never exhausted; give to it and one does not thereby gain glory; strip it and one does not thereby fall to ruin. Where Xuan dwells, joy has no end; when Xuan departs, the body decays and spirit fades.

The five tones and eight sounds, and the plaintive modes of clear shang and flowing zhi, can harm the ear; bright colors and dazzling splendor can harm the eye; ease, pleasure, fine wine and rich brew can disturb one’s nature; seductive looks and rouge can damage life. Only the Way of Xuan can last. Those who do not understand the Way of Xuan may, in the blink of an eye, hold life and death in their hands, and with a word on their lips sway rise and fall; their lofty terraces may reach the clouds, painted eaves may crisscross in splendor; silk curtains may gather like mist, gauze hangings part like clouds; Xishi and Maoqiang may attend the quiet chamber; gold cups may pass hand to hand; clear strings may clamor in chorus, Zheng dances whirl in grace; mournful pipes may pierce the clouds; feathered canopies may float on rippling water—they may pick flowers in orchid parks and fondle crimson blooms in pearl-heaped pools; gazing from a height they forget a hundred cares, looking down into deep water they forget morning hunger; entering the palace they see a thousand gates ablaze with glory, leaving they ride vermilion wheels and splendid chariots. Yet when joy reaches its peak, sorrow gathers; when fullness reaches its peak, loss is sure. So when the song ends there is sighing; when the feast breaks up, the heart grieves. This is what things themselves bring—like shadow following form, echo answering sound. All of this is temporary borrowing, not truly enduring possession; when it passes, something always seems lost.

The Way of Xuan: those who obtain it keep it within; those who lose it are cast outward. Those who can use it have spirit bright and clear; those who forget it are left with nothing but bodily form. This is the essential teaching of Xuan. To obtain it is to be honored without relying on the awe of the yellow battle-axe (symbol of royal authority); to grasp it is to be rich without relying on rare goods. It cannot be climbed to; it cannot be fathomed. One who has attained the Dao rides flowing light, drives fleeting shadows, crosses the six voids (above, below, and the four directions), pierces boundless vastness, goes out beyond the highest height, enters below the lowest depth, passes the gate of boundless expanse, and roams the far, dim wilds—wandering in trance, lingering beyond the almost-seen, swallowing the nine splendors (essence-light of sun, moon, and stars) amid clouds, chewing the six qi (pure breaths of heaven, earth, and the four seasons) in cinnabar mist, drifting in obscurity, soaring in the barely perceptible, treading the bent rainbow and stepping on the turning pivot (the handle of the Dipper, standing for celestial motion). Such a one truly possesses Xuan.

Next are those who are truly content. Content, they can withdraw and not serve; in mountains and forests they nourish themselves and gather in their own radiance. They fold the wings of phoenix and dragon into the ranks of tiny creatures and cultivate vast qi (vital energy) in humble thatched doors. In ragged clothes with rope for a belt, they would not trade for the glory of dragon-pattern robes; leaning on a staff they walk, and would not trade for carriages in endless file. They hide the night-shining jade in a cavern on Mount Song, unwilling to let stones from other hills polish it; they sink scales and armor in the dark abyss, to avoid the disaster of drilling and burning (divination by scorching shells—a figure for being used and harmed). In motion and rest they know where to stop; nowhere are they lacking. They cast off the brilliant glory of court, avoid the road where the cart overturns. They chant among green-dark cliffs and see the myriad things as dust; they are gentle beneath lush branches and treat vermilion gates and great houses as rope-hinged hovels. With plow and hoe they till broad fields and treat command tally and seal as a horsewhip; sipping tea and rinsing with spring water, they take the grand sacrificial feast (ta lao—all of ox, sheep, and pig) to be the same as coarse greens. In the ground of wuwei (non-action) they rest in more than enough joy; in the place of non-contention they gladly treat high and low as equal. They keep simplicity, hold to the plain, without desire and without worry, preserving true nature and emptying the vessel of use, at ease in the bland. Broad-hearted and open, they are of one substance with self-so nature; vast in bearing, they match the talisman of creation. Dark yet truly bright, turbid yet truly clear; seeming slow yet truly quick, seeming diminished yet truly full. Would they abandon the mat of the invoker at sacrifice, leave the master craftsman’s place, step over the ritual vessels of the feast to replace an unskilled cook, or drop the line and square to help a craftsman who hurts his hand? They do not take the petty gains and losses of stinking rats as the joys and sorrows of common folk; calmly they do not delight in vulgar praise, calmly they do not fear unanimous slander. They let no outer thing disturb the utmost refined heart, let no benefit or harm stain pure nature. Thus extreme wealth and rank cannot entice them, flattery cannot please them; sharp blades and boiling cauldrons cannot coerce them, slander cannot make them grieve. Amid the crowd’s turmoil they often form no intent; never do they mix with outer things.

As for using the pearl of Sui to shoot sparrows, licking the King of Qin’s hemorrhoids to win carriage and retinue, climbing rotten rope to rob a nest, swimming the dangerous currents of Lüliang to catch fish—morning still playing the lord, by evening reduced to scraps for fox and bird, beams broken and tripod overturned, sunk and capsized never to rise again: these are what worldly people run after and strive for, yet what the person of thorough understanding finds chilling and mournful.

Therefore the perfected person (zhiren—one of highest attainment) is silent and does not display the elegance of Shao and Xia (ancient refined music), gathers in ornament and pattern, and in the ruins of the five walled cities raises the six feathers to fly—yet need not rely on holding reeds in the bill for self-defense; they hide scales and horns in unused places and need not depend on winding caves for protection. Below, there is none of the owl’s arrogant cry; above, none of the regret of climbing to the utmost peak. People cannot know them. How remote they are!

Someone asked: Can we really believe that immortals live forever without dying? Baopuzi answered: Even with the keenest eyesight, one cannot see everything that has form; even with the sharpest hearing, one cannot hear everything that makes sound. Even with the wisdom of Yu the Great, Boyi, or Qi Huan, what is known is far less than what is unknown. The myriad things are manifold—what does not exist? Records of immortals fill the bamboo slips; how could the way of long life not exist?

The questioner laughed and said: Where there is a beginning, there must be an end; where there is existence, there must be perishing. Sages such as the Three Sovereigns, the Five Emperors, Confucius, and the Duke of Zhou; strategists such as Hou Yi, Yang Youji, Zhang Liang, and Chen Ping; debaters such as Duanmu Ci, Yan Ying, Sui He, and Li Yishi; warriors such as Meng Ben, Xia Yu, and Wuding—all died. That is the common rule among humans, the great end that must come. We only hear of plants that wither before frost, fade in midsummer, put forth ears but never bloom, or shrivel before bearing fruit; we never hear of anyone enjoying ten thousand years of life, gazing long without ceasing. So the ancients, in their learning, did not seek to become immortals; in speech they did not discuss strange powers or spirits; they blocked heterodox paths and held to natural principle. They treated tortoises and cranes as creatures of another kind and viewed birth and death as brief as morning and evening. To constrain oneself painfully in useless pursuit is like carving ice or working rotten wood—it cannot succeed. Better to deploy lofty plans that set the world right, draw down the age’s great blessings, let purple and green cords of high office wind again and again, let the black ox (sacrificial victim) stand like a dragon, ride splendid carriages instead of walking, and feast from the cauldron instead of tilling with a hoe—is that not far better? When one thinks of the Shi Jing ode Fu Tian and its mockery of the impractical, and weighs Confucius’s clear proof that “all men must die,” there is no need to grasp wind that cannot be held or shadows that cannot be caught, to seek what cannot be obtained or walk roads that cannot be reached. To cast off glory for hardship and abandon what is easy for what is hardest is like losing a person yet chasing a wandering woman—you will fail on both counts. To believe on prejudice alone only hastens inner and outer disaster. Gongshu Ban cannot sharpen tile and stone to needle points; Ou Yezi cannot cast lead and tin into a Ganjiang-class sword. What cannot be done, spirits cannot do either; what cannot be achieved, Heaven and Earth cannot achieve. Where in the world is there a strange recipe to make the aged young again or the dying live on? Yet you would extend the life of the cicada (huigu) that lives from dawn to dusk so it lasts a full twelve years, or nurture the glory of the morning mushroom (zhaojun) that dies at noon so it accumulates many days and nights—is that not absurd? I hope you will think again.

Baopuzi said: Things often share the same root yet differ at the ends; one cannot treat them all alike. Many say “where there is a beginning there must be an end” and lump everything together—that is not penetrating reasoning. They say summer must bring growth, yet shepherd’s purse and wheat wither; they say winter must bring decay, yet bamboo and cypress flourish; they say what has a beginning must have an end, yet Heaven and Earth are inexhaustible; they say what lives must die, yet tortoises and cranes endure. Midsummer should be hot, yet summer days are not without cool ones; extreme yin should be cold, yet deep winter is not without brief warm spells. The hundred rivers flow east into the sea, yet there are also mighty currents flowing north; the earth’s way is supremely still, yet sometimes it quakes and collapses; water is purely cold, yet there are warm springs in the Warm Valley; fire should blaze fiercely, yet on Xiao Hill there are cold flames; heavy things should sink, yet in the southern sea there is the Floating Stone Mountain; light things should float, yet at Zike there is water that sinks even a feather. The myriad kinds of things differ beyond measure; they cannot be cut off by one standard—so it has been, and for long.

Among living beings, none is more spirit-endowed than humans. Human nature is equally noble and should in principle be uniform, yet in worth and folly, crookedness and straightness, beauty and ugliness, long life and early death, clarity and turbidity, chastity and lust, urgency and slowness, and in what they choose and what ear and eye desire, the gap is already like heaven and abyss, ice and charcoal. Why single out immortals as strange—unlike others—yet not wonder that all ordinary people die alike?

If one says the qi each receives is fixed, then when pheasants become mirage-shapes (shen), sparrows become clams (ge), field mice become quail (ru), rotten grass becomes fireflies, crocodiles become tigers, and snakes become dragons—are these not all contrary to fixed rules? If one says humans receive upright nature and differ from common things, and that Heaven grants life spans without distinction among them, then what of Niu Ai becoming a tiger, an old woman of Chu becoming a turtle (yuan), Zhi Li becoming a willow, a Qin maiden turning to stone, the dead reviving, men and women exchanging forms, Peng Zu’s long life, and Shang Zi’s early death? Since differences already exist, where is the limit to that difference?

Immortals use drugs to nurture the body and numerical arts to extend life, so that disease does not arise within and calamity from outside does not enter. Though they gaze long without dying, the original body does not change. If such a method truly exists, it is not hard. Shallow people cling to custom and dead routine; because they have never seen an immortal in this world, they conclude there cannot be such a thing. What the eye has once seen—how could that exhaust all there is? Heaven and Earth are boundless within; how could their marvels be limited? A lifetime under Heaven without knowing what Heaven is like, a lifetime on Earth without knowing what Earth is like—one’s form is one’s own, yet one does not know why heart and lungs work as they do; life span is in one’s own body, yet one does not know how long it can extend. How much more the profound principles of immortals and the subtle mystery of Dao and De—and to judge such subtle matters by the short reach of ear and eye: is that not pitiable?

Even a great sage who hides his talent, veils his brilliance, strips away pretense and desire, keeps to simplicity in utmost purity, and casts petty affairs outside the vulgar stream—ordinary people still rarely recognize him. Some cannot see aspiration beneath an unknown name, or spirit beneath a rough appearance. How much more immortals, whose aims are utterly different: they treat wealth and rank as misfortune, glory as filth, heavy treasures as dust, and fame as morning dew. They tread flame without burning and walk the dark waves with light steps; they beat wings above clear dust, take wind as chariot horses and clouds as carriage, ascend to the purple pole and dwell below at Kunlun. How could walking corpses see them? Even when they occasionally play in the human realm, hiding their true face and changing their aspect so they look like ordinary people, shoulder to shoulder in the crowd—who could tell? If all were like Jiao Jian with square pupils, Qiong Shu with ears rising above the head, Ma Huang riding a dragon, or Wang Zi Jin himself driving a white crane—or with scaly bodies and serpent heads, or golden chariots and feather robes—they would be easy to spot. When they are not like that, unless one can see through to their form, one does not see them; unless one can hear through, one does not hear them. When the world does not believe, it picks faults and slanders at random; the perfected ones dislike this and withdraw further. What ordinary people love is what superior persons detest; what the vulgar value is what the highest persons despise. Even talented great ru who nurture vast qi are unwilling to meet shallow folk and dust-stained crowds—how much more immortals: why would they hurry to make themselves known to people like straw dogs or demand recognition from them? Yet you wonder that you have never seen one. The eye cannot see clearly even a hundred paces, yet you treat what you see as “exists” and what you do not as “does not”—then most of the world would count as “nonexistent” by your reckoning. That is what they call measuring the sea with a finger: when the fingertip reaches its limit, one says the water is gone. To compare a mayfly to a giant turtle or baiji to great chun—how can that compare?

Emperor Wen of Wei (Cao Pi), widely read, thought he understood all things and said there was no jade-cutting knife and no fire-washed cloth in the world. He asserted this in his Dian Lun. Before one full cycle had passed (twelve years make one cycle; here, not long afterward), both items arrived; he sighed, and at once destroyed that essay. Nothing is absolutely fixed—perhaps that is why.

Prince Si of Cao (Cao Zhi) wrote in Shi Yi Lun: At first he thought Daoist arts were merely empty words to fool the people and had settled on that. Later he saw Emperor Wu test Zuo Ci and others, having them abstain from grain for nearly a month without fading complexion or strength, and they often said they could go fifty years without eating—what was there to doubt? He also had Gan Shi put medicine in live fish and boil them in seething oil: fish without the medicine cooked and could be eaten; fish with the medicine swam all day as if in water. He mixed medicine powder with mulberry leaves and fed silkworms—they did not age even in the tenth month. He fed longevity medicine to chicks and newborn puppies—they stopped growing. He fed huanbai medicine to a white dog; after a hundred days all its fur turned black. Then he knew that affairs under Heaven cannot all be known and that subjective guesswork is unreliable. He only regretted that he could not cut off sound and color and devote himself to the way of long life. Cao Pi and Cao Zhi— in learning, no book unread; in talent, heroes of an age—at first both thought there was nothing; in later years both thought there was. Those who exhaust principle and nature still sigh thus; people who fall short of them and do not believe in immortals—should that surprise us?

Liu Xiang’s learning was broad; he could probe the subtle and extreme, traverse the deep and far; his thinking was clear and could distinguish true from false and test existence. His Lie Xian Zhuan records more than seventy immortals. If there were no such thing at all, why fabricate from nothing? Antiquity cannot be seen with one’s own eyes; it all depends on classics to transmit past report. The Lie Xian Zhuan is clear and manifest; the matter must be real. Yet the book did not come from the Duke of Zhou’s gate nor pass through Confucius’s hand, so the world ultimately does not believe. By that logic, would not everything recorded in ancient history be gone? Why deny this one thing alone? Vulgar people crave glory and rush for advancement, busy for fame and profit; they measure the ancients by their own hearts, and so they do not even believe that Nest Father, Xu You, and others who refused imperial abdication and scorned ministerial rank, or Laolaizi and Zhuang Zhou—how much more immortals, harder still to know: how can one demand that people today all believe? Many say Liu Xiang was not a sage and his record is not to be relied on—that is especially lamentable. The Lu chronicle could not match Heaven and Earth in virtue, yet Confucius used it to compose a classic; Sima Qian could not match sun and moon in brightness, yet Yang Xiong called his book a true record. Liu Xiang was a famous ru of Han—how can his record be discarded?

People do not believe immortality can be learned or that life span can be extended largely because Qin Shihuang and Emperor Wu of Han sought without obtaining, and Li Shaojun and Luan Da acted without effect. But one cannot say there were no rich men like Tao Zhu and Yidun in antiquity because Qian Lou and Yuan Xian were poor; one cannot say there were no beauties like Nan Wei and Xishi because Wuyan and Suliu were ugly. In seeking advancement some fail to reach it; in farming some years there is no harvest; in trade sometimes there is no profit; in war sometimes no victory. How much more is seeking immortality a difficult affair—why must everyone who tries succeed? Those two rulers and two ministers perhaps could have obtained yet did not, or were diligent at first and slack later, or never met a clear teacher—how is that enough to conclude there are no immortals under Heaven?

Seeking long life and cultivating the utmost way depend on resolve, not on wealth and rank. If one is not the right person, high position and thick wealth become a heavy burden instead. Methods of learning immortality require quiet joy, blandness and few desires, washing away cravings, inward gazing and turning the hearing back (not chasing outward), dwelling like a corpse without cunning. Emperors bear the heavy charge of all under Heaven; affairs are numerous, thought labors over myriad threads, spirit races through the cosmos. One misplaced arrangement and the kingly way is impaired; if the people suffer resentment, harmony is disturbed. Gorgeous colors hack at the root. Therefore to pare spirit, harm thought, and flatten what is pure and harmonious cannot be fully detailed in every turn. A mosquito bite on the skin and one cannot sit at ease; lice in swarms and one cannot sleep in peace—the affairs within the four seas are more than that. How could one muffle cleverness, seal the breath, keep long fasts, maintain purity, personally tend the furnace fire, rise early and sleep late, and fly-refine the eight stones (in Daoist alchemy, ascending and refining many mineral drugs)? Emperor Wu of Han reigned longest and had already gained small benefit from nurturing life, yet supplements measured in sheng and he could not supply expenditure measured in zhong and shi. He recruited fangshi and favored them too generously, which made such men dare to be empty and absurd. If Luan Da truly had the way, why wait until he was executed? Those who have the way treat rank as boiling cauldron, seals and cords as mourning dress, gold and jade as dung, splendid halls as prison. Would they wring their wrists in empty talk and gamble on glory, live in red-pillared rooms, accept immeasurable rewards, wear the seal of General Wuli, take marrying the princess as honor, and drown in power and profit without knowing when to stop? From this one can truly conclude he had not attained the way.

According to the Li Shaojun Jia Lu compiled by Dong Zhongshu: Shaojun had a method of not dying but his family was too poor to buy the drugs, so he came out to the Han court to seek resources by this path; when the way was complete he departed. Also according to the Han palace Qi Ju Zhu: when Shaojun was about to leave, Emperor Wu dreamed he ascended Mount Song with him; halfway, an envoy riding a dragon and holding insignia came down from the clouds and said the Lord on High summoned Shaojun. The emperor woke and told those around him: If it is like my dream, Shaojun will leave me. Within days Shaojun said he was ill and died. Long afterward the emperor sent men to open the coffin and look—only clothes and hat remained. According to immortal scriptures: superior practitioners ascend into empty space with body intact—they are called celestial immortals (tianxian); middle ones roam famous mountains—they are called earthly immortals (dixian); lower ones die first then shed the corpse—they are called corpse-liberation immortals (shijie xian) (a form of attainment in which one leaves the body or garments while the self is released). Shaojun must have been shijie. In recent times the gourd master took Fei Changfang; the Daoist Li Yiqing took two disciples; later they were seen at Pixian. Each family opened the coffin: in all three coffins there was only a bamboo staff, with cinnabar writing on it. All were shijie.

In the past Wang Mang cited classics to mask evil—that does not mean all ru were usurpers. Sima Xiangru used the zither to seduce Zhuo Wenjun—that does not mean elegant music chiefly promotes lewdness. One who chokes to death cannot mock Shennong for sowing the five grains; one who burns cannot rage at Suiren for drilling fire; one who drowns in a capsized boat cannot blame the Yellow Emperor for building boats; one who dies drunk cannot condemn Du Kang and Yidi for brewing wine. To see Zhao Gao and Dong Zhuo and then say antiquity had no Yi Yin, Duke of Zhou, or Huo Guang; to see Shang Chen and Modun and then say antiquity had no Bo Qi or Xiao Ji—that is all wrong.

Immortal books contain methods to summon spirits and to command and restrain ghosts and spirits, and arts to let people see ghosts and spirits. When vulgar people hear this they call it empty writing, or say there are no ghosts and spirits in the world, or say even if there are they cannot be summoned or commanded, or say those who can see ghosts and spirits—men as xi, women as wu—must be born so and cannot be learned. Yet the Han Shu and Grand Historian’s records both say: the Qi man Shaoweng, whom Emperor Wu appointed General Wencheng; after the emperor’s beloved Lady Li died, Shaoweng could let the emperor see her as if alive, and could also let him see the stove god. That is explicit in the histories. If the arts can make spirits appear and let those who normally cannot see spirits see them, by inference what else could not be? Ghosts and spirits repeatedly produce strange lights and transformations among the people; the classics too give much evidence of spirits. Vulgar people do not even believe there are ghosts and spirits under Heaven—how much more immortals, who dwell high and far, where clear and turbid do not share the same path, ascend to distant realms and do not return to the human world: unless one has attained the way, how could one see or hear them? Ru and Mo know these cannot serve as ordinary teaching, so they never say they exist. That vulgar people do not believe—is that not natural? Only those who can recognize truth examine the various arts, obtain verification, and confirm they must exist—they can know alone but cannot force others to believe. So not having seen ghosts or immortals is no proof that there are none in the world.

Whether wise or foolish, all know they have hun and po (soul and corporeal soul). When hun and po partly leave, the person falls ill; when they all leave, the person dies. So when they partly leave, the art masters have methods of binding and recording; when they all leave, the ritual classics have rites of summoning the soul. This thing is closest to humans, born with them until life’s end—yet no one has personally heard or seen it. Can one say it does not exist because one has not heard or seen?

As for the ghost of Fushi repaying kindness, the spirit of Cheng Tang angry at Qi, Shen Sheng speaking to Hu Tu, Duke Du avenging himself on King Xuan of Zhou, Peng Sheng taking form in a black boar, Ruyi borrowing a grey dog’s body, Guan Fu haunting Tian Fen, Ru Shou descending at Shen, Marquis Luan stopping at a commoner’s house, Su Jiang relating prophecy, a filial son writing an essay, the spirit lord speaking on the palace roof, Luo Yang holding office in the state of Wu—ghost and spirit affairs written on bamboo and silk, clear and manifest, beyond counting. The blind still say there is none—how much more long life, a matter rarely heard in the world? To demand they must believe is like asking a mosquito to carry a mountain or discussing the great sea with a frog in a well. Vulgar people have not seen dragons, unicorns (qilin), luan, or phoenixes and say there are none in the world, thinking the ancients invented auspicious signs only to make rulers restrain themselves and never cease hoping to draw such rarities. How much more to make people believe there are immortals?

Because Liu Xiang’s gold refining failed, people say he sought the strange, loved spreading the false, and that the immortals he recorded were all invented. Pitiful! That is to discard a night-shining jade disk the size of a full chi because of a flaw one fen one cun wide; to throw away a priceless pure hook sword because of a defect the size of an ant’s nose. That is not the far sight of Bian He or the true appreciation of Feng Hu. Duke Zhu therefore brooded; Xue Zhu therefore sighed long. Methods of refining gold are all in immortal books; the King of Huainan copied them into the Hong Bao and Zhen Zhong Shu. Though there is writing, the essentials are secret; one must receive oral formulas and face-to-face explanation before one can act; the drugs used often have altered names and cannot be taken literally from the text. Liu Xiang’s father Liu De obtained this book when trying the Huainan king’s case; he had no master to transmit it. Liu Xiang himself did not understand Daoist arts; he happened to see part of the book and thought the meaning was entirely on the page—so refining failed. As for compiling the Lie Xian Zhuan, he himself extracted from Qin’s Grand Historian and the Han Shu, or recorded after seeing with his own eyes—not empty talk. Madmen’s street songs—the sage still selects them; words of woodcutters and gatherers sometimes must not be discarded; when gathering smartweed and melons, one does not throw away the leaves because the roots are bad. How can one say the classics are unusable because of one mistake in a hundred plans, or that sun and moon are not great brightness because they once eclipsed?

Foreign lands make crystal bowls—it is actually by refining together five kinds of ash. Today many in Jiaozhou and Guangzhou obtain the method and cast them. Tell vulgar people this and they are very unwilling to believe; they insist crystal is naturally formed, a kind of jade-stone. How much more that the world fortunately has naturally generated gold—how could vulgar people believe it can also be made by art? Fools do not believe yellow cinnabar and lead powder are transformations of lead, nor that mules and jueju are born of donkeys and horses—they say each thing has its own seed. How much more what is hard to know! Seeing little makes one find much strange—that is the common rule of the world. That saying is truly right. Though the matter is as clear as Heaven, a person under an inverted cauldron—how would he know ultimate principle?

On the Third Topic: Addressing the World

Someone objected: “Among people there are long-lived ones like Peng Zu and Laozi, just as among trees there are pines and cypresses—it is all inborn endowment. How could one obtain that by learning?”

Baopuzi replied: “Of all things shaped and nurtured by the Dao, none is more spiritually refined than the human being. Thus one who knows only shallow principles can command the myriad things; one who grasps them deeply can long live and long see. Knowing that superior medicines can extend life, they take them to seek immortality; knowing that turtles and cranes live long, they imitate their daoyin (guiding Qi and stretching the body) to increase longevity. The branches and leaves of pine and cypress were never the same as ordinary trees; the form of turtle and crane was never the same as other insects and birds. As for Peng Zu and Laozi, they were still human beings, not another species. They lived long alone because they attained the Dao—not purely by inborn fate. Ordinary trees cannot learn from pine and cypress; all kinds of insects cannot learn from turtle and crane—hence early death. If a person is clear and penetrating and cultivates the way of Peng Zu and Laozi, they can achieve the same effect.

“If you say there are no immortals at all, yet what former sages recorded—nearly a thousand persons—all have names and accounts of their deeds from beginning to end; it is not empty talk. If you say those people all received special Qi by nature, yet tradition says they all had teachers and methods of taking medicine—they were not born knowing. If you say the way of immortality cannot be learned, then transforming appearance, swallowing swords and spitting fire, sitting and suddenly vanishing, raising clouds and mist, summoning insects and serpents, gathering fish and turtles, turning thirty-six kinds of stone into water at once, jade into malt sugar, gold into liquid, diving deep without drowning, meeting blades without being cut—such arts of transformation number more than nine hundred; follow them and none fail. Why alone refuse to believe that immortality can also be sought?

“Only the immortal way is slow to show effect and has many taboos. Without extraordinary resolve and strong capacity, one cannot hold to it. Some have good intent in heart yet doubt; halfway they give up—and then say immortality and long life truly cannot be sought. The immortal scriptures say: take elixir and guard the One (shouyi—holding the pure unity of the Great Dao), and you end with Heaven; return essence (huanjing) and fetal breathing (taixi—breathing as subtle as a fetus in the womb), and life has no end—these are essential words of the utmost Dao. Even worldly gentlemen, inwardly do not wrong their hearts, outwardly fear no shadow, upwardly do not deceive Heaven, downwardly do not break their word—how much more ancient perfected persons (zhenren—those who attained the Dao)? Would they fabricate texts in vain and deceive later generations with what cannot be done? What would they gain? One without such destiny will not believe in the end—how can you force belief?

“Another objected: ‘Turtle and crane longevity is only worldly talk. Who has followed these two creatures all their life and thus known their lifespan?’

“Baopuzi said: ‘Grasp the essentials and the eight extremities (baji—the farthest regions in all directions) are like in the palm; a hundred generations are like happening at once—you need not wait until they are right in the courtyard before you know.

“‘The Yuce Ji (Jade Tally Record) says: a thousand-year turtle has all five colors, two bony ridges on the forehead like horns, floats on lotus leaves or stays under clustered yarrow; above it white clouds often swirl. A thousand-year crane calls according to the seasons and can alight on trees; those not yet a thousand years never gather on trees. Feathers pure white, the brain entirely turned cinnabar red—thus one can recognize them at sight. Yet long-lived animals are mostly intelligent and hide deep in remote places, so people rarely see them.

“‘According to the Yuce Ji and Changyu Jing, long-lived ones are not only these two. The books say: a thousand-year pine has branches on four sides curling up while the crown does not grow high—seen from afar like an inverted carriage cover; within is a being, perhaps a black ox, green sheep, green dog, or green human—all can live a thousand years. Also: the serpent has boundless lifespan; macaque at eight hundred years becomes ape, ape at five hundred becomes jue (a kind of ape), jue at a thousand. Toad at three thousand, qilin at two thousand. The horse Teng Huang and beast Jiguang each live three thousand years. Thousand-year birds and ten-thousand-year fowl have human face and bird body, lifespan matching their names. Tiger, deer, rabbit all live a thousand years; at five hundred the fur turns white. Bear at five hundred can transform. Fox, jackal, wolf all live eight hundred years; at five hundred they are adept at taking human form. Rat lives three hundred years; at a hundred fur turns white and it attaches to people for divination, called Zhong—it knows the year’s fortune and events a thousand li away. Such examples cannot all be recorded. The broadly learned name things on contact; the widely hearing are not confused in principle—why must one always stay with turtle and crane to know? If one does not even recognize things, how many plants in the garden and beasts in field and pond remain unknown—how much more the especially strange?

“‘The Shiji, Biography of the Tortoise and Divination, says: in the Jiang-Huai region someone as a child used a turtle to prop a bed; when he died and the family moved the bed, that turtle was still alive—not less than fifty or sixty years. So long without drink or food and not dying differs too far from ordinary animals—why doubt living a thousand years? Immortal families imitate turtle breathing—is there no reason?

“‘The Grand Commandant Chen Zhonggong (Chen Shi, style Zhonggong) of Taqiu, a man of Yingchuan, solid in discussion, wrote the Yiwen Ji: a fellow townsman Zhang Guangding met warfare and often fled. He had a daughter of four who could not walk and could not be carried. To leave her was to starve her; he could not bear her bones exposed. At the village entrance was an old great tomb with a hole on top; he lowered her in a vessel with roughly months of dry grain and water, then left. When order was restored, three years passed before Guangding returned home, intending to gather the child’s bones for proper burial. He went and saw the girl still sitting in the tomb; seeing her parents she recognized them and was very glad. At first they feared she was a ghost; approaching they knew she was not dead. Asked what she ate, the daughter said: when the grain was just finished she was very hungry; she saw something at the tomb corner stretching its neck swallowing breath—she tried to imitate it and gradually was no longer hungry; day by day she did this until now. The clothes left when the parents departed were still in the tomb; she did not go in and out, so the clothes did not wear out and she did not freeze. Guangding searched as she said and found a large turtle. When the daughter came out to eat grain, at first her belly ached and she vomited; only after long did she adapt. This again suffices to know the turtle has a method of not dying; learners of the Dao imitate it and can live as long as the turtle. Sima Qian and Chen Zhonggong were not speaking at random. Creatures and birds under Heaven are many; the ancients singled out these two to show they alone differ. See one end and you can comprehend.

“‘Another objected: “Turtle can hibernate in earth, crane can fly in sky. Make a person hibernate even a moment or fly even an instant—they still cannot; how can their longevity be learned?”

“‘Baopuzi answered: Many insects can hibernate, many birds can fly—yet only turtle and crane are cited for long-life longevity; it shows the reason they do not die is not hibernation and flight. Thus perfected persons only have people learn their daoyin to extend years, imitate their eating Qi (absorbing breath) to cut off grain—they do not learn burrowing earth and flying heaven. Those who attain the Dao can upward soar into clouds, downward hide form in rivers and seas. Xiao Shi followed the flying phoenix and rose into the void; Qin Gao rode a red carp into the deep abyss—proof enough. How is it only a moment’s hibernation, an instant’s flight? Dragon, serpent, jiao, chi, and apes, crocodiles, li and the like can entire winter eat nothing yet grow fatter than when eating—only people have not obtained their method. On one kind of excellence, the myriad things often surpass humans—not only turtle and crane. Thus Taihao learned from the spider and made nets; Jintian Shi followed the wild goose to correct the seasons; Huang Di awaited phoenix song to tune pitch; Tang Yao observed the mingjia (legendary plant that falls with the moon) to know the month. Guizhong (beast said to know the past) knows the past, magpie knows the future, Yubo can distinguish flood and drought Qi, mayfly knows where hidden springs are, white wolf foretold Yin’s rise, zhuoyu (auspicious bird) showed Zhou’s flourishing fortune. That turtle and crane alone know guiding and nurturing is not strange. Moreover in immortal scriptures long-life ways number in the hundreds—only slow or fast, complex or simple differ; one need not imitate turtle and crane in every respect.

“‘Someone said: “If immortals can truly be learned, people would suddenly fly above clouds, abandon the world—and no one would perform zhengchang (seasonal sacrifices to ancestors). If ancestral ghosts have awareness, would they not go hungry?”

“‘Baopuzi said: “I hear that not injuring the body is called utmost filial piety—how much more attaining immortality, long life and long seeing, ending with Heaven and Earth—is that not far beyond returning the body parents gave whole? If one can truly ascend the void, tread light and shadow, take clouds as carriage and rainbow as canopy, eat morning dew and night’s breath, absorb the pure Qi of xuan and huang, drink jade nectar and golden liquid, eat emerald fungus and cinnabar bloom, dwell in jade terrace and gem chamber, travel freely in the Great Clarity (Taiqing—the highest heaven)—if ancestors have awareness, they would glory because of me. Some can assist the Five Emperors, some command the hundred spirits; rank need not be sought yet comes naturally, food can chew jade-like flowers and fruit, power can oversee Luofeng (legendary capital of the netherworld), authority can command the offices of the yin realm. Truly accord with this Dao—even before fully knowing its depths—there would be no starving ancestors. None is loftier in attaining the Dao than Boyang (Laozi). Boyang had a son named Zong who was a general in Wei with merit and was enfeoffed at Duan’gan. Then today’s learners of immortality naturally can all have sons and descendants to continue sacrifice—how would it be cut off?

“‘Someone said: “Those who attain the Dao have breathing arts complete and essentials of ingestion complete; cover the ears and hear a thousand li away, close the eyes and see the future. Some leave fine horses to drive dragons, leave the divine land to dwell on Penglai and Yingzhou; some linger in the mundane or roam freely among people, not at once cutting traces and going to the realm of mystery. What they honor is the same; going or staying differs—why?”

“‘Baopuzi answered: “I heard from my teacher: immortals some ascend heaven, some stay on earth—the key is all can long live; going or staying each follows preference. There is also the method of taking huan dan and jinye (return elixir and golden liquid in Daoism): if for a time one wishes to stay in the world, take only half the dose and keep the other half; later if seeking ascension, take the rest entirely. Not dying is then settled—no sudden-death worry. Then only wishing to travel on earth or enter famous mountains—what worry?

“‘Peng Zu said: “Heaven has many honored officials and great spirits; newly perfected persons rank low and have more than one to serve—they toil more, so not worth going to heaven to be enslaved—thus he stayed in the human world over eight hundred years.” Also: “Ancient ones who attained immortality—some grew wings on the body, transformed and flew, lost human origin, received another form, as sparrow becomes clam, pheasant becomes mirage—that is not the human way. The human way should eat rich and sweet food, wear light warm clothes, harmonize yin and yang, hold office, ears and eyes clear, bones and joints strong, complexion lustrous, not decay in old age, extend years and long see, rise and rest as one wishes—cold, heat, wind, damp cannot harm, ghosts and spirits cannot invade, weapons and hundred poisons cannot strike, sorrow, joy, slander, praise cannot drag—that is what is precious. To abandon wife and children, dwell alone in mountains and marshes, cut off human affairs far, solitary with wood and stone—that is not worth praise. Formerly Master Anqi, Longmei Ning Gong, Xiu Yang Gong, Yin Changsheng—all took only half a dose of golden liquid. They stopped in the world, some nearly a thousand years, then departed. Strictly speaking, those who seek long life cherish the life they wish for before their eyes—they do not urgently ascend the void nor value flying above staying on earth. If by luck one can stay at home and not die, why hurry to ascend heaven? If after becoming immortal one no longer governs worldly affairs—that is another matter. Peng Zu’s words accommodate human feeling.

“‘Someone said: “We now do not know the principle of long life—why did ancients alone know?”

“‘Baopuzi said: “This is narrow ignorant talk—not what the penetrating place in the heart. Superior persons think far and are naturally unobstructed; hard to use vulgar shallow reasoning to guess the deep intent of divine persons. Like numerologists calculating the wax and wane of the seven luminaries (sun, moon, five planets), discussing past celestial encroachments, judging future rise and fall, looking up at cloud signs, looking down at hexagram fortune, using three chess to decide campaign success or failure, deducing nine talismans for the fortune of divisions (fenyie—territory under a star), one multiplication-division to infer ghost situations, interweaving six emotions to judge changeable good and evil. Roots can be sought, traces and principle found. Yet those of mediocre talent and shallow capacity still cannot learn; students put mind on dregs and cannot exhaust the subtle. Even mortise-chisel, coarse craft—Wheel Bian (ancient master) had inexpressible skill; catching cicadas, small technique—the hunchback old man had godlike mastery. Wonder lies in the person, from utmost mastery. How much more the immortal way—intent deep, roots hard to find. Chisongzi, Wang Ziqiao and such though they got verification need not have fathomed why—how much more ordinary people? This matter can be learned—so ancients recorded and passed to those who can grasp. If the heart truly understands, one can believe and cultivate; if suspicion stays in the breast, that is one’s own allotment—not to ask why ancients alone knew and I alone do not.

“‘I now know immortality can be sought; I can stop grain and not eat; I also trust that flowing pearl (mercury in alchemy) can fly and refine upward, huangbai (refining gold and silver) can be obtained. To pursue the root principle—I equally do not know. If the world calls what thought can reach ‘having’ and what thought cannot ‘not having,’ then affairs under Heaven would be few indeed. Thus Laozi said: use raccoon-dog head to treat rat lou (a sore), use woodpecker against tooth decay—that can still be pursued by category; as for crab changing lacquer, hemp spoiling wine—that cannot be deduced by common reason. Myriad things differ in thousands of ways—how deduce them by subjective thinking? If one gets a grave illness and must rely on good medicine to save yet refuses to take it at once, insisting first to know why Shennong and Qibo used this herb for this disease—that is to die unavoidably.

“‘Someone said: “Life and death have fate; length of life is fixed from the start—not what those medicines can add or subtract. A finger cut off and rejoined will not rejoin; blood already spilled and swallowed again has no benefit. How much more taking pine and cypress—not of my kind—to extend my brief life—is entirely wrong.”

“‘Baopuzi said: “By that reasoning, only same kind can benefit—then the cut finger, spilled blood, were originally one body, not another kind—why cut and not rejoin, spill and swallow without use? I have often seen someone use snake-xi paste (herb said to be held in snake’s mouth) to rejoin a cut finger, and mulberry worm to replace fowl feet. Benefit from unlike things cannot be slandered as none. By your words, not relying on other things—one should pound one’s flesh, treat one’s bone for wound medicine, cut one’s skin, boil one’s hair for baldness. Water, earth, and hundred plants are not one body yet hundred plants rely on water and earth to grow; five grains are not human body yet humans must rely on them to live. Oil is not fire’s seed, water is not fish kind—yet oil exhausted fire dies, water dry fish dies. Tree cut, parasite on it withers; grass cut, dodder wilts. River crab does not return, ji clinging to it dies; mulberry cut, borer inside perishes. Contact different kinds yet from this infer growth’s principle—here one can understand. Gold and jade placed in the dead’s nine orifices—the corpse thus does not rot; salt brine seeps muscle and marrow, dried meat thus does not spoil. How much more taking into the body what suits the body and benefits lifespan—it makes humans long live—what is strange?

“‘Another objected: “Immortal recipe books look plausible but are wrong—surely busybodies fabricated them; not necessarily from Huang Di or Laozi’s hand, not necessarily seen by Chisongzi or Wang Ziqiao.”

“‘Baopuzi said: “If as you say so clever, these arts should not work. Now test the small ones—none fail. I have often seen someone use fangzhu (vessel to catch dew under moon) to seek water at night under the moon, yangsui (bronze mirror concentrating sunlight) to draw fire in morning sun; hide form, become without shape or image; change appearance into another thing; throw knotted towel to ground and it becomes a running rabbit, sew needle on red ribbon and it becomes a crawling serpent; melon and fruit fruit in a moment, dragon and fish swim in dish— all as books say. Follow the arts—how could one not obtain long life?

“‘The Hanshu records when Luan Da first met Emperor Wu he could make chess pieces collide by themselves; the Houhanshu records Wei Shang could sit and suddenly vanish, Zhang Kai could raise clouds and mist. These are all recorded by fine historians—trustworthy with evidence. These arts all belong to the immortal category—know they are not random fabrication. Small arts already verified—why would the long-life way alone not be so?

“‘Someone asked: “Learners of the Dao should first establish merit and virtue—is that so?”

“‘Baopuzi answered: “There is this saying. According to the middle fascicle of the Yuqian Jing, establishing merit is highest, removing faults next. Learners of the Dao rescue others from danger, save them from disaster, guard others’ illness so they do not die in vain—this is highest merit. Those who wish immortality must take loyalty, filial piety, harmony, benevolence, and trust as root. If virtue is not cultivated and one only seeks the mysterious Dao—no benefit. The Director of Fate in heaven examines human faults and sins: great evil and Fate removes ‘ji’ (larger life unit, anciently three hundred days); small fault removes ‘suan’ (smaller unit, anciently three days). With fault’s weight, amount removed differs. Generally humans receive mandate and allotted lifespan has fixed number: endowment originally much—ji and suan hard to exhaust, die late; endowment originally little yet faults many—ji and suan quickly exhausted, die early.

“‘Also: to wish to be earth immortal, accumulate three hundred good deeds; to wish heaven immortal, twelve hundred good deeds. If one already has eleven hundred ninety-nine goods and suddenly midway does one evil—all prior goods are lost, must begin counting good anew. Thus good is not in deed’s size, evil not in deed’s smallness. Even without doing evil—only mouth mentioning what one did and demanding repayment for charity—loses that one good, only does not therefore lose all good. Also: accumulated good not yet full number—even taking immortal medicine has no benefit. If not taking immortal medicine yet doing much good—though cannot at once become immortal, can have no sudden-death calamity. I further suspect Peng Zu and such—their good merit was not enough, so could not ascend heaven.”

Golden Elixir, Fourth

Baopuzi said: After careful study, I hold that taking immortality medicines alone, without also cultivating good deeds, brings no real benefit. If one does not take such medicines but often performs good works, one may not become an immortal at once, yet can at least escape sudden, violent death. I further suspect that people like Peng Zu failed to ascend because the merit they accumulated was still insufficient.

Baopuzi said: I have examined books on nurturing life and collected methods for seeking longevity; the rolls I have read number in the thousands. None fail to treat the returned elixir (huan dan)—cinnabar refined by repeated firing until it is restored—and the golden fluid (jinye), elixir liquefied from gold and other materials, as the supreme keys. These two may be called the pinnacle of the immortal way. If one takes them and still does not become an immortal, then there have been no immortals since antiquity.

In former times the central plains fell into chaos and people scattered in flight. I traveled among Xuzhou, Yuzhou, Jingzhou, Xiangyang, Jiangzhou, and Guangzhou, and saw hundreds of refugee lay Daoist priests. Some had long been famous, as if beyond reach, yet in fact they were much the same: their depth of understanding and what they lacked did not greatly exceed one another. Each might possess dozens of scrolls yet could not fully comprehend them, copying from one another and introducing errors. They sometimes knew methods of circulating qi (xingqi), grain abstinance (duangu), and taking various herbal drugs; the contents of their recipe books were largely alike. Not one failed to hoard the Daoji Jing, treating it as their most secret text and saying it was written by Yin Xi—the gatekeeper said to have welcomed Laozi at Hangu Pass and received the Daode Jing. I told them: it was written by Wang Tu, military supervisor of the Wei period, not an ancient work. Wang Tu did not understand the great medicines at all; he hoped to seek immortality through circulating qi and “entering the chamber” (entering meditative stillness), and wrote this Daoji Jing, imagining that the arts ended there—a delusion that misleads people deeply.

When I asked these priests about the divine elixir, the golden fluid, and methods of summoning celestial and earthly spirits with the Sanhuang Wen—scriptural talismans attributed to the Heavenly, Earthly, and Human Sovereigns—not one knew. Many boast and deceive, claiming long life or companionship with immortals; those who can actually be verified are very few. Some have heard fragments about the golden elixir but do not believe it can still be obtained today, saying only ancient transcended immortals understood it. Some receive stray teachings from beyond the world but not the true scriptures; some obtain scattered recipes and think the whole art of elixir is contained in them.

Formerly Zuo Yuanfang (Zuo Ci) practiced deep contemplation on Mount Tianzhu, and a divine being transmitted to him the golden-elixir immortal scripture. Caught in the chaos at the end of Han, he had no time to refine it and crossed the Yangtze to Jiangdong, intending to seek famous mountains and cultivate this way. My collateral ancestor the Immortal Lord (Ge Xuan) received the transmission from Yuanfang: three scrolls of the Taiqing Dan Jing, one scroll of the Jiuding Dan Jing, and one scroll of the Jinye Dan Jing. My master Lord Zheng was a disciple of the Immortal Lord and received these books from him. My family was poor and could not afford ingredients. I served him personally, sweeping and attending for a long time, before at Mount Miji establishing an altar, taking covenant, and receiving the oral formulas not written in the books. Jiangdong originally had none of these texts; they came from Zuo Yuanfang, passed to my ancestor, from him to Lord Zheng, and from Lord Zheng to me—so other Daoist priests knew nothing of them. Yet though I had received the transmission for more than twenty years, with scarcely enough grain at home, I still could not refine, and could only sigh. Those with chests full of gold and mountains of cash, by contrast, do not know this method of not dying; even if they hear of it, perhaps one in ten thousand will believe—what can be done?

Once you have tasted jade fluid, you know how thin ordinary water is; once you have seen Kunlun, you know how low a little hill is. Having understood the way of the golden elixir, one no longer cares to read petty recipe books. Yet the great medicine cannot be prepared all at once; one can only rely on lesser drugs to sustain oneself for a time. Other drugs, even in tens of thousands of bushels, give only slight benefit and cannot truly grant long life. Hence Laozi’s maxim: without the returned elixir and golden fluid, your toil is in vain. The five grains can sustain human life—receive them and live, cut them off and die—how much more so the highest divine medicines: can their benefit to a person be less than ten thousand times that of grain?

Golden elixir, the longer it is fired, the stranger its transformations. Gold put in fire is refined a hundred times yet does not melt away; buried until heaven ends, it does not rot. Taking these two medicines refines the human body, and so can make one ageless and undying. This is using external things to make oneself firm—as grease feeds fire so it does not die out, or malachite smeared on the feet keeps them from rotting in water, borrowing the hardness of copper to protect the flesh. When golden elixir enters the body and permeates the ying and wei (the circulating nutritive and defensive qi that run through the whole person), this is not comparable to malachite merely painted on the outside.

People in the world who do not believe in the highest Dao are everywhere. Even those who occasionally delight in this way, if they do not encounter these methods or meet a true master, cannot know that such marvels exist under heaven. I now briefly excerpt the essentials of the golden elixir for kindred spirits who come after. You should seek diligently; do not cling to shallow, near-at-hand arts and think them enough to transcend the world. Those who never meet this way must pour their minds into endless strange imaginings. Once you reflect on what is said here, you will surely see: it is like leaving a mud pool to float on the great sea, turning from fireflies and candlelight toward sun and moon, hearing thunder and then finding a cloth drum crude, seeing a great whale and then knowing how tiny a “cun-long, xiao-jie” mussel is. Knowing this yet still clamoring without entering correctly, hoping to ascend on inferior drugs—is that not like whipping a lame donkey to chase the gale, or rowing a small boat to cross a great river?

Recipes for lesser elixirs are many; their preparation varies in depth, and so does their power. Even when they differ in rank, they fall far short of the next higher grade—as wine fermented once cannot match wine fermented nine times. Yet the lowest small elixir still far surpasses the best herbal medicine. All plants and trees turn to ash when burned; cinnabar burned becomes mercury, and after accumulated transformations can become cinnabar again—already far from ordinary vegetation, and so able to grant long life. Only immortals have seen this principle; how remote and boundless they are from ordinary people.

The world’s vision is narrow, and what seems strange is much. Some do not know that mercury comes from cinnabar; tell them and they still will not believe, saying cinnabar is red—how could it become this white substance? Or that cinnabar is only stone; burn various stones and they all turn to ash—why does cinnabar alone burn without being exhausted? When what is so near and easy is still beyond their grasp, is it not natural that they laugh when they hear of the immortal way?

The true persons of high antiquity, pitying those of later ages who could still be taught, laid out detailed methods so they might escape the calamity of death—the weightiest of teachings. Yet vulgar people still refuse to believe and call them empty words. If they were empty, why should the days required for nine rounds of transformation and the results of refinement match what the recipes say? That the true persons knew these things truly cannot be fathomed by ordinary, shallow thinking.

In youth I loved the alchemical arts, walked to teachers’ doors unafraid of distance and danger, and rejoiced at every strange teaching, not grieving when mocked. Who knows whether those who come after will not equal us today? I write this for those who can understand. How could I casually exalt the bizarre or pad empty phrases, wanting the book to circulate and please the crowd? blazing yang cannot make rotten wood flourish; supreme wisdom cannot change base foolishness. Books are transmitted for the clear-minded; things are prized for those who can recognize their worth. A farmer given a red bow uses it to scare birds; a southern borderer given ceremonial robes uses them to carry firewood. How can one force those who do not know?

People eat their fill every day yet need not diligently cultivate Confucian or Mohist learning, nor do deeds that increase virtue; they only roam together and spend their years. What they pursue is name or profit—hawking on the open field, lingering over cups at noisy feasts, drowning in music, doting on fine clothes, drawing the bow and riding until sinews are spent, or wasting effort at chess and gambling. When they hear words of the ultimate Dao, it is as if drunk; when they see discourse on the great way, they yawn and stretch and sleep away the bright day. Having a body yet not cultivating it, they walk toward the land of death, unwilling to ask about methods of nurturing life, yet willingly letting themselves be slaughtered, stewed, and withered dry. Those who have the Dao treasure and conceal what they know, asking nothing of others—why would they force themselves to tell such people?

People commonly say: if longevity could be obtained, ancient nobles and the rich would long since have obtained it; they did not, because there is no such way. They do not know that ancient nobles and the rich were like today’s—disbelieving and not seeking. If there truly is this way of not dying under heaven, would not those who obtain it laugh at them again? Sun and moon cannot shine on every place; how can one judge everything by the reach of human opinion alone?

Baopuzi said: According to the Huangdi Jiuding Shendan Jing, the Yellow Emperor took the divine elixir and ascended as an immortal. It also says: even if one practices breath circulation and guiding exercises and takes herbal medicines, one may extend life yet still cannot escape death; take the divine elixir and one’s years have no end, equal with heaven and earth, riding clouds and dragons, ascending and descending in the Great Clarity (Taiqing). The Yellow Emperor transmitted this way to Xuanzi, admonishing him: this way is extremely precious and must be passed to the worthy; if the person is not fit, even if jade piled like mountains, do not tell him. The recipient must cast a golden human figure and golden fish into east-flowing water as pledge, and smear blood to establish covenant. Without the bone-structure of an immortal, one cannot see this way. Compounding elixir should be done in famous mountains, in places without people, with no more than three companions. First fast and purify for a hundred days, bathe with the five incenses, be exceptionally clean, do not approach filth or mingle with laypeople; nor let unbelievers know, lest they slander the divine medicine and the medicine fail to form. When it is complete, the whole household may become immortals—not one person alone. People do not compound the divine elixir yet trust herbal medicines. Herbs, buried, rot; burned, char— they cannot themselves live long; how can they grant long life to others? The nine elixirs are the key to long life, not what ordinary people should lightly hear or see. The myriad folk drift in stupor, knowing only greed for wealth and rank—are they not walking corpses? When compounding elixir one should also perform sacrifice; sacrifice has its own scroll of diagram methods.

The first elixir is called Danhua (Cinnabar Flower). One must first make xuanhuang; use dozens of jin each of realgar water, alum water, rong salt, lu salt, yushi, oyster shell, red halloysite, talc, and lead white; seal with liuyi mud (sealing paste of minerals mixed in a specific ratio), and fire for thirty-six days to completion. Take it for seven days and become an immortal. One may also make pills of this elixir with xuangao, place them in fierce fire, and in a moment they turn to gold. One may also combine two hundred forty zhu with a hundred jin of mercury and fire it, and it too becomes gold. When gold is achieved, the medicine is done; if gold is not achieved, reseal and fire again for the same number of days—there is no failure.

The second elixir is called Shendan (Divine Elixir), also called Shenfu (Divine Talisman). Take it for a hundred days and become an immortal. When traveling, to cross water or fire, smear this elixir on the soles and one can walk on water. Take three knife-gui (tiny doses)—the three corpses and nine worms (parasitic spirits said to hasten decay) are instantly destroyed and all hundred diseases healed.

The third elixir is also called Shendan. Take one knife-gui; in a hundred days become an immortal. Give it to livestock to swallow and they too ultimately do not die; one can also avoid all weapons. Take for a hundred days and immortals, jade maidens, and mountain and river spirits attend, appearing in human form.

The fourth elixir is called Huandan (Returned Elixir). Take one knife-gui; in a hundred days become an immortal. Vermilion birds and phoenixes fly above covering one; jade maidens come to one’s side. Combine one knife-gui with one jin of mercury and fire—it instantly becomes gold. Smear this elixir on money and goods used in trade and they return the same day. Write with this elixir on a common person’s eyes and all ghosts flee and hide.

The fifth elixir is called Erdan (Bait Elixir). Take for thirty days and become an immortal; ghosts and spirits attend, jade maidens come before one.

The sixth elixir is called Liandan (Refined Elixir). Take for ten days and become an immortal. Combined with mercury and fired, it can also become gold.

The seventh elixir is called Roudan (Soft Elixir). Take one knife-gui; in a hundred days become an immortal. Mix with the juice of a broken basin and take it, and a man of ninety can beget children again. Fired together with “Golden Lord” (lead), it instantly becomes gold.

The eighth elixir is called Fudan (Hidden Elixir). Take it and become an immortal the same day. A portion the size of a jujube pit makes the corresponding thing dare not approach; one can also avoid thieves, tigers, and wolves.

The ninth elixir is called Handan (Cold Elixir). Take one knife-gui; in a hundred days become an immortal. Immortal boys and girls attend; one can fly lightly without relying on wings.

Of these nine elixirs, obtaining any one suffices for immortality; one need not make all, according to personal preference. Whoever takes the nine elixirs, wishing to ascend may depart, wishing to remain in the human world may do as they please; all can pass through without obstruction, and external things cannot harm them.

Baopuzi said: There is also the Taiqing divine elixir; its method comes from Lord Yuan. Lord Yuan was Laozi’s teacher. The Taiqing Guantian Jing has nine chapters: the upper three may not be transmitted; the middle three—there is no one in the world worth transmitting to—should be sunk beneath the three springs; the lower three are precisely the elixir scripture, upper, middle, and lower in three scrolls. Lord Yuan is a great immortal being who harmonizes yin and yang, commands ghosts and spirits, raises wind and rain, drives nine dragons and twelve white tigers; all immortals under heaven submit to him. Yet he said he too attained this by learning the way and taking elixir, not by being born that way—how much more so for ordinary people?

This scripture says: the highest person who obtains the Dao becomes a celestial officer; the middle person obtains the Dao and dwells gathered on Kunlun; the lower person obtains the Dao and lives long in the world. Fools do not believe and call it empty talk. From morning to night they only do what seeks death, never seeking life—how can heaven force them to live? Ordinary people know only fine food, splendid dress, sound, color, wealth, and rank; they indulge the heart and exhaust desire, and in a blink they die. Never tell the divine elixir to such people, lest they mock the Dao and slander the true law. If one transmits the elixir scripture to the wrong person, harm will come to oneself. If there is someone of sincere faith, one may share the compounded medicine; do not lightly transmit the recipe itself.

One who knows this way—why need he be a king or marquis? When the divine elixir is complete, one can not only live long but also make gold. After gold is made, first take a hundred jin for a great sacrifice. Sacrifice has its own dedicated method, different from sacrifice for the Jiuding elixir. At the sacrifice, gold should be weighed separately, each parcel sealed and labeled: twenty jin for sacrificing to Heaven, five jin for sun and moon, eight jin for the Northern Dipper.

For Taiyi, use eight jin of gold; for the well spirit, five jin; for the stove god, five jin; for the River Lord (Hebo), twelve jin; for the earth god (She), five jin; for gate and neighborhood spirits and the Clear Lord (Qingjun), five jin each—eighty-eight jin in all. The remaining twelve jin should be placed in a fine leather bag. On an auspicious day, when the market is busiest, go in silence and cast it into a crowded place, then leave at once without looking back. Only after the full hundred jin has been used in this way may the rest be used freely. If you use gold before offering it to the spirits in this manner, disaster is certain.

It is also said: the path to long life does not lie in sacrifice or serving ghosts and spirits, nor in daoyin or bending and stretching the limbs. The key to ascending as an immortal is the spirit elixir (shen dan). Merely to understand this is already difficult; to actually refine it is harder still. If you can complete the refinement, you may endure for long ages. In recent times, at the end of the Han dynasty, Lord Yin of Xinye refined this Taiqing elixir and attained immortality. He was originally a Confucian scholar, talented and thoughtful, skilled at poetry, and also wrote praises and prefaces for elixir scriptures, recording how he first sought the Way and found a master, and listing more than forty immortals he had known, with clear detail. Refining this Taiqing elixir is somewhat harder than refining the Nine Cauldrons elixir, yet it is a method for ascending in broad daylight. In preparation one must first make the Flowery Pool (huachi), Red Salt (chiyan), Gen Snow (genxue), Mysterious White (xuanbai), Flying Talisman (feifu), and Three-Five Divine Water (sanwu shenshui)—only then may the fire be lit.

As for the spirit elixir: with a one-turn elixir, one attains immortality three years after taking it; with a two-turn elixir, two years; three-turn, one year; four-turn, half a year; five-turn, one hundred days; six-turn, forty days; seven-turn, twenty days; eight-turn, ten days; nine-turn, three days. Here “turn” (zhuan) means the number of times the elixir has been re-refined; the higher the count, the faster the text holds that it takes effect.

If one places the Nine Revolutions Elixir in the divine cauldron and, after the summer solstice, fires it with intense heat, the vessel will suddenly blaze with light and the five-colored divine radiances will rise together; the medicine then turns into the Returned Elixir. Take it out and ingest it: a single daogui (the tiniest ancient measure, roughly a knife-tip’s worth) suffices for ascension in broad daylight. The Nine Revolutions Elixir is sealed in an earthen kettle and refined over chaff fire, first with gentle heat and then with strong heat. From the first revolution to the ninth, each stage has a fixed number of days, by which one masters the firing schedule. Fewer revolutions mean weaker potency, so one must take it over many days and immortality comes slowly; more revolutions mean vigorous potency, fewer days of ingestion, and quicker attainment of immortality.

There is also the Nine Radiances Elixir. Its method differs from the Nine Revolutions Elixir but is broadly similar: various drugs are combined and fired so that the five stone medicines transform. The five stones are cinnabar (zhusha), realgar, white arsenic ore (yushi), azurite (cengqing), and magnetite (cishi). Each yields five colors, twenty-five in all; take one liang of each and place them in separate vessels. To revive someone dead no more than three days, take one daogui of the green elixir, mix with water, and wash the corpse; then pry open the mouth and pour in another daogui—the person revives at once. To summon the traveling kitchen (the Daoist art of drawing food at will), take the black elixir with water, smear it on the left hand, and whatever one asks for in speech arrives of itself; all things under heaven can be summoned. For invisibility, foreknowledge of what has not yet happened, and fixed years without aging, ingest one daogui of the yellow elixir and one may live without end; seated, one sees a thousand li as if before one’s eyes, and good and ill fortune appear as in plain sight; one can also know the rise and fall, lifespan, wealth, and rank of one’s own past lives. These methods are recorded in the middle scroll of the Ta Qing Jing.

Baopuzi (Ge Hong) said: Next there is the Lingdan Jing in one scroll, with five methods in all. Cinnabar, realgar, orpiment, native sulfur, azurite, alum, magnetite, halite, and Great One’s Yu surplus grain are used, together with Six-One mud (the special seal mud for closing alchemical vessels) and the spirit chamber (the sealed container for the medicine), and sacrificial rites (sheji) are performed in support; in thirty-six days it is complete. With the Five Emperors’ talismans written in five colors, one can also avoid death, though not equal to the Ta Qing elixir and the Nine Cauldrons elixir.

There is also the Minshan elixir method, obtained by the adept Zhang Gai through deep contemplation in a stone chamber on Minshan. One melts and casts yellow copper into a fangzhu (a bronze vessel for catching moon dew), uses it to collect water from the moon, covers it with mercury, and draws in the fire of the sun’s essence; long ingestion grants freedom from death. Place this elixir in a male-yellow fire-drill, cover well, and expose to the sun; after twenty days open and compound it, and take it with well-flower water (well water drawn at dawn), in a dose the size of a small bean. In a hundred days the blind can see; in a hundred days the sick recover on their own, white hair turns black, and fallen teeth grow again.

Wuchengzi’s elixir method: put basha and mercury in an eight-inch bronze dish, fill an earthen furnace with charcoal, support the dish against three sides of the furnace walls, pour sulfur water over it so the medicine stays mud-like, and after a hundred days ingest it to avoid death.

Xianmenzi’s elixir method: mix three sheng of wine with one jin of elixir and expose forty days. Take it for one day and the Three Corpses (san shi—the three parasites said to dwell in the body and hasten decay) and all illnesses depart at once; take it three years and the way of immortals is achieved—two jade maidens will come to serve, may be dispatched, and the traveling kitchen may be summoned. This elixir can subdue the hundred ghosts, the contagion of harm from the dead of the four directions, houses that injure people, and places where earth-moving works offend; hang it facing those directions and there will be no calamity.

There is also the Instant-Completion Elixir, again nine kinds, resembling the Nine Cauldrons elixir but inferior. One essential method says: take orpiment and realgar, refine out their copper, cast vessels, invert them over pure vinegar stored three years, and after a hundred days a red curd several fen long—or five-colored langgan—forms on the vessels. Ingest it and one may also prolong life. It may be combined with dodder. Use the root when it first sprouts, shaped like a rabbit; dig it up, cut and take its juice, mix with this elixir, and after ingestion one may change form at will. It may also be combined with cinnabar grass. Cinnabar grass looks like a small jujube, three or four chi high, leaves and branches all red, stems like coral; it loves to grow beneath famous mountains and rocks. Cut it open and juice flows like blood. Throw in jade, the eight stones, gold, or silver and they can be kneaded like mud; in time they turn to water. Throw in gold and it is called jade nectar; all who ingest it gain long life.

There is also the Submerged Elixir method: it says that among all streams under heaven whose names contain “dan,” such as Nanyang’s Dan River, there are cinnabar fish. On the ten nights before the summer solstice keep watch; the cinnabar fish will surely float to the water’s edge, red light shining upward, bright as fire. Net them and they can be caught; even if many are caught, do not take them all. Smear their blood on the soles and one may walk on water and dwell long in deep pools.

Chisongzi’s elixir method: steep the elixir in the juice of thousand-year bramble vine and peach juice from Fan, put it in a leak-proof vessel, seal the mouth with refined honey, and bury three chi underground for a hundred days. Then wring the red fruit juice of ning wood, mix and ingest: face, eyes, and teeth all turn red, and one lives long. Long ago the yellow-center immortal’s disciple Chixu—was he not one who took this elixir?

Mr. Shi’s elixir method: take a nestling bird before feathers grow, feed it true elixir mixed into beef until swallowed; when it matures and all feathers turn red, kill it, dry in shade, pound feathers and all together, take one daogui, and in a hundred days gain five hundred years of life.

Kangfengzi’s elixir method: mix sheep-bird, crane egg, and sparrow blood with juice of tianxiong from Shaoshi Mountain, make pills, put them in a swan egg, seal with lacquer, place in mica water; in a hundred days it becomes red water. One ge prolongs life a hundred years; one sheng reaches a thousand years.

Cui Wenzi’s elixir method: steam the elixir inside a wild duck’s belly and ingest; it prolongs years, and long ingestion avoids death.

Liu Yuan’s elixir method: put cinnabar in dark-water fluid; in a hundred days it turns purple and will not stain the hand when held. Mix with mica water, put in a tube sealed with lacquer, drop into a well; in a hundred days it becomes red water. One ge gives a hundred years; long ingestion grants long life.

Yue Zichang’s elixir method: steam azurite and lead with cinnabar eighty days; dose like a small bean; in three years one becomes an immortal.

Li Wen’s elixir method: wrap the elixir in white silk and cook with bamboo sap—called Red Spring Elixir; let it float on the broth and steam, then mix with dark water; one ge daily; in one year one becomes an immortal.

Yinzi’s elixir method: mix the elixir with mica water, seal and place in the Golden Flower Pool; after one year take out and take one daogui; when one jin is consumed, gain five hundred years.

Great One’s Soul-Summoning Elixir method: the five stones and the Six-One mud sealing follow the Nine Elixirs closely. It especially revives sudden death within three days. Pry open the dead person’s mouth and put in one pill; make another pill with sulfur and send both down with water so the medicine enters the throat—the person lives again and all say they saw an envoy with credentials come to summon them.

Cainü’s elixir method: steam rabbit blood with elixir and honey a hundred days. Make pills the size of phoenix-tree seeds, one pill three times daily. In a hundred days two divine maidens come to serve and may be dispatched.

Qiqiuzi’s elixir method: mix clear sesame oil, hundred-flower wine, and dragon paste, seal with Six-One mud, warm with chaff fire ten days and it is done. Each dose a small bean; finish one course and gain five hundred years of life.

Mozzi’s elixir method: stew mercury and the liquid of the five stones in a bronze vessel over fire, stir with an iron spoon; in ten days it returns to elixir. One daogui—all diseases leave the body; long ingestion avoids death, or so it is said, five hundred years.

Zhangzihe’s elixir method: mix lead, mercury, and azurite water, seal, steam in red millet eighty days. Make pills with jujube paste, dose like a soybean; in a hundred days gain five hundred years.

Qilidan method: first sublimate fine dust of the five stones and jade, combine with cinnabar and mercury, cook in a large bronze vessel a hundred days until five colors appear; ingestion avoids death. Also take a hundred jin of lead and fire-refine with a hundred daogui of this medicine into silver. Mix with realgar water and fire again a hundred days into gold. If gold is too hard, boil with lard; if too soft, boil with white plum.

Yugui elixir method: mix with the Hua Pool (the alchemical dissolving pool) and elixir, cover with azurite and sulfur powder, pack well, put in a tube, steam in sand fifty days. In a hundred days of ingestion, jade maidens and the Six Jia and Six Ding spirit maidens come to serve, may be dispatched, and one knows affairs under heaven.

Elbow-Reserve elixir method: combine Golden Flower with elixir, seal with dry tile, steam eighty days. Take out a bean-sized elixir, mix on a dish facing the sun until its light joins upward with sunlight. Dose like a small bean for long life. Throw the elixir into male-yellow bronze and fire-refine to make gold.

Li Gong’s elixir method: one sheng each of true elixir and five-stones water, knead to mud, fire in a kettle thirty-six days, take out and mix with native sulfur liquid. Ten years of ingestion and lifespan ends with heaven and earth.

Liu Sheng’s elixir method: mix chrysanthemum juice, earth-chu juice, and ailanthus juice with the elixir, steam thirty days, grind evenly and ingest; in one year gain five hundred years. The old who ingest grow young until others cannot recognize them; the young who ingest do not age.

Wang Jun’s elixir method: put basha and mercury in a chicken egg, seal with lacquer, let a hen brood. When three hatch, ingest on a wangxiang day (a day in traditional selection when the five phases are strong and actions are auspicious) to fix years without aging. Children must not take it or they will stop growing. Give to newborn chicks or dogs and they likewise cease growing; test on birds and beasts and it is the same.

Chen Sheng’s elixir method: mix white honey with elixir, seal in bronze, sink in a well a full year. After ingestion one is not hungry a whole year; consume one jin and live a hundred years.

Han Zhong’s elixir method: decoct lacquer and honey with the elixir and ingest; one may prolong years and clear sight, and stand in the sun without a shadow. Beyond these there are dozens of methods that cannot be detailed one by one.

Baopuzi said: Golden Fluid is the medicine by which the Great One ingested and became an immortal; its power is not inferior to the Nine Elixirs. To compound it use one jin of gold on the ancient scale, together with dark-bright dragon paste, Great One xunshou middle stone, ice stone, purple wandering maiden, dark-water fluid, gold-becoming stone, and cinnabar; seal a hundred days and it turns to water. The true scripture says: when Golden Fluid enters the mouth, the whole body turns golden. Laozi transmitted it to the Primordial Lord (Yuánjūn). The Primordial Lord said: this way is extremely precious; it appears once in a hundred generations and is stored in stone chambers. Those who refine it must fast a hundred days, not mingle with lay people, and build a pure chamber beside a famous mountain on east-flowing water; refined in a hundred days, one liang of ingestion makes an immortal. If one still does not wish to leave the human realm but only to be an immortal who remains on land or in water, fast a hundred days and take half a liang—then one lives without end, no harm or hundred poisons can injure, one may raise wife and children and hold office as one wishes, without restriction. If one further wishes to ascend heaven, fast and cut off desire for a year, then take one liang, and one soars up.

There is also a method to make Weixi and Jusheng from Golden Fluid: take Golden Fluid and mercury alone, boil together thirty days, take out, put in a yellow-earth bowl, seal with Six-One mud, fire fiercely sixty double-hours until all becomes elixir. Dose like a small bean and one becomes an immortal. One daogui of this elixir can transmute one jin of mercury into silver. Take one jin of this elixir, fan fire over it, and it becomes flowing red gold called elixir-gold. Smear it on swords and blades and one avoids calamity from weapons at a distance. Make plates and bowls from this elixir-gold; eating and drinking from them prolongs life. Hold it to sun and moon and the liquid obtained is like water from the fangzhu; drink it and one does not die. Mix Golden Fluid with yellow earth, put in a bowl sealed with Six-One mud, fire until all becomes usable gold; fire again and all turns to elixir—dose like a bean to enter famous mountains and rivers as an earthly immortal (long-lived yet still in the world). One daogui of this elixir transmutes mercury to silver at once; one liang of silver mixed with one jin of lead all becomes silver.

When receiving the Golden Fluid scripture, throw eight liang of gold and silver into east-flowing water, drink blood and swear an oath—only then are the oral formulas transmitted. If one steals the recipe against the method, success is impossible in the end. For those of deepest sincerity the medicine may be given, but the written text must not be lightly transmitted; otherwise both parties suffer calamity. Celestial spirits scrutinize people very closely—people simply do not know it.

Baopuzi said: The Nine Elixirs are indeed the supreme method among immortal medicines, but compounding them uses many miscellaneous drugs. If roads are open in all directions they can still be bought; if regions are cut off, these things cannot be obtained. One must also tend fires day and night for dozens of days, guarding heat so it never strays from the proper degree—toil extremely arduous—so it is not as easy as refining Golden Fluid. For Golden Fluid, only gold is hard to get. One jin on the ancient scale equals about two jin today, worth roughly three hundred thousand cash; the miscellaneous drugs are easier to prepare. One need not tend fire—only place it in the Hua Pool until the days are complete. In all about four hundred thousand cash buys one dose, enough for eight seekers of immortality. Yet if compounded slightly short, potency is insufficient for mutual transformation—like brewing with only a few sheng of rice: it necessarily fails.

Baopuzi said: Next there are small-scale methods of ingesting gold; though not equal to Golden Fluid, they far surpass other medicines. Some refine with fat from pig back leather and wine; some treat with ailanthus bark; some dissolve with thorn wine and magnetite; some can be drawn like cloth, some turn at once to water for ingestion. Each method has taboos, none equal to Golden Fluid. There are also methods of ingesting realgar and orpiment together—they can be stretched open like leather—all earthly-immortal methods. Silver and large pearls from mussels can also be turned to water for ingestion, but must be taken long without interruption, so none match Golden Fluid.

Baopuzi said: Refining Golden Fluid and the Nine Elixirs costs money and requires entering famous mountains and cutting off from the world, so few can complete them; among ten thousand people perhaps one occasionally obtains such a scripture. Therefore almost all who write Daoist books do not discuss golden elixirs. The first taboo is that unbelieving lay people must not slander and defame—or success is impossible.

Master Zheng (Ge Hong’s teacher Zheng Yin) explained: Refining such great medicines always requires sacrifice; at sacrifice the Great One, Primordial Lord, Lord Lao, and the Dark Maiden come to inspect the refiner. If one does not withdraw to a secluded place but lets foolish people of the world pass, hear, and see, the spirits will blame the refiner for not keeping scripture precepts, wicked people speak slander, aid is withdrawn, evil qi enters, and the medicine fails to form. One must enter famous mountains, fast a hundred days, eat none of the five pungent vegetables (wuxin—forbidden in Daoist fasting) or raw fish, and not meet lay people—only then may one refine the great medicine. Even after success one must still fast; fasting is not only at the start of refining.

Master Zheng also said: Lord Lao warned that various small mountains must not be used to refine Golden Fluid and divine elixirs. Small mountains generally have no correct spirit in charge; mostly they are essences of wood and stone, thousand-year old things, or blood-eating ghosts. These belong to evil qi; they do not wish to benefit people, only to make calamity, and are good at testing adepts. One must protect oneself with ritual techniques and restrain accompanying disciples—or they may still ruin one’s medicine. Nowadays whenever physicians compound good medicine or good ointment they do not want chickens, dogs, children, or women to see; if touched, use brings no effect. Dyers also dislike being seen by people with ill-favored eyes—or color is lost. How much more divine great medicines! So ancient adepts refining divine medicine had to enter famous mountains and not stay in ordinary hills—for this reason.

According to immortal scriptures, mountains where one may clarify the heart, refine thought, and compound medicines include: Mount Hua, Mount Tai, Mount Huo, Mount Heng, Mount Song, Mount Shaoshi, Mount Chang, Mount Taibai, Mount Zhongnan, Mount Nü’er, Mount Difei, Mount Wangwu, Mount Baodu, Mount Anqiu, Mount Qian, Mount Qingcheng, Mount Emei, Mount Sui, Mount Yuntai, Mount Luofu, Mount Yangjia, Mount Huangjin, Mount Biezu, Great and Small Tiantai, Mount Siwang, Mount Gaizhu, Mount Kuocang. These mountains all have correct spirits; some also have earthly immortals. Lingzhi grows on them; one may avoid great war and great disaster—not only refine medicine there. When a person of the Way ascends, the mountain spirit surely aids and bestows blessing, and medicine surely completes. If one cannot reach these mountains, large islands in the sea are next—such as Wengzhou, Danzhou, and Zhuyu east of Kuaiji, and Yangjuzhou, Taiguangzhou, and Yuzhou in Xuzhou. Today the famous mountains of the central plains cannot be reached; among Jiangdong famous mountains one can go to Huoshan in Jin’an, Changshan and Taibai in Dongyang, and Siwangshan, Great and Small Tiantai, Gaizhushan, and Kuocangshan—all in Kuaiji.

Baopuzi said: I am ashamed to be a minister’s descendant; my talent is insufficient to govern the state or manage affairs, yet among those I once admired and pursued for advancement, none surpassed me in learning—yet many have already spread wings into the sky, their brilliance shining in the heights. I therefore cut off congratulations and condolences in the village, cast off the glory of the age—I must ascend far into famous mountains, finish the child-book I am writing, and only then refine divine medicine to seek long life. Lay people all marvel that I left my homeland, abandoned a clear noble career, personally farmed in forests and marshes until my hands were calloused, and think I have gone mad. Yet the pursuit of the Way and worldly business cannot flourish together; if one does not set down human affairs, how can one realize such an aim? Those who truly see clearly and hold firm—why fear slander or praise, or be shaken by urging or blocking? I only write my intent to show future kindred spirits. Later, if there are companions of firm bond, what they cast off will be no different from mine.

Minor divine elixir formula: three jin true elixir, six jin white honey—stir and mix, expose and decoct daily until pills can be made. Each morning take ten pills the size of hemp seeds. Within a year white hair turns black, fallen teeth regrow, the body becomes lustrous. Long ingestion prevents aging; the old become young and live without end.

Minor elixir method: one jin elixir, pounded and sifted; three jin pure vinegar, two jin lacquer—the three fully mixed, decoct over fire until pills can be made. Each time three pills hemp-seed size, twice daily. In thirty days all internal illnesses heal and the Three Corpses depart. In a hundred days flesh, sinew, and bone are strong. In a thousand days the Director of Fates (Siming—the god who keeps the register of life and death) deletes one’s name from the death roll; lifespan ends with heaven and earth; one may face sun and moon; form changes without fixed shape; at noon there is no shadow; the body has its own radiance.

Minor method of ingesting gold: refine gold in clear wine; roughly two hundred times in and out and the wine boils. Pinch it—it comes through the fingers like mud. If the wine does not boil or pinching does not push it through the fingers, melt again and put in clear wine, times unlimited. When done, take one pellet the size of a crossbow bullet, or two, or divide into small pills. After thirty days one no longer feels cold or heat; divine people and jade maidens attend. Silver may be ingested the same way. Those who take these two, if they dwell in famous mountain stone chambers, may in one year lighten the body and soar; ingesting while remaining in the human realm can also make an earthly immortal. Do not transmit rashly.

Liangyizi’s minor gold-ingestion method: three jin fat from pig back leather, one sheng pure vinegar, five liang gold—put in a vessel on an earthen furnace and decoct. Put gold in the fat in and out a hundred times; vinegar likewise. Eat one jin and lifespan equals heaven and earth; half a jin, two thousand years; five liang, twelve hundred years; any amount may be ingested. Make it on a wangxiang day; after ingestion the divine effect is good. Do not show others—or the medicine will not form and divine effect is lost. To stop or resolve it, switch to ingesting cinnabar.

Baopuzi said: Subtle principles are hard to discern, and many harbor doubts in their hearts. In what way is my intelligence superior to others? I merely happened to lean toward one aspect and grasp something of it—like the crane knowing midnight or the swallow knowing the position of wu and ji, without necessarily understanding anything else. There are already facts that can be verified, enough to show that longevity can be sought and that immortals are not a separate breed of blood.

The refinements of the Dao cannot all be written down, and what is shallow and near is not worth detailing. In old times Gengsang Chu (a disciple of Laozi) wore calluses on hands and feet; Wenzi grew haggard from toil—they labored long before receiving weighty secrets, and there were real reasons for that. Who among those round-headed and filled with breath does not wish to live and fear death? Yet glory and power lure the mind, fair jade-like faces beguile the eyes, clear shang tones and flowing zhi notes disturb the ears, love and hate with profit and harm churn the spirit, and merit, fame, and praise bind the body. These come unbidden and take shape without study. Unless one is fated to become an immortal, able to exhaust principle and see alone, to perceive change and penetration beyond ordinary things, to apply clear discernment in realms remote and silent, and to know whether body or name is closer or more distant—grieving that life passes like a white colt at a gap or a flash of lightning—how could one set aside near companions to cultivate distant work, suppress and abandon cravings, cut off immediate desires, and pursue achievements hard to attain?

“Being” depends on “non-being” to arise; the body must rely on spirit to stand. Being is the chamber of non-being; the body is the dwelling of spirit. Thus by the dyke: when the dyke breaks, water cannot be kept; by the candle: when the tallow is spent, the flame does not stay. When the body is worn, spirit disperses; when qi is exhausted, life ends. If the root is dry yet branches still flourish, green will leave the tree; if qi is weary yet desire holds sway, the numinous essence will leave the body. The dead have no day of return; what has rotted has no principle of living again. Those who penetrate the great Dao truly grieve over this. They treat jade disks lightly and value reclusion—is there no reason? Hence those who nourish nature in mountain forests and abandon the world in contentment regard lofty rank as surplus growth and see the ten thousand things as light as a cicada’s wing. It is not that they talk big or forcibly despise the world; they have seen clearly and cast these off as if forgetting them.

Therefore they dwell far in seclusion, fold in scales and hide their brilliance, restrain the eyes that would look, turn away beauty that harms sight, block the ears that would heed sound, and keep far from noise that disorders hearing. They cleanse the mysterious gaze (clear inner clutter to view the deep), hold to the female and embrace the One (keep to yielding softness and hold the pure One), concentrate qi to reach softness, and settle themselves with plain simplicity. They send off wayward feelings of joy and sorrow, set gain and loss and honor and disgrace outside themselves, cut away the greasy poison in rich nourishment, and close the pivot of much speech in silence. After turning the hearing inward, what is heard becomes penetrating; after looking inward, one sees where there is no trace. In the deep womb of creation they nurture the spiritual root; in contact with things they remove enticement and longing, pare away shallow affairs, govern themselves with harmony and detachment, act through wuwei (non-action), and thereby preserve the natural principle.

Thus they chew and absorb precious essence and bathe spirit in the Grand Clarity (supreme purity and emptiness). Outward they screen off the Five Luminaries (sun, moon, and the major stars); inward they keep the nine essences. At the Gate of Life (the life portal, often the lower elixir field and kidney region) they secure the jade lock; in the Yellow Court (the central inner palace of the dantian) they gather the North Pole. They bring the Three Radiances (sun, moon, and stars) into the Bright Hall (the corresponding inner and facial palace), and fly the primordial beginning (primordial qi) to refine the form. On the golden beam they savor spirit fluid, drive white far off and keep green, let clear springs congeal in the dantian (energy center), and lead the sunken pearl into the Five Cities. The jade cauldron cooks below; patterned birds cry upward; strange flowers put forth tender buds; the celestial deer spit jade. In the Crimson Palace (the heart’s inner palace) they hold layered measures; in deep cavern halls they hide the nine lights. Azure clouds connect with heaven; long valleys plunge deep and meet the meridians. Steps tread Qian and Dui (two of the Eight Trigrams); they summon the Six Ding (six spirit officers of Daoist ritual). They sit and lie in the purple chamber, chewing and inhaling golden efflorescence. Autumn fungus glows; red flowers pair with green stems; jade crystal and precious paste overflow like dewdrops. Thus hunger and thirst are cured and the body grows light, so one can ride wind and clouds into empty space and endure as long as the undifferentiated heaven and earth.

Yet dust a foot deep on the beam is not gained between water marks on the clepsydra; mountain streams piercing rock are not achieved in a moment or an inch of shadow. Those who attain are few; those hidden and unfinished are very many. The world cannot know the hidden ones—it only sees those who appear—and so says that truly there is no way of immortals under heaven.

Baopuzi said again: When dykes are firm, water has no waste from seepage and loss; when grease is ample, fire has no worry of dying to darkness. The Longquan sword stays sharp long because it is seldom used to cut; axe and hatchet wear quickly because they are used every day. Snow stored away from warmth can last through summer; ice buried deep in shade can pass the heat. A single silk wrapping a mirror is not scorched; ordinary plants partly covering can survive winter. Earth easily crumbles, but fired into tile it lasts like heaven and earth; oak and willow rot fast, but charred into coal they can fail for myriad ages. Cart-pulling pigs live late through easy feeding; good horses die early from climbing steep places. Cold insects double their years by suiting themselves; southern trees flourish long in warmth. Meeting killing qi, they wither in hard frost; meeting harmonizing yang, they grow lush with branching splendor. Things are of one kind, yet glory and decay differ in effect—where are fixed terms for autumn harvest or rules for winter storage? The lifespan and term of life allotted to humans are not as rigidly fixed by cold heaven as grasses and trees. The principle of extending years and nourishing life and the methods of repair are not only the shallow benefit of warmth. Why should the proof of long life and clear sight not be the same? Yet the world clings to near habit and narrow sight, calls the immortal way empty, and calls Huang-Lao (the Daoist teaching associated with the Yellow Emperor and Laozi) nonsense—is that not pitiful?

Foolish people will not even believe in decoctions, acupuncture, or moxibustion—how much less in what goes deeper? They all say: If Yufu, Bian Que, Qin Huan, and Cang Gong (ancient master physicians) could truly cure illness, why did they not keep themselves from death? They also say: Are rich and noble houses ever short of medicine, yet they still fail to live long—so life is naturally given. To ask such people to believe in immortals is like making an ox climb a tree or a horse chase birds.

Small pills such as the Summoning Spirit Pellet and the Three Envoys Pill, and petty drugs like the Five Blossoms and Eight Minerals—some melt hard ice at once, some float on entering water, can cut off ghosts and spirits and ward off tigers and leopards, break accumulations in the viscera, and destroy the “two villains” (deep, hard-to-cure illness in the vital region) lodged in the membrane between heart and diaphragm, raise bodies that fell dead in a moment, and return souls already gone. These are only pills, yet they can revive the dead—so why should superior drugs not keep the living from dying? Bian Que (the Lord of Yue) revived the crown prince when life had already failed; a Hu shaman restored Su Wu when breath had stopped; Chunyu Yi could open the skull to treat brain disease; Hua Tuo could cut the belly and wash the intestines. These are but shallow arts of medicine, yet they could do so—how much more the way of immortals, where is there anything impossible?

People die from the drain of many desires, the harm of myriad diseases, venomous injury, damage of evil qi, and invasion of wind and cold. Now, with daoyin (guiding qi to soften the body and stretching the limbs), circulating qi, returning essence to replenish the brain (holding essence to nourish the spirit of the brain), regulated eating, orderly rising and resting, plus taking drugs, contemplating spirit and holding the One (visualizing the numinous and keeping the pure One), observing heaven’s prohibitions, wearing talismans and registers (fulu), and keeping far from everything that harms life—one can escape these six harms.

Medicine knows pills such as Shenqi Wan, the Inner Supplement Five-Channel Powder, the Bone-Filling Wolfberry Decoction, and Astragalus Center-Fortifying Decoction—taking them all makes one robust. Qiye and Qingnian are ordinary herbs; Fan A took them and lived to two hundred, with ears and eyes still keen, able to needle and treat. These are recent facts recorded in good histories. It is also said that Wu Pu followed Hua Tuo in learning the Five-Animal Play in place of daoyin and still lived over a hundred years. These are the shallowest in the art of drugs, yet so it was—how much more if one uses what is refined within them?

Now tell the vulgar: Lizhong and Sishun can treat sudden collapse; kuandong and ziyan can treat cough and reversed qi; huanlu and guanzhong can kill the nine worms; danggui and shaoyao can stop gripping pain; qinjiao and duhuo can remove the eight winds; changpu and ganjiang can stop painful damp obstruction; tusizi and cong rong can supplement vacuity and exhaustion; gansui and tingli can drive out phlegm and habit; gualou and huanglian can cure wasting thirst; jimi and gancao can resolve myriad poisons; luru and yire can prevent various sores and wounds; mahuang and daqing can chiefly treat cold damage. The vulgar still will not agree. They would rather kill animals to seek blessing and use yarrow stalks to ask about haunting, and will not trust good physicians to cure disease—they instead employ the tangled ways of shamans and clerks. How much less if you tell them golden elixir can deliver the world or spirit fungus and exquisite herbs can extend years?

Formerly Marquis of Liu Zhang offered rare stratagems unmatched in his generation; his wisdom reached beyond shallow people, yet he still believed immortality could be obtained. His intelligence was not all below the world’s, yet he said: I will cast off human affairs and wander with Master Red Pine (an ancient immortal). He then practiced daoyin and abstained from grain for a year, seeking the way of light body and ascent. But Empress Lü forced him, demanding a plan to secure the heir apparent; Zhang Liang had no choice, wrote to summon the Four Hoary Ones of Mount Shang, and the outcome was as he said. The empress was grateful and again forced him to eat against his will, so his way was not completed. According to the secret record of Kong Anguo, Zhang Liang obtained from Master Yellow Stone not only military art but the method of not dying. It also says Zhang Liang originally took the Four Hoary Ones as teachers—Mr. Horn, Mr. Beautiful Season, and the like were originally immortals, and Zhang Liang received divine formulas from them all. Though forced to eat by Empress Lü, he soon returned to cultivating the immortal way and secretly delivered himself—only the world did not know, so they said he died. If Kong Anguo is right, Zhang Liang attained immortality.

Also Chancellor Zhang Cang of Han happened upon a small technique, sucking a woman’s milk, and lived to one hundred eighty. This is only a shallow item in the way; Zhang Cang did it and gained triple a middling lifespan—how much less if one fully practices the various secret methods, why could one not live long? This appears in the Book of Han—not empty words.

Baopuzi said: Taking drugs is indeed the root of long life, but if one also circulates qi, the increase is very swift. If one gets no drugs but exhausts the principle of circulating qi alone, one can still live to several hundred years. Yet one should also know the arts of the bedchamber (methods of yin-yang union and guarding essence). The reason is that without knowing yin-yang arts, repeated draining makes circulating qi hard to gain strength. Person is in qi, qi is in person—from heaven and earth to the ten thousand things, nothing lives without relying on qi. Those skilled at circulating qi use it inward to nourish the body and outward to repel evil, yet the people use it daily without knowing.

Wu and Yue have methods of prohibition and incantation with clear effect—mostly the work of qi. Those who know can enter great epidemics, share a bed with the sick, and not be infected themselves; they can lead dozens of followers and keep them all unafraid. This is qi warding off heavenly calamity. Sometimes evil apparitions and mountain sprites harass a household, throwing tiles and stones, burning houses, appearing in form or only voice and speech—and those skilled in prohibition use qi to forbid, and they stop at once. This is qi restraining ghosts and spirits. Entering mountains and forests with many stream poisons and pit vipers, ordinary people passing briefly are harmed without exception; those skilled in prohibition use qi to forbid and can open a radius of several tens of li so companions are unharmed. They can also forbid tigers, leopards, and snakes so all crouch unable to rise; forbid wounds from metal blades so blood stops at once; and reconnect bone and sinew. Forbid white blades and one can tread them unhurt, thrust yet not pierce. If one is bitten by snakes or vipers, forbidding with qi heals at once. In recent times Zuo Ci and Zhao Ming used qi to forbid water so it flowed backward one or two zhang; they lit fires to cook on thatched roofs—food cooked yet the thatch did not char; they drove large nails into pillars seven or eight inches and blew with qi so the nails shot out; they forbade boiling soup, threw in a hundred or so coins, and had someone fish them out by hand without scorching; they set forbidden water in the courtyard exposed— in great cold it did not freeze; they could forbid everyone cooking within one li so rice would not cook, and forbid dogs so they could not bark.

Formerly Wu sent General He to attack mountain bandits; among the bandits were those skilled in prohibition. Whenever they fought, official swords would not draw, and arrows shot would fly back at themselves—so they often lost. General He was clever and resourceful and said: I have heard edged metal can be forbidden and poison can be forbidden; unedged things and non-poisonous creatures cannot be forbidden. They can forbid our weapons but surely cannot forbid things without edges. He then made many hard wooden clubs, chose five thousand elite strong men as vanguard, and struck the bandits with clubs with all their might. The bandits, trusting their forbidders, were wholly unprepared; the officials beat them with clubs and broke them utterly. Prohibition indeed failed; tens of thousands were killed. Qi comes from the form and in use is verified to this extent—why doubt it cannot cut off grain, cure disease, extend years, and nourish nature?

Zhongchang Tong, styled Gongli, was a talented and penetrating man. In his Changyan he also said circulating qi can prevent hunger and illness. He said: At first I did not believe; when I saw those who reached the utmost, I knew it was so. The method of nourishing nature is so simple, yet I could not do it—is it not because the heart gallops in worldly affairs and sharp thought is spent on human matters? What others cannot do surely shares the same fault as mine.

In old times a famous master knew the method of not dying; the lord of Yan sent someone to learn. Before learning was finished, the teacher died. The lord of Yan was angry and wanted to kill the envoy. A remonstrator said: What is feared none exceeds death; what is valued none is more urgent than life. He himself lost life—how could he make our lord not die? The lord then did not kill. That was good remonstrance, yet not the most apt argument. If that man had a method of not dying, it is like the circulating-qi method I have heard: the dead teacher may not have been ignorant—he simply could not abandon worldly affairs to practice—so though he knew, it did not help; it was not that no method of not dying existed.

It is also said: In Mi County, Henan, there was one Bu Cheng who studied the way long before bidding his family farewell. People saw him walk and gradually rise, then enter the clouds and disappear. This is what is called an immortal who lifts the body, flies lightly, and ascends in broad daylight.