《方壶外史》

The Treatise on the Mysterious Surface was written by Lu Xixing. Having heard the teachings on nature and life from a sage master, Lu suddenly understood them inwardly. He then set down what had been transmitted to him in twenty essays totaling more than seven thousand characters, and titled the work The Mysterious Surface.

“Mysterious Surface” means that these writings discuss profound principles but offer only a surface understanding, not yet reaching the deepest level. The longer ago the sages lived, the more easily the Great Dao is lost. Teachers with narrow views each promote what they know, often seizing on a single point of resemblance to disguise what is false. Some monks speak only in stock phrases, competing in debates over paradoxical exchanges. Some speak freely of the “yellow and white” arts of refining gold and silver. When discussing Neidan (internal alchemy), some make sexual techniques between men and women their primary method, thereby disrupting the orthodox path. And when discussing ingesting substances, some rely on minerals and medicines to preserve health, only to damage life instead. When learning is unclear, the resulting harms are endless, and those of generous and humane character are deeply troubled by them.

At first, Lu Xixing was a literary scholar who spent nearly twenty years investigating the teachings of Buddhism and Daoism. He once strayed onto dangerous paths and became caught up in disputes; he suffered repeated setbacks but repeatedly gathered his resolve again. Never abandoning his original sincerity, he eventually encountered this opportunity. He said, “Nature is realized through one’s own insight; the cultivation of life depends on a teacher’s transmission.” In other words, one must realize one’s nature for oneself, while cultivating nature and life requires the aid of a teacher’s lineage. Yet these two statements still need clarification: even people of exceptional intelligence and the highest capacity must gain insight through a teacher’s spoken instruction. Without personally receiving the guidance of a secret transmission, to act on one’s own conjectures is like a blind person without a cane, not knowing where to go.

There are roughly three reasons people fail to hear the Great Dao. The first is attachment to worldly pleasures, taking what is illusory for ordinary reality; others become absorbed in ideas of emptiness and deny that anything exists. This is called “a mind that does not believe.” The second is a faint awareness that the Great Dao is worthy of reverence and longing, while remaining bound by worldly concerns and unable to break free at once; such people only wish to set things aside for the time being and practice a little. This is called “a mind that does not understand fully.” The third is the belief that one’s own understanding is superior, a refusal to accept good counsel, and a fondness for grand talk that leads those nearby to give up their studies as well. This is called “a mind that is not humble.” If even one of these three attitudes is present, a sage master will not take the person into consideration, nor will good companions draw near. If someone lets old habits continue until the end of life without hearing the Great Dao, only to stop at death, it is truly pitiable.

Lu Xixing was deeply troubled by this and remained restless day and night, unwilling to abandon the cultivation of the Dao. He therefore cast aside deluded thoughts and devoted himself to investigating the Great Dao. In moments of quiet cultivation, he recalled the purport of the sage master’s teachings and put it into writing; even if doing so meant violating taboos, he would not shrink from it. His sole purpose in writing was to reveal the orthodox tradition and pass it on, so that people would know where to turn and return to the Great Dao.

Some say that in ancient times people usually wrote books only after attaining the Dao, and that Lu Xixing was too eager to speak. Lu replied that he had heard the highest achievement was to establish virtue, with writing and teaching coming next, but that sometimes writing cannot be avoided. He considered his own work only a lesser form of speaking through writing. Cultivation of the Great Dao is in fact higher than the state of virtue; once one has attained that state, it is also acceptable not to write. Lu Xixing aspired to cultivate virtue, but had not yet reached that level.

I once heard my master say, “The methods of the Elixir have three origins, and each can bring the cultivation of nature and life to completion.” These three origins are the Celestial Origin, the Earthly Origin, and the Human Origin.

The Celestial Origin is called the Spirit Elixir. It brings Water and Fire into mutual harmony and is refined in the Spirit Chamber—a cauldron or furnace used for alchemy, or a place of cultivation—so that the formless gives birth to form and substance. After nine transformations, when the fire process reaches completion, “white snow” takes shape. Refined for a further three years, it becomes a Spirit Talisman. It is said that those who ingest it can become weightless and ascend through the air. This is a sage’s work, in which substances are transformed and wondrous powers arise. Related methods, such as the Yellow Emperor’s Dragon-and-Tiger Elixir method and the Stone Casket Elixir method of Jingyang (Xu Xun), have already been described in detail.

The Earthly Origin is called the Numinous Elixir. It transforms metals and stones into precious substances. It uses tangible ingredients such as silver, lead, cinnabar, and mercury. These can benefit the world, but cannot make a person weightless and able to ascend through the air. Once the nine transformations are complete, the most numinous and subtle ingredient is taken and cast into the Spirit Chamber, thereby establishing a connection upward to the Celestial Origin. The Earthly Origin’s elixir method is like a boat for traversing the path of cultivation, and it is also the support needed by those who study the Dao. Sages and perfected adepts of the Dao, both ancient and modern, have regarded it as sacred work. Its method is very simple to describe: obtain precelestial lead, subdue postcelestial mercury, and distinguish the ingredients’ tendency to float or sink and the fire’s maturity or immaturity. Today, many teachers without a true transmission do not understand these things. Their repeated attempts at refinement therefore fail, and they accomplish nothing. Know that the Way of the Earthly Origin and that of the Human Origin are not wholly unrelated. Only those who fully understand Yin-Yang and deeply comprehend the workings of creation are fit to discuss this Way.

The Human Origin is called the Great Elixir. A vessel is established outside the body, while the medicine is refined within it. Kan Water is used to replenish Li Fire, and the mechanisms of creation are employed to reverse their workings. Among the great immortals and sages of antiquity, none failed to follow this path. Therefore, of the methods for cultivating nature and life, the most direct and practical is the Human Origin.

The three origins lead to different kinds of attainment. The Celestial Origin concerns Heaven, Earth, and spirits, and there is no guarantee that what one seeks can be obtained. The Earthly Origin has clear procedures, brings blessings and good results, and can be put into practice as easily as reaching out to take something. The Human Origin, meanwhile, is said to let the cultivator master the cosmos and make the myriad transformations arise from within. Its workings are beyond the spirits’ ability to discern, and even Yin and Yang cannot escape its calculations. Given this, do the three origins differ in scale and rank? My master said, “Heaven contains the Earth, and the Earth bears humanity; their relative scale and rank are evident.” This is the distinction in rank among the three origins.

The distinction between Neidan (internal alchemy, the practice of refining the elixir within oneself) and Waidan (external alchemy, the preparation of elixirs using substances outside the body) arose from a practice in which a cauldron and furnace were set up externally while the substances were refined and nurtured internally. Most people who discuss Waidan do not understand its essential principles. They often lead the blind while blind themselves, which is deeply troubling.

The Dao is originally within the human body, and the furnace for internal refinement is within oneself. Why, then, set up a cauldron and furnace externally? This was a measure the sages adopted only because they had no alternative. Laozi compared it to the use of weapons, saying, “Weapons are instruments of ill omen; the sage uses them only when there is no alternative.”

The three grades of superior medicine are Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence). People are endowed with all three from birth. Originally they are whole and undivided, so why would they need to be refined? For this reason, newborn infants are all like embryos of the sacred elixir. But once desires and passions stir, that original, undivided state is broken. Shen, Qi, and Jing change along with it, gradually falling into the acquired state. All acquired things belong to Yin and are difficult to preserve for long, so they must be replenished with innate things of the same kind. These innate things of the same kind are the sun’s Qian Metal, which symbolizes the pure Yang energy of the pre-heaven state. By refining Yin with Yang, the physical form can endure.

The Cantong qi (Token for Joining the Three), a Daoist alchemical classic, says: “To refine the elixir that can be ingested to attain immortality, one must seek substances of the same kind. When a fence is broken, bamboo is used to mend it; when a hen broods, it needs eggs.” The meaning of this analogy is perfectly clear.

One must also understand that the Qi of both partners originates in the same Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the source of heaven, earth, and all things. The essences of Yin and Yang are contained within one another, so cultivation cannot rely on one side alone. The Book of Changes says, “One Yin and one Yang together are called the Dao.” It also says, “Voices of the same kind respond to one another; Qi of the same kind seeks its own.” The Cantong qi likewise says, “The Qi of Yin and Yang intermingle, and primordial Qi then begins to sprout and grow.” The principle of creation, followed in its ordinary course, gives rise to human beings; reversed, it forms the elixir. Its marvelous workings arise naturally and cannot be denied.

When the medicine is refined internally and the cauldron is set up externally, is this merely to make up for one’s own deficiencies?

The Can Tong Qi (Zhouyi Cantong Qi) says: “Heaven and Earth each establish their positions, and the transformations of the Yi unfold naturally between them. They cannot be called illusory. Inwardly cultivating the medicine and outwardly fashioning the vessel—surely this is not merely to make up for what one lacks?”

On Yin and Yang Containing One Another

The Can Tong Qi says: “Heaven and Earth each establish their positions, and transformations unfold between them.” Here, “Yi” refers to the Li and Kan trigrams. A verse in the Wuzhen Pian says: “First take Qian and Kun as the vessel, then gather and refine the medicines of the Crow and Rabbit.” Qian and Kun symbolize Yin and Yang, while the Crow and Rabbit symbolize their vital essences.

The Li trigram symbolizes the sun. The sun carries Yang essence, yet the middle line of Li is Yin, showing that Yin is concealed within Yang. The Kan trigram symbolizes the moon. The moon carries Yin essence, yet the middle line of Kan is Yang, showing that Yang is concealed within Yin. When the Can Tong Qi says, “Kan is the male sun, Li the female moon,” this is the principle it expresses.

From this we can understand that Qian and Kun represent pure Yin and pure Yang, while Kan and Li represent Yin and Yang joined together. In the human body, before desire arises, one is in a state of pure Yin and pure Yang like Qian and Kun. Once desire arises, the Yin and Yang aspects of the body join, and the vital essences contained within each begin to function. The number of lesser Yin is eight, and men receive this number; therefore, at sixteen, a man’s vital essence begins to flow. The number of lesser Yang is seven, and women receive this number; therefore, at fourteen, a woman’s menstrual cycle begins. Does this not show that Yang contains Yin and Yin contains Yang?

Someone asked: “A man’s vital essence beginning to flow at sixteen is naturally connected to physical development. But what causes a woman’s menstrual cycle to begin at fourteen?”

Someone asked, “Setting aside whether there is a response or resonance, as soon as that Qi arrives, the undivided whole has already been broken. Moreover, when the Earth’s terrain is heavy with Yin Qi, a single Yang suddenly returns to life. This is precisely the Returning Hexagram, Fu, corresponding to the eleventh lunar month. Where, then, does the generative heart of Heaven and Earth appear at that moment? Wasn’t this why Confucius sighed? Although the Qi through which Heaven and Earth’s transformative powers resonate with one another has not yet gathered and become manifest, the impulse for change has already begun.

“At that moment, which seems still but is already moving, and has begun to stir but has not yet become apparent, there is the precelestial true Yi Qi—the fundamental Qi that precedes visible form and drives generation and change. It is the source of transformation and the key to the formation of the different kinds of beings. Once signs of change have become visible and forms and appearances have emerged, things have entered the realm of form and substance: they belong to the postcelestial. So when I speak of ‘breaking,’ I mean the initial stirring of the Qi mechanism. It does not have to wait until the Qi has interacted, gathered, and become manifest for the breaking to count as having occurred.

“When a man first produces seminal fluid, there need not initially be any fluid with a visible form. The Qi must arrive first; afterward it transforms into water, and then further develops into Jing (essence). The Qi that arrives first is precelestial Qi. When Qi transforms into water, this is what is meant by ‘Heaven’s One gives birth to water.’ Once the precelestial substance is broken open, postcelestial functioning begins; as that functioning proceeds, the original truth of the precelestial becomes more hidden. Who can deny that this is how the wonders of transformation unfold? You may ask the teacher about it.”

On the Precelestial and Postcelestial

“Why does the original truth of the precelestial become more hidden once postcelestial functioning begins?”

The “precelestial True” cannot be seen directly. Whatever can be seen belongs to the postcelestial realm: what has taken shape and become outwardly manifest. The bodily fluids people speak of today—mucus, saliva, fluids, Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), blood, and other liquids—are all tangible substances. They belong to the postcelestial realm and cannot serve as the foundation sought in cultivation. So people take Jing, Qi, and Shen (spirit) to be the precelestial True. But they do not understand that once postcelestial functions begin to operate, Jing, Qi, and Shen also manifest through those functions and thus fall into the postcelestial realm. Why? As soon as the body’s senses and activities are activated, anything that can be spoken of or put to use already belongs to the postcelestial realm. The precelestial True then sinks into obscurity, grows weaker by the day, and can no longer govern the body. People grow old, fall ill, die, and suffer because postcelestial functions are exhausted and the precelestial True is no more. So if you wish to keep the physical body stable for a long time, what else can you rely on but the precelestial True?

On Lead and Mercury

Someone asked, “What does it mean to say that precelestial Qi is ‘True Lead’?”

“True” is used in contrast to the ordinary and mundane. What is true has no form, while mundane things have appearances. If we must explain the principle, we should begin at its root: when Heaven and Earth joined, the forms of Li and Kan came into being. Once Heaven and Earth had joined, the undivided whole was broken apart. Thus, in the Later Heaven arrangement of the trigrams, Qian and Kun withdrew to the highest positions, where they no longer act directly, and Li and Kan took their place. South and north are the two poles of Heaven and Earth; in the Earlier Heaven arrangement, Qian and Kun originally occupied them. Now Qian and Kun have withdrawn from view, and Li and Kan act in their stead, setting the processes of Later Heaven in motion.

Li represents the sun, shining over the south; Kan represents the moon, illuminating the north. The sun and moon shine upon one another, and all things grow as a result. Though these are processes of Later Heaven, they still take their foundation from the substance of Earlier Heaven. Thus the true Qi in Kan transforms into “lead”—the water generated by the First of Heaven—while the true Jing in Li transforms into “mercury”—the fire generated by the Second of Earth. Lead, mercury, water, and fire are all things of the world, with names and appearances. What are called “true lead” and “true mercury,” however, cannot be confined by names or appearances. These material things are used as analogies only because no better terms are available; “true” here actually refers to Yin Jing and Yang Qi. The Book of Changes says, “Jing and Qi coalesce to become the myriad things.” When Jing and Qi combine, human beings begin to be born; this entire process belongs to the workings of Earlier Heaven.

Because Yin and Yang contain one another, men receive Jing, and its use brings about transformation; women receive Qi, and its use brings about flourishing. Using Jing to bring about transformation follows the ordinary course of human development. Using Qi to bring about flourishing reverses the usual course and refines the Neidan (internal alchemy). This is what it means to call the Qi of Earlier Heaven “true lead.” With the undisturbed true lead of Earlier Heaven, one regulates the true mercury that has accumulated over time in Later Heaven. The two then draw near and become mutually attached, like husband and wife or mother and child, unwilling to part. These transformations occur naturally. Without discerning Yin and Yang and deeply understanding the workings of creation, it is difficult to grasp their principle.

If Primordial Qi is called “lead” and Primordial Jing is called “mercury,” then what exactly is Primordial Shen?

Answer: Primordial Shen is “nature”; it governs Jing and Qi. It is everywhere, yet difficult to fathom. It is luminous and perceptive, with no fixed form, and so is called “Shen.” When Shen settles, Jing gathers; when Jing gathers, Qi returns and collects; when Qi collects, the Elixir forms. These are all functions of innate life.

Primordial Jing is not the semen produced through sexual intercourse between men and women, but the true fluid stored in “Li” (the Li trigram of the Bagua, here referring to the heart)—the pure, genuine fluid within the heart. Primordial Qi is not the breath drawn through the mouth and nose, but the true Qi stored in “Kan” (the Kan trigram of the Bagua, here referring to the kidneys), arising from emptiness. Primordial Shen is not the consciousness engaged in thought, but the numinous, genuine nature that connects with the Limitless and is present before birth.

Each person is a Taiji. Jing and Qi embody the Yin-Yang of Taiji, while Shen embodies the fundamental connection between Taiji and the Limitless. This is the meaning of Primordial Jing, Primordial Qi, and Primordial Shen.

The Perfected One of Emerald Emptiness wrote in a poem: “This Jing is not the semen produced through sexual intercourse between men and women; it is the saliva in the mouth of the Jade Emperor.” Here, “Jade Emperor” refers to the sovereign of the heart, that is, the heart; “saliva in the mouth” refers to the numinous fluid within the heart. “This Qi is not the breath, but the mist of Great Simplicity.” The mist of Great Simplicity refers to the innate, true Yi Qi. “This Shen is not the consciousness engaged in thought, but can stand alongside the Primordial Sovereign.” The Primordial Sovereign is Primordial Beginning. What is described here is the reality of the Limitless: it connects Heaven and Earth, extends throughout the cosmos, stands supreme, and transforms beyond the ordinary.

The Theory of Shen’s Governance

Question: How do we know that Shen governs Jing and Qi?

Answer: We can understand this by observing people’s acquired physical and mental states. When Shen is excessively disturbed, Jing becomes scattered and a person grows anxious and unsettled. When Shen sinks into indulgence, Qi is depleted, leaving a person listless and weak. For this reason, cultivation emphasizes calming the mind and settling Shen, so that Jing and Qi can gather.

This passage speaks only of the body’s postnatal condition. When Shen (spirit and conscious awareness) is excessively disturbed, Jing (essence) is depleted and dissipates, leaving one restless with palpitations. When the mind and will indulge too much in desire, Qi (vital energy) is exhausted, causing the body to weaken and its functions to decline. Thus, when Shen is housed in Jing, it is called “spirit and essence”; when Shen is housed in Qi, it is called “spirit and energy.” With Shen governing Jing and Qi, they are like ministers who gain dignity through having a sovereign. For this reason, the foremost concern of those who cultivate the Dao is to nourish Shen.

Shen is one’s nature: a person’s innate character and disposition of mind. When one’s nature and temperament are settled, Shen naturally becomes calm. When Shen is calm, Jing can remain secure; when Jing remains secure, Qi arises of its own accord. Why is this so? When the mind and nature are settled, the heart-fire does not surge upward. When the fire does not flare, the body’s fluids are not consumed, and the Jing within can remain at rest. The Jing stored in the body’s five viscera and six bowels all belongs to the category of Water. Once Jing throughout the body is settled, one can infer that the Jing in the kidneys is settled as well. The kidneys are the storehouse of Jing. When kidney Jing is abundant, it is like water gathering to form a tide: it steams upward like clouds and mist, warming the limbs and bones and spreading through the entire body, above and below. At this point, the Original Shen (the innate, primordial function of spirit) operates within, directing and regulating the process. Its rising and descending, movement and stillness are as if held in the palm of one’s hand. This is called the “conjoining of Water and Fire,” and it brings about “completion” (a state in which Yin and Yang are harmonized and Water and Fire support one another). This is also called postnatal Qi; when practitioners attain it, they may feel as though they are drunk.

This, however, describes cultivation only at the body’s postnatal level. The workings of the prenatal level—including gathering the medicine, copulation, and shedding the womb to undergo spiritual transformation—cannot be directed by conscious awareness. They are the workings of Primordial Unity (the unified state of the innate source) itself. Therefore, the foremost concern of those who cultivate the Dao is to refine Shen. Refining Shen means refining oneself through Jade Fluid: nurturing and tempering oneself. This is the foundation on which the Great Dao is accomplished from beginning to end.

On Golden and Jade Fluids

In alchemical methods, there are the practices called “refining the form with Golden Fluid” and “refining the self with Jade Fluid.” What is their essential meaning?

What is meant by the “Dao” is cultivating both nature and life, so that body and spirit alike reach a refined and subtle state. Refining the body with Golden Fluid—a Neidan term for innate True Yang used to refine the body—is called “fulfilling life.” Refining the self with Jade Fluid—a Neidan term for the work of cultivating the mind and nature—is called “fulfilling nature.”

What is Jade Fluid? “Jade” is used as a metaphor for gentleness, moistness, integrity, and purity; “gold” names what is firm, strong, and imperishable. In cultivating the mind and nature, one must continually diminish selfish desires and overcome personal bias, making the mind and nature gentle, pure, and upright, worthy of comparison with jade’s virtue. Only then is inner cultivation mature.

Once inner cultivation is mature, one may approach the furnace to gather the ingredients and undertake a brief period of practice. When the time is ripe and the apertures are activated, one “takes Kan to fill Li”—using the Yang Qi in the Kan trigram to replenish the Li trigram—and gathers lead to subdue mercury, using lead and mercury as metaphors for the Yin-Yang transformations of Neidan cultivation. The single Yang line in Kan is innate Qian Metal, called Golden Fluid. Refining the body with Golden Fluid transforms it into pure Yang, allowing the physical form to endure and remain firm, strong, and imperishable like gold. Hence the terms “gold refinement” and “jade refinement”: cultivating nature and cultivating life proceed together, bringing body and spirit alike to a refined and subtle state.

Jade refinement belongs to the Dao of Wuwei (non-action); gold refinement belongs to the art of action. First one enters through Wuwei into action, then, after carrying out the work of action, returns to Wuwei. In this way, one masters the principles of cultivating nature and life, and completes the work required of a sage in practice.

On Nature and Life

What are nature and life?

He said: “Nature is the common source of all things; life is the life each person receives and establishes for themselves. If Nature has no life through which to manifest, it cannot be made clear; if life has no Nature, it has no spiritual awareness. Nature is the root on which life depends, while life is the form that carries Nature. Today, some people discuss Nature and life as though they were separate, without realizing that vessel and Dao depend on one another, being and nonbeing give rise to each other, and emptiness and substance generate one another. Nature and life are inseparable by their very nature; they cannot be divided into two things.

“Nature is Shen (spirit); life is Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). Nature belongs to Wuji, the undifferentiated source; life belongs to Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the fundamental state before Yin-Yang divides and the myriad things come into being. How could the two be separated? Some say that Buddhism cultivates awakening to one’s original nature, while Daoism cultivates life. That is not the whole picture. Buddhism speaks of ‘no self’ to break attachment and craving; Daoism speaks of ‘guarding the Mother’ because it values the nameless, formless source. If you do not understand Nature, how can you understand life? And once you understand life, could you simply cast Nature aside?

“Thus, when one speaks of one’s original nature without falling into empty stillness, the Way of life is already present. When one holds to the root and returns to simplicity, one’s original nature is already present. This is called understanding the Way of life through one’s original nature; it is also called bringing both body and spirit to perfection and becoming one with the Great Dao in reality.”

Someone asked: “Your account of Nature and life is already clear and thorough. May I ask: what exactly is a person’s Nature? Can it be seen?”

The text says: “Our original nature cannot be seen directly. What we do see is the way it manifests. If we deliberately ask how it manifests in what cannot be seen, our original nature will only move farther from us. Why? We can experience our original nature when the mind is free of intention and thought, but we cannot attain it through deliberate seeking.

“In ancient times, Laozi used ‘the Great Uncarved’—the natural state untouched by carving—to explain that the Great Dao has no name. The Yellow Emperor found the Mysterious Pearl amid ‘shadowy indistinction,’ a state without form or trace, elusive and hard to grasp. These images carry profound meaning.

“Consider, too, the origins of human life. The true source of the Limitless, together with the refined energies of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (‘the essences of two and five’), wondrously mingles and gathers, and a person begins to form. Here, ‘nature’ refers to the true source of the Limitless, while ‘life’ refers to the refined energies of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases. Before the body has taken shape, the Limitless is an undifferentiated whole, without form, name, sound, or discernible beginning; there is no question of taste or smell. Once Yin-Yang and the Five Phases have gathered and a person has received spiritual awareness, the mind still has no thoughts, plans, or pursuits. This is the original state of one’s nature.

“Later, emotions and consciousness gradually awaken, and the original nature becomes obscured. Zhang Zai said, ‘Only after taking bodily form does one have a nature influenced by one’s endowment of Qi. If one is skilled at returning to the source, the nature bestowed by Heaven and Earth will be preserved.’ The ‘emotions and consciousness’ referred to here are the nature influenced by one’s endowment of Qi; the underlying nature obscured by them is the nature of Heaven and Earth. Laozi’s phrases ‘return to the uncarved state,’ ‘return to infancy,’ and ‘return to the Limitless’ all describe skillfully returning to one’s original nature.

“Thus, the most important thing in cultivating the Dao is refining one’s nature. When the mind and nature are settled, one’s endowment of Qi also becomes calm and no longer weighs one down; the original nature can then emerge. The master’s poem says: ‘When delusion no longer takes hold, the original nature settles of itself; when the nature settles, Qi naturally turns back; when Qi turns back, the Neidan can congeal; within the vessel, harmonize Kan and Li.’ Here, ‘vessel’ is a metaphor for internal cultivation, while ‘Kan and Li’ refer to Water and Fire, the energies of Yin-Yang. The meaning is that postnatal cultivation works through the innate original nature. This is called understanding nature in order to fulfill life.”

Treatise on Innate Nature

Human nature is originally one. Why, then, distinguish between original nature and acquired temperament?

Answer: What is called original nature is considered from the perspective of the innate. It is pure, complete, and luminous, whole in itself and lacking nothing. The sage gains nothing from it, and the fool loses nothing of it. What is called acquired temperament is considered from the perspective of the acquired. It arises from the limitations of the physical form and its endowment of Qi, giving rise to differences in clarity and turbidity, richness and thinness.

The two Qi of Yin and Yang and the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) interact and transform, giving rise to the myriad kinds of people and things. Their differences and uneven mixture stem from the varied conditions in which embryos first receive primordial Qi. Why is this so? From the perspective of the acquired, people from ancient times to the present have often damaged and distorted their original nature and life through emotional and sensual desires. When people encounter external circumstances, thoughts arise; when they come into contact with things, feelings emerge. Over time, they are shaped by these influences. Each person receives Qi that is pure or mixed to varying degrees, so their inclinations and desires are more or less intense. People all draw on their innate nature to satisfy their private desires.

Acquired temperament cannot function on its own. What actually functions is the luminous awareness of original nature that it borrows, much as an arrogant servant or an unworthy son gives orders in the master’s name. This is why water is often used as a metaphor: original nature is like water, and when it enters the realm of temperament, it is like water flowing into a muddy marsh. When the water is made to flow, people see only the marsh and not the water within it. How could the marsh flow by itself? In truth, it is the water that flows; it is simply hard to see because it is mixed with the marsh. After remaining still and clear for a long time, pure water rises to the surface and muddy sediment settles below. Then, when the water is set flowing again, only water flows out. This is the work of stilling and purifying, and the strength of the effort to return to original nature.

Treatise on the Spirit Chamber

What is the difference between original nature and original Shen (spirit)?

Answer: Original nature is original Shen; there is no difference between them. It is called “Shen” because it is wondrously subtle, responsive, and beyond measure, able to respond to things in marvelous ways without being confined to any place. It is called “original” to distinguish it from thoughts and deliberations that arise after birth.

Does Shen (spirit) reside in a fixed place within the human body?

Answer: I once heard Immortal Master Ziqing, revered in Daoism, say that the human body has three valleys where the Original Shen (the fundamental spirit of a person) can remain in tranquil emptiness and clarity. They are empty like mountain valleys, and so are also called “Valley Spirits.” When Shen remains, a person is alive; when Shen departs, a person dies. By day, Shen engages with things in the outside world; by night, it engages with dreams. Thus, Shen finds it difficult to dwell in peace. The Inner Classic of the Spiritual Pivot (Lingshu Neijing), a classic of Chinese medicine, says: “The Original Shen in the Heavenly Valley: guard it, and you can preserve your true nature.”

The upper part of the body is called the “Heavenly Valley,” namely the Mud Ball Palace (the spirit chamber in the head). The middle part is called the “Responsive Valley,” namely the Crimson Palace (the spirit chamber in the heart). The lower part is called the “Numinous Valley,” namely Guanyuan (the Dantian in the lower abdomen). These three valleys are all places where Shen resides, and are also called the “Three Fields.”

I have explained them this way: the Mud Ball Palace is the Original Shen’s principal dwelling; the Crimson Palace is like the Hall of Illustrious Governance, where orders are issued; and the Numinous Valley is like a secret chamber where practice is stored away. Thus, when the Original Shen resides in the Crimson Palace, the ears can hear and the eyes can see, each of the sense organs carries out its function, and the body moves accordingly. When the Original Shen resides in the Numinous Valley, the gaze turns inward and hearing grows quiet; Shen and Qi guard one another, and the hun and po souls thereby gather and become focused.

Yang Xiong, a Han dynasty thinker, said: “Hide the heart in the depths of an abyss, and the numinous root will flourish.” The “abyss” here means a place deep and hard to fathom: the Numinous Valley, where Shen is concealed.

On the River Chariot

Once Shen has been safely stored away, this is called “returning to the root.” Returning to the root is stillness; stillness is a return to life’s source. In this way, Shen and Qi can guard one another, gathering and focusing without separation. When stillness reaches its utmost and turns into movement, then it is…

When the spirit is gathered within, this is called “returning to the root.” Returning to the root means stillness, and stillness is a return to life in its original state. In this way, spirit and Qi can sustain one another, embracing and preserving their unity without separation. When stillness reaches its utmost and movement begins, this is the activity of the spirit. The spirit then rises with the movement of Qi to the Niwan (the Niwan Palace, an internal alchemy center at the top of the head), and the River Chariot (a metaphor in internal alchemy for the movement of Qi within the body) begins to flow freely.

Know that the River Chariot’s route follows the Ren and Du vessels along the front and back of the body. When Qi first begins to rise, it surges and steams between the kidneys, like a rising tide or melting ice. It spills over the Five Shu points (acupuncture points along the channels), like floodwater flowing outside its channels. At this point, promptly guide the breath with the intent of the spirit back to the Tailbone Pass, at the base of the spine. Let it ascend along the spine, passing through the paired passes at the spine (two gateways along the back), rising to Fengfu at the back of the neck, and proceeding straight to the Niwan. Spirit and Qi meet there, and the breath becomes smooth and harmonized—something that needs no further explanation.

Before long, the Qi descends and transforms into fresh, sweet fluids. From the Chonglou (the throat), they flow down through the Crimson Palace, the internal alchemy center in the heart, and enter the Purple Court, the region of the lower Dantian, before returning to their original place of storage and cultivation to rest. As this circulation continues and becomes practiced over time, Qi fills the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, bringing harmony throughout the body. This is what is meant by: “Keep Qi flowing through the passes and permeating the joints; naturally, essence will be full and the Valley Spirit will endure.” When cultivation reaches this stage, the results of internal practice become evident. But without deep practice and personal verification, how could one grasp the meaning of my words?

On Clarifying the Spirit

“I have understood what you said about the dwelling where the spirit is stored. May I respectfully ask what is essential to storing the spirit?”

“Preserving the spirit” means gathering and settling the spirit. The key to concentrating the spirit is first to clarify the mind and spirit; the key to clarifying them is first to dispel desires. The Qingjing Jing says, “When desires are removed, the mind naturally grows still; when the inner heart is clarified, the spirit naturally becomes clear.” The Yijing says, “The sage uses this method to cleanse the heart and then withdraws to a quiet, secluded place.” “Cleansing the heart” means clarifying the spirit. Zhou Dunyi said, “Without desire, there is stillness.” “Without desire” means completely dispelling desires.

The human spirit naturally favors stillness, yet is disturbed by turmoil within the heart. The human heart naturally favors peace, yet is drawn along by desire. The “heart” spoken of here has two aspects: the deluded heart that disturbs the spirit, and the true heart that delights in stillness. Once the deluded heart arises, the spirit is disturbed—how can it remain clear? When the spirit is disturbed, it clings to things. Clinging to things gives rise to craving, and craving gives rise to affliction. Affliction and delusion bring suffering to body and mind—how can the heart remain still?

Therefore, the key to clarifying the spirit is first to dispel desires. To do this, look inward at your own heart and discover that no fixed, unchanging “heart” can be found. Then look outward at your own body and discover that there is no fixed, unchanging body to cling to. Finally, look far and wide at all things and discover that they, too, have no enduring, unchanging substance. Realizing that none of these three can be grasped, one sees only emptiness and stillness; this is called “the emptiness of the person.” Even this “emptiness” offers nothing to cling to. Since what is emptied does not exist, one no longer clings even to “nothingness,” and ultimately reaches clarity and stillness. This is called “the emptiness of phenomena.”

In this way, the senses and their objects in the external world all become still. The six desires—usually understood as cravings arising from forms, sounds, scents, tastes, touch, and mental objects—no longer arise, and the heart becomes still. When the heart is still, the spirit naturally becomes clear, like a body of water without waves, its vast expanse clear and bright. The Daoist honorific Master Xujing says in his “Song of the Great Dao,” “If you want the spirits within your body not to scatter outward, let nothing linger in your heart. When things remain in the heart, the spirit cannot be clear; this dissipates true Jing and harms the sinews and bones.” Even if I had to wait a hundred generations for a sage, my account of dispelling desires and clarifying the spirit would not change.

On Nurturing the Spirit

“Once the mind and spirit have grown clear and still, how should one continue to cultivate them?”

“One must continue to nurture and protect them. To nurture the spirit is to draw in its radiance and keep it from showing outwardly. The clearer and stiller the mind and spirit become, the more lucid they are; the more lucid they are, the greater their wisdom. Stillness and concentration give rise to wisdom. The light of one’s innate clarity then shines forth, illuminating one’s surroundings and penetrating the principles of things—making it difficult to conceal.

“The Zhuangzi says, ‘One who is tranquil and settled reveals the bright light of Heaven.’ But if one continually exercises this power of discernment, allowing its radiance to show too plainly, one may instead damage one’s nature. The Zhuangzi also says, ‘The people of old who cultivated the Way used wisdom to nurture tranquility.’ Once wisdom has arisen, to act with wisdom while remaining tranquil is to nurture wisdom through tranquility. The Treatise on the Pivot and Wings of Sitting in Oblivion says, ‘To possess wisdom without using it recklessly: true wisdom then appears almost foolish. In this way, concentration and wisdom grow together and support one another.’ The Dao De Jing says, ‘How honest and sincere, like uncarved wood; how vast and indistinct, like muddy water.’ It also says, ‘Everyone else seems perceptive and discerning; I alone seem dull. Everyone else seems clever and alert; I alone seem dim.’ These are all essential principles for nurturing the spirit.

On Gathering the Spirit

“Once the mind and spirit have been properly nurtured, how should one gather them?”

“Gathering the spirit” means allowing it to function through Wuwei (non-action), as a practice for cultivating nature and life. The Cantong qi says, “Tend and nourish the Yin’e—the place where the body’s Qi gathers and forms its foundation—and gather the spirit; only then can the physical form be perfected.” Settling into meditation in the Li Palace, where the heart spirit resides, is the aim of Chan practice. Seeking the mystery in the Water Mansion, a site of cultivation associated with the kidneys and lower Dantian (energy center), is essential to Neidan (internal alchemy). Clarifying and stilling the mind and spirit is important; gathering the spirit is even more crucial. The Cui Xu Yin says, “Long ago, I met a master who taught me the oral formula: simply gather the spirit and enter the Qi cavity.” The Qi cavity is the body’s Yin’e. The Treatise on the Spirit Chamber explains this in detail.

I worry that practitioners may know only to clarify and still the mind and spirit, without knowing where to settle the gathered spirit. Then the spirit has nowhere to return, and they cannot grasp the foundation of returning to the root and restoring life. They may also know only to nourish the spirit, without understanding how to gather it; then they will not know where to begin or perceive the subtle workings of creation and transformation. So I have set down what I have heard and written this treatise. Gathering the spirit is the key to entering the mysterious realm and the most fundamental principle of the Elixir Method.

“Gathering” does not mean sitting rigidly without moving. It means letting the mind and spirit enter the Qi cavity and remain with the breath, never parting from it. Laozi says, “Can you carry the nutritive and ethereal souls and embrace the One, without letting them depart?” This means uniting spirit with the embodied soul and keeping them from separating.

The Qi cavity is the root formed when the body first received its fetal origin and Qi, taking in the essence of the parents. It is also the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) inherent in each person. It has many names: Qi Sea, Gate of Origin, Spirit Valley, Lower Field, Heavenly Root, Life’s Stem, Aperture of Returning to the Root, and Pass of Restoring Life. All refer to the same place. In the womb, a person’s breath is connected to the mother’s. After birth, when the umbilical cord is cut, the body becomes its own furnace and cauldron, establishing its own cosmos; each breath still returns to the body’s own root, the Qi cavity. Breathing is the foundation that sustains life: when the breath ceases, a person dies. As one breathes out, the breath expands outward and belongs to Yang; as one breathes in, it contracts and belongs to Yin. One exhalation and one inhalation together are called a single breath. Physicians have good reason to diagnose the state of Qi by examining the breath.

The Zhuangzi says, “Ordinary people breathe from the throat; the True Person breathes from the heels.” “Heels” here is a metaphor for breathing deeply into the Qi cavity. Ordinary people do breathe down to that place, but their mind and spirit do not dwell there. Though the breath comes and goes, they are unaware of it, so it feels as if they breathe only from the throat. The True Person, by contrast, lets the mind and spirit follow the breath deep into the original Qi cavity. The breath continues without interruption, and the mind and spirit remain settled there. In this way, they can concentrate the breath and make it gentle, hold fast to the One without departing, attain the utmost emptiness and stillness, and observe the Qi’s return to its source.

To “follow” the breath does not mean chasing after it or clinging to it. It means remaining mindful without forcing anything. When the mind and spirit follow the breath, they become settled; as the spirit settles, the Qi also gathers. When the mind and spirit follow the breath in peace, the Qi too becomes peaceful: the two depend on each other. The practice of gathering the spirit begins with regulating the breath. To regulate the breath is to let the mind and spirit rest calmly with the breathing.

On True Breathing

There are two kinds of breathing. One is called “ordinary breathing”: the breath that enters and leaves through the mouth and nose. The other is called “true breathing,” also known as “embryonic breathing” in Neidan practice, a term for subtle, natural breathing that moves to and fro within the “root aperture,” the fundamental opening referred to in cultivation. The state described by Master Huiweng as “gathering inward with a gentle contraction, then exhaling softly, like a fish in a spring-fed pool” is this very state.

Once ordinary breathing ceases, true breathing arises of itself. “Ordinary breathing ceases” does not mean deliberately holding one’s breath. It means that the mind has become exceedingly empty and still, its thoughts subtle, and the breath correspondingly faint.

Some people today know only how to regulate the breath, without realizing that they have fallen into the fault of “using the mind to chase the breath.” Ordinary people are impatient by nature and have not practiced quiet adjustment in their daily lives. If they are suddenly told to let the mind follow the breath, how could the mind settle naturally? They are bound to force it. Once they do, the mind is already stirred before the breath has settled. Has this not once again become a way of using the breath to move the mind and spirit?

So I say: “Regulating the breath means letting the mind follow the breath naturally; it does not mean chasing after the breath.” Regulating the breath must begin with regulating the mind. To regulate the mind is to gather in scattered thoughts and let the mind become still. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, let the mind rest within the body. With long practice, this gradually becomes familiar and habitual. The mind is then naturally cleansed and softened, and comes into harmony with the breath. Once mind and breath are in harmony, they follow one another without deliberate pursuit. Ordinary breathing then subsides of itself, and true breathing arises naturally.

At this point, as if a bellows were being worked, Jing transforms into Qi, which is gently warmed and nurtured as it rises and flows into the “three palaces”—three bodily locations referred to in Neidan cultivation. This is what is meant by the true bellows, cauldron, and firing times: metaphors in Neidan practice for the movement of Qi and the process of refining and nurturing it.

On Fire and Talismanic Timing

Take the true breath—the deep, steady, and subtle breathing cultivated in practice—as the force that sets the Fire in motion. When the bellows are worked, Jing is refined into Qi, which rises like vapor and fills the upper, middle, and lower palaces—the body’s three important centers. These are the true bellows, the crucible, and the regulation of the Fire.

“What grounds the claim that the true breath should be treated as Fire?”

“There is a basis for it. The ancient immortals said: ‘Do not merely watch the medicinal furnace and observe the regulation of the Fire. Simply calm the mind and spirit, bring the breath into harmony, and let it proceed naturally. There is no need to labor deliberately over the Elixir Stove or the River Cart—a metaphor for the movement of Qi in internal alchemy. Like a crane embryo or a tortoise at rest, the breath will naturally grow long and continuous.’ There are many similar sayings. But this does not mean that breathing itself is Fire. Fire is the spirit Fire—the activity of mind and spirit—while the breath is its bellows.

When spirit and Qi remain together, spirit may seem to be doing nothing, yet the movement of Qi continues: it opens and closes, flowing up and down along the channels. What is aware of this movement? Spirit. As Qi circulates, the Original Spirit—the innate mind and spirit—perceives it clearly. When spirit and Qi blend, with neither too slack nor too tense, Qi can travel up and down through the channels. The Fire then works evenly and harmoniously; the Elixir is formed, and the medicine is refined.

There is good reason that I compared the true breath to bellows. When a metalworker casts gold, air is first driven by bellows to strengthen the Fire, so that the metal can melt. If a strong wind is blown at it chaotically, the flames will scatter, and the metal will never melt. Why? Because a strong wind comes and goes unpredictably, like the throat-breathing of ordinary people. The air from bellows flows steadily and without interruption, like the breathing through the heels of a True Person—a Daoist expression for deep, subtle breathing, as though the breath reached far into the body. Spirit blending with the breath is like Fire receiving the bellows’ aid; Qi changing under the guidance of spirit is like metal being melted by Fire. The meaning of this comparison is clear.”

Someone asked: “Are the advance and retreat of the Fire Talisman and the phrase ‘Tun at dawn, Meng at dusk’—which uses the names of hexagrams from the Book of Changes to describe shifts in the regulation of the Fire during practice—expressing the same meaning or different ones?”

Someone said: “Before I received guidance from my master, I privately thought that the hardest thing to understand was the timing and intensity of the firing process. I once tried to calculate it according to the heavenly cycle—the recurring circuit of movement—and to compare it with the correspondence between the trigrams and seasonal qi. I divided the process into night watches and water-clock intervals, the old units of time, but all that effort was wasted. Only now have I suddenly understood: although the alchemical scriptures number in the tens of thousands and record the firing process in six hundred different ways, one clear explanation is enough; there is no need to labor over their obscurities. The saying, ‘True fire has no fixed timing; the great medicine has no weight,’ is indeed correct. It has not deceived me at all.”

There are inner and outer methods of refining the medicine, so the firing process may be elaborate or simple. The inner method can be summed up in a single phrase: “continuous and subtle, as if present, as if absent.” The “outer medicine” mentioned here is not the kind discussed earlier; it refers to the two alchemical methods known as the Celestial Origin and Earthly Origin. “Talisman” means that the principles of cultivation accord with the Dao of Heaven. In alchemy, the moon’s phases of geng and jia symbolize whether the ingredients have matured, while zi and wu, the hours of the day, symbolize the advance and retreat of the firing process. “Tun at dawn, Meng at dusk” simply means that the firing process advances and retreats according to a general pattern. Once its meaning is understood, one need not cling to the trigrams.

The Wuzhen pian says: “The inner and outer medicines are originally connected, and both must be understood together. The principles for blending the beginnings of the Elixir are broadly alike, but the two kinds of warming and nurturing serve different functions. Within, there is naturally the true fire; in the furnace it glows red and bright without cease. The firing process in the outer furnace must be carefully adjusted, increased or diminished as needed. The most wonderful thing is to obtain the true seed.” The “true seed” refers to the human origin—the alchemical method that takes the human body as its foundation. This passage sums up the talismanic rules for the firing process.

On medicine and fire: are they ultimately the same, or different?

Some say, “The medicine and the fire can be discussed separately or together. Considered separately, they are different; considered together, they are one and the same. Why? Separately, the medicine is precelestial Qi, while the fire is precelestial Shen. Together, the medicine is the fire, and the fire is the medicine.

“If you know only that the medicine and fire must be joined, but not that they are distinct, you will not understand how to gather them. If you know only that they are distinct, but not how they are joined, you will not understand how to nurture them with warmth. Why? When gathering them, the medicine is outside and the fire within; the fire must draw the medicine in, so the medicine and fire can be discussed separately. When nurturing them with warmth, the medicine returns from outside into the body. Once the medicine has been obtained, the fire is then applied, so the medicine and fire can be discussed together.

“Overall, the fire takes the leading role: if the firing is too intense, the Elixir will be damaged; if it is too cool, the Elixir will disperse. To speak only of fire and not medicine is to speak of the ten months of nurturing with warmth. To speak only of medicine and not fire is to speak of the work done in a brief moment. As for what Immortal Master Ziqing said, ‘Use fire to refine the medicine and form the Elixir,’ this means that Shen guides Qi to attain the Dao. Put this way, the meaning is even clearer and more precise.”

On Drawing Out and Adding

Someone asked, “Could you explain the essential teaching on drawing out lead and adding mercury?”

He said, “I heard Master Liyang say that after obtaining the medicine and gathering it into the cauldron, one must nourish it with the natural true fire. The firing process continues without interruption, seeming to be there and yet seeming not to be there. The changes of withdrawing and adding that take place during this process arise naturally; they allow no room for human ingenuity to control them. This is because the Dao itself is Wuwei (non-action), yet Shen and Qi act of their own accord. This is the mystery of creation and transformation.

“The phrase ‘like cooking rice into a meal’ contains a profound meaning; it is more than a comparison suggesting that something is easy to do. Lead added to mercury is like water poured onto rice: there must not be too much water or too little rice, just as the two must be combined in the proper proportion. When the firing is even, the water gradually boils away and the rice gradually swells, until the meal is cooked. The gradual boiling away of the water is called ‘withdrawing lead’; the gradual swelling of the rice is called ‘adding mercury.’ ‘Withdrawing’ does not mean reducing anything from within. It means that Shen enters Qi, like the qi of Heaven moving through the Earth, hidden from view. ‘Adding’ does not mean increasing anything from outside. It means that Qi envelops Shen, like the qi of Earth receiving the qi of Heaven and gradually nourishing it as it grows. In this way, the embryo is brought to completion, wondrous transformations take place, and one reaches the state of having a body beyond the body. This is the mystery of creation and transformation.

“All of this happens naturally, and there are principles at work whose reasons people do not understand. To insist on asking exactly how to withdraw and how to add is to fall into deliberate control and go against nature. The word ‘natural’ itself carries a profound meaning. My master said to me, ‘Following nature does not mean simply letting nature take its course.’ These words truly state the essential point!”

On Final Instructions

Someone asked, “The various alchemical scriptures speak of red lead, black mercury, the Azure Dragon, the White Tiger, white snow, yellow sprout, the Wood Duke, the Metal Mother, the infant and maiden, the Yellow Matron, and many other things. Their names and explanations differ, and they are too numerous to count. In your writing now, you have set all these expressions aside and said nothing about them. Could there be other matters you have yet to discuss?”

Someone replied, “That is not so. Listen quietly to what I have to say. In the past, I was merely a Confucian scholar who studied the commentaries. I sought the mysterious garden—an immortal realm in legend, and a figure for profound Daoist principles—and searched for knowledge that earlier generations had not mastered. Later, by a chance convergence of circumstances, I was able to receive the true lineage, the orthodox transmission of Daoism. Only then did I come to understand, in broad outline, the essential methods of cultivating the Dao. I had once studied closely all the terms and doctrines mentioned earlier. But by remembering one side and neglecting the other, I only created conflicts in my understanding. It was only later that I realized the Great Dao is not complicated; it can be summed up in a single sentence: the Dao is no more than Yin-Yang. Yin transforms into Jing, Yang into Qi, and Shen governs Jing and Qi. Thus Shen, Qi, and Jing are the three grades of superior medicine—the three fundamental elements spoken of in cultivation. The many different names, such as Dragon and Tiger, Lead and Mercury, are all based on this principle.

The ancient perfected immortals left teachings, but were unwilling to reveal their secrets too readily. So they deliberately made their writing intricate and indirect, opening many different paths. Those resolved to study could grasp the principles through the written words, then draw their broad knowledge back to its simple foundation. Once their practice had deepened and they had suddenly seen everything through, they could leave the surface of the words behind and see the foundation directly.”

Someone asked, “The Xuanfu deals mostly with external medicine. It says little about gathering and copulation, terms in Neidan cultivation for Yin-Yang union and the generation of the medicine. How should those who study the Dao explain this?”

He said, “The practice of sexual union is a mysterious method kept secret by the Most High, a title in Daoism for the supreme deity or revered gods. It is also the essential teaching passed from heart to heart among sages of every generation. It is not that I do not wish to explain it plainly; my master’s warning was simply too stern, so whenever I take up my brush to write about it, I feel apprehensive. Yet in my earlier discussion I seem already to have revealed the key, weaving it into understated words that readers may not readily notice. The Cantong qi (Token for Joining the Three, a Daoist alchemical classic, often abbreviated as the Qi) says: ‘Study it again and again a thousand times, and the meaning of the text will become clear; read it ten thousand times, and its subtle principles will come into view.’ If students read and investigate it repeatedly and deeply, its refined principles will naturally emerge. But without the urgent desire to probe when one seeks and cannot find, who would understand how difficult it is to hear the Great Dao? And without the subtlety of mutual understanding, how could anyone know that my words carry such depth? Enough, enough. Here, too, I must fall silent.”

The methods by which the immortals of antiquity cultivated the Golden Elixir are recorded in more than a thousand volumes of alchemical scriptures. The more one reads, the more tangled and difficult they often seem; yet once their meaning is truly grasped, one finds that the essentials are simple and practicable. In general, the key is to observe the Dao of Heaven and understand the timing of Heaven. These two points encompass the whole teaching.

Yin and Yang working together constitute the Dao of Heaven; the movements of the sun and moon and the alternation of day and night make up Heaven’s timing. The Cantong qi (Token for Joining the Three, a Daoist classic explaining the principles of alchemy), hereafter called the Qi, says: “Heaven and Earth each occupy their place, and the Dao of change moves between them.” The “Dao of change” refers to the Li and Kan trigrams, which in alchemy symbolize Yin and Yang.

The sages of antiquity understood this principle and therefore modeled alchemical methods on the workings of Heaven and Earth. They used Qian and Kun as the vessel—symbols of the Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth on which alchemical practice depends—and the Crow and Rabbit, the golden crow in the sun and the jade rabbit in the moon, as ingredients symbolizing the sun and moon. The patterns of Yin and Yang waxing and waning, fullness and decline, were used to regulate the firing process and the Yin Talisman, that is, the timing and changes of Yin and Yang in alchemy. The scriptures say: “The sun and moon move according to their own laws, and each has its own measure, great or small. From this arise the sacred workings and the wondrous transformations.”

In brief, this method is “stealing the pivot and using it in reverse”: grasping the moments of change in Heaven and Earth and applying them to cultivation. Such principles cannot be fully conveyed in words, nor readily attained by ordinary means. If one encounters a teacher who transmits the oral instructions, and teacher and student are in accord, a few words may be enough to bring understanding. The greatest pity is that, lacking insight, some people cannot penetrate these principles; the more they seek the Dao, the farther they stray. Others are swayed by claims that seem true but are not, and cling to their preconceived views. The result is as harmful as being poisoned or branded with the tattoo of a whale—an ancient punishment. In such cases, I can do nothing to help.

Though I am fortunate to be foolish and shallow, I encountered an enlightened teacher and received guidance over many years. Heaven, moreover, placed no obstacle in my way, and suddenly I was able to glimpse the hidden marvels of this teaching. I therefore know that such an opportunity in this life is exceedingly rare, even across the ages. Seekers of the Dao from many places have believed me able to transmit it, and have compared and examined the teachings they each learned from their own teachers. Most of these differ from what I have heard. This does not mean that the Great Dao itself is divided; rather, the various schools enter through different gates.

Laozi said: “The Great Dao is broad and level, yet people prefer shortcuts.” The way of the Golden Elixir is exceedingly simple. If one deliberately arranges and layers procedures, one falls into error and delusion, departing from nature. For this reason, what I have set forth traces the source of the transformations of all things and points directly to the method of cultivating life. I have outlined the essentials and explained them briefly, so that the main principles may be clear. The vital thing is to remain faithful to the teacher’s intention while also distinguishing and refuting heterodox teachings. If those who love to seek the Dao study this repeatedly and come to understand it, perhaps they will fully recognize the principles of nature and life and no longer be misled by the confused and divergent errors of competing paths.

Written by Qianxuzi at the Western Chan Monastery in Nansha, in the latter part of the twelfth lunar month of the Gengwu year.

Laozi said, “There is something whole and undifferentiated that existed before Heaven and Earth appeared. I do not know its name, so I can only call it ‘Dao’ as a makeshift name.” He also said, “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” And again, “All things under Heaven have a beginning, which may be regarded as the source of all things.”

The primordial Qi of Mixed Unity, the True One, which arose before Heaven and Earth—the original Qi from which Heaven, Earth, humanity, and all things came into being—is their source. Before it stirs, all is murky and dark, without light; sound and form alike dissolve and leave no trace. This is called “Wuji” (the Limitless). In the human body, it corresponds to a state of utter stillness, without response: silent and unmoving.

The Buddhist teaching of “true emptiness” and the Confucian teaching of “before the emotions have stirred” also belong to this state. When Laozi says, “Ever without desire, one observes its subtlety,” when the Yijing says, “The sage uses this to cleanse the heart and withdraw into the hidden,” and when the Sutra of Perfect Enlightenment says, “One need only seek utmost stillness through the power of stillness,” they all speak of using purity and stillness to perceive and cultivate. Completely ending afflictions and ultimately attaining full realization does not begin with sitting in meditation; rather, one enters Nirvana through this state—the realm of liberation from the afflictions of birth and death. The fundamental aims of the sages of the Three Teachings are the same; only their methods of cultivation and ways of expressing them differ. That is why the Three Teachings are distinct.

Diagram of the Taiji Before Its Division

The Wuzhen Pian says, “The Dao gives rise to one Qi from emptiness and nonbeing; from this one Qi, Yin-Yang emerges.” Here, “ultimate” refers to the state in which Yin and Yang are already present but have not yet separated. Laozi says, “The Dao gives birth to one.” This “one” is Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); within the human body, it is called the “Mysterious Female,” the fundamental portal that gives life. The Mysterious Female forms naturally through the union of subtle, true substance. The phrases “something arising from nothing” and “the substantial taking shape within the void” describe how it is the source of Shen and Qi, and the crucial gateway through which nature and life come into being.

Laozi also says, “Always hold a desire to observe the beginnings of things.” The practice of discerning these beginnings became an important means by which sages and perfected beings of old established the foundations of nature and life. Through it, they achieved sacred accomplishment and brought forth spiritual illumination.

Diagram of Taiji dividing into Yin and Yang

Laozi says, “The Dao gives birth to one; one gives birth to two.” This means that Taiji divides into the Two Modes, Yin and Yang. Once the Two Modes separate, Heaven encloses Earth, while Earth lies within Heaven. This also contains the subtle relation in which Yin holds Yang within it, and Yang holds Yin within it. Why is this so? One Qi arises from emptiness and nonbeing through movement at the height of stillness; it is Yang within Yin. The division of the Two Modes, with Heaven enclosing Earth and Earth within Heaven, is stillness cultivated within movement; it is Yin within Yang.

Shaozi says, “The essence of Yin and Yang is each concealed within the other.” For this reason, Neidan cultivation calls for using Yang within Yin and Yin within Yang, while always taking stillness as primary. Laozi says, “Heaviness is the root of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation.” To remain still is to embrace the origin and guard the One—that is, to hold fast to the root and focus the mind—so that one may return to Wuji, the fundamental state before Yin and Yang divide.

After Heaven and Earth separated, the sun and moon began their courses, their light reflecting one another, and all things came into being. The sun and moon are the essences of Heaven and Earth’s Yin-Yang. In the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the sun corresponds to the Li trigram and the moon to the Kan trigram. The Li trigram contains Yin, called the “Crow’s Essence”; the Kan trigram contains Yang, called the “Rabbit’s Marrow.” Neidan (internal alchemy) uses “Crow and Rabbit” as symbols for the ingredients of the practice, so one must take Yang from within Yin and Yin from within Yang. The phrases “entering the eastern neighbor from the west” and “returning west to the eastern dwelling” refer only to recognizing the essences contained within Yin and Yang, drawing upon the transformations hidden within them, and turning them back to serve one’s purpose.

Diagram of the Union of Kan and Li

For the ancient immortals refining the Elixir, the most important thing was gathering the ingredients. The ingredients had to be measured, gathered at the right time, and Yin-Yang inversion followed its own rules. The key was to begin the practice when the moon first appeared.

Diagram of the Union of Kan and Li

For the ancient immortals refining the Elixir, the most important thing was gathering the ingredients. The ingredients had to be measured, gathered at the right time, and Yin-Yang inversion followed its own rules. The key was to begin when the moon first appeared, with activity arising at the Geng hour; Lead formed after the Gui hour. The Zi and Wu positions face one another north and south, serving as the guiding framework. These matters are transmitted in separate oral instructions and are not written down.

Diagram of the Formation of the Elixir

The Wuzhen pian says: “The tiger leaps and the dragon soars; winds and waves surge, and in the central position the Mysterious Pearl is born.” It also says: “The ingredients reveal their form only when they meet the Qi of their kind; the Great Dao is obscure and elusive, in accord with nature.” Understand that the point gathered here is called neither Lead nor Mercury, but the Elixir. It forms naturally from the blending of the sun and moon’s mingled light and the harmonious Qi of Yin and Yang. Thus, the character for “Elixir” also resembles the sun and moon.

The Xinyin jing says: “The Elixir within the body is neither white nor blue.” The Azure Dragon and White Tiger still refer to two opposing things; once the Elixir has returned within the body, they have merged into one. Hence it is said to be neither white nor blue. Someone asked, “What is meant by the Golden Liquid returning to the Elixir?” The answer was: “What was lost and then regained is called ‘returning.’ It is called ‘Golden Liquid’ because the Metal gathered from the water combines with one’s own Mercury to form it.”

Diagram of the Celestial Cycle and the Timing of the Fire

At this stage of practice, one must grasp the meaning and forget the images. To insist on working through each line and trigram one by one will only waste one’s spirit.

Diagram of Returning to the Origin

When practice reaches this stage, not a word can be spoken and not a single character can be used.

At this stage of the practice of the Elixir, not even a sentence can be spoken; not a single word is of any use.

I have read more than ten thousand volumes of Elixir scriptures and found that they all say the wondrous medicine of longevity can be refined only by relying on the innate True Yi Qi—the true energy formed before birth. When pressed about where this energy comes from, they always answer: from “that place.” But could it be that this energy is absent from our own bodies, so that we must seek it in “that place”? Fewer than one or two people believe this claim, while hundreds and thousands doubt it.

In my youth, I was devoted to cultivating the Dao. Yet I felt that my nature was dull and my abilities limited, and I never managed to grasp its deeper meaning. Now and then I would pick up the Cantong qi and the Wuzhen pian to read, but they seemed overgrown with thorns: obscure and difficult to understand, so that I could not go on. Later, I began writing annotations on Yu Yan’s commentary. He led me toward the Dao of purity and Wuwei (non-action), condemned all cultivation performed outside the body as a heterodox path, and treated terms such as the Golden Cauldron and Fire Talisman as matters of the furnace used to refine Waidan (external alchemy). I clung to the views I had accepted before and would not change them.

Alas! If cultivating the Dao truly meant nothing more than purity and Wuwei, I could not understand why the shallow-minded would laugh at it, or why slander should arise so readily. When I read these words, I could not help but feel doubt.

In the Dingwei year of the Jiajing era, by a fortunate turn of fate, I met Master Lü, the patriarch of the Dao, at Beihai Thatched Hall. We were at ease and warmly disposed toward one another. He gave me the Mysterious Nectar—the sweet liquid spoken of in Daoism—and comforted me with gentle words. It was a meeting blessed by three lifetimes of good fortune, rare even once in a thousand years. Master Lü encouraged me with the highest teachings of the Dao, first explaining that the union of Yin and Yang gives rise to the Dao. I once asked him about the teachings of the Three Peaks school, and he corrected them firmly. He also taught me the Song of Forming the Embryo and the essential principles of entering the chamber for cultivation. These subtle and profound teachings filled many scrolls; I recorded and treasured them all. But although I remembered my master’s words, I still could not fully understand them.

Twenty years passed like this, and I had nearly failed my master’s teaching. In the twelfth month of the Jiazi year, I withdrew to the wilderness. Looking in the mirror, I saw that my hair was beginning to turn white, and I could not help feeling sorrow: my work was still unfinished, yet time waited for no one. Later, after dreaming that my revered teacher offered me guidance, I let go of my old attachments and followed the new direction he showed me. At last, I received a great awakening. Recalling the teachings I had first received, I brought eight or nine parts of them back to mind, then compared them with the Elixir scriptures, treatises, and songs, examining them again and again. In the midst of sleep, my mind and nature suddenly opened, as if I had grasped something. So I wrote this essay.

Confucius said, “Reviewing what is old enables one to understand what is new.” What I review now is what I learned long ago, but what I understand is new. These are only insights that came to me in a moment, and I would not yet dare submit them for the judgment of those who follow the Dao. Still, I think they probably do not depart from my revered teacher’s central teaching.

This year is a Jiazi year, and on the waning moon of the twelfth lunar month, Jiaping, Qianxu Zi wrote this preface.

To refine the Golden Elixir, one must first refine oneself—that is, cultivate and discipline one’s own person. When one has cultivated oneself well, the spirit becomes settled; when the spirit is settled, Qi comes to rest; when Qi comes to rest, Jing gathers and condenses. In this way, cultivation can be completed just as a people may live in peace and a country grow prosperous, then pacify the realm through a single campaign. In the past, my master told me, “If a person can cultivate in stillness for a hundred days, anyone can form an immortal embryo.” After a hundred days of practice, desires can be brought under control; in a brief moment, the medicine can be obtained. After ten months of tending the fire, one can shed the embryo, transform the spirit, change one’s form, and become an immortal. Does this not sound very easy? Yet there have always been so few people in the world capable of doing it. Why is that?

Those with shallow foundations hear the teaching but do not believe it. Those with little learning may practice and attain some realization, yet still fail to understand it truly. And some blind masters lead people astray, calling east west; they cannot even distinguish the lands of Yue and Yan, so how could they discern black from white? When people occasionally bring them the Cantong qi and the Wuzhen pian for guidance, they refuse to explain the texts line by line. Instead, they claim that the books contain only old and superficial words, and that the true instructions are hard to encounter. They also assert that there are secret methods for opening the apertures and for joining breaths apart from the body.

Ignorant students of the Dao, eager for quick results, hear these words and begin to hope for rapid success and a lucky break. They burn incense, swear oaths to Heaven, and plead to receive instruction with money in hand. After hearing a few lines of instruction, they hide them away in their hearts and put the Cantong qi and the Wuzhen pian on the shelf. In truth, the principle by which Yin and Yang of the same kind attract and respond to one another leads, when followed, to ordinary human life; when reversed through cultivation, it can lead to becoming an immortal. This all happens naturally; it does not depend on crafty contrivance. The Wuzhen pian says, “Do not apply cunning or human effort to cultivation.” The Cantong qi likewise says, “This is accomplished naturally; there is no method that is false or perverse.”

The immortals of old left these words to guide later generations. Why would they have deliberately concealed anything? They never spoke of “opening the apertures” or “joining breaths apart from the body.” Those who promote such ideas today are adding legs to a snake: their unnecessary claims only diminish the value of the true treasure. These people are the ones harming the Great Dao. How lamentable that people mistake fish eyes for pearls and stones from Yan for treasure. They delight in minor techniques but do not examine the depth of the Daoist methods. What can be done about that?

Long ago, my master told me that the Cantong qi and the Wuzhen pian are steps on the path into the Dao. But their language is subtle and their meaning profound, so they are not easy to analyze. I devoted myself to studying them for twenty years before I began to understand them clearly. I did not arrive at this understanding out of nowhere: it came from close study, together with the confirmation I found between the texts and my master’s teachings. Now that I have gained a little insight, I dare not keep it to myself, so I have written this essay and invite those who have attained the Dao to correct it. What I have said here is only an outline. As for the finer points of practice in the meditation chamber and the precise arrangements of the firing times within and without, these are already contained in those two books. How would I dare say more?

Qianxusheng explains further.

Part One

Someone asked Master Qianxu, “The alchemical classics say that the primordial Qi must be sought from one of the same kind. What does this mean?”

Master Qianxu replied, “I heard my teacher say that the path of the Golden Elixir can be completed only through the union of Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang may refer to a man and a woman, to the Li and Kan trigrams, or to lead and mercury. These are all substances used to refine the Great Elixir. The true Qi within Kan is called lead, while the true Jing within Li is called mercury. The primordial Jing is stored within myself, while the primordial Qi is obtained from the other person.

“Why do I say this? The other person belongs to Kan: outwardly Yin, inwardly Yang, symbolizing water and the moon, and corresponding to the woman in the human body. I belong to Li: outwardly Yang, inwardly Yin, symbolizing fire and the sun, and corresponding to the man. Thus, the same principle underlies the way of Yin and Yang between man and woman: followed in its ordinary course, it produces offspring; reversed, it refines the Golden Elixir.”

Someone else asked, “The Book of Changes originally calls Kan the middle son and Li the middle daughter. Why, then, does this text say that I belong to Li?”

Some say, “This explains the principles behind changes in the positions of the trigrams in the Earlier Heaven Bagua diagram. Shaozi (Shao Yong) said, ‘The subtle Qi of Yin and Yang each contains the other.’ The Taiji divides into the two forms of Yin and Yang; these divide into the four images, which in turn divide into the Eight Trigrams. Thus, the Li trigram belongs to the side of Qian, and the Kan trigram to the side of Kun. Li and Kan are formed when Qian and Kun join; men and women are bodies formed when Yin and Yang join. So when Qian and Kun join, a Yin line must be hollowed out from Qian to form Li, and a Yang line must be filled into Kun to form Kan. When men and women join, the Yin side must contain Yang, and the Yang side must take Yin as its root. This is the distinction between Kan and Li on the other side and on my side.”

Someone asks, “If so, then the middle of the Li trigram holds Yin essence, and the middle of the Kan trigram holds Yang Qi. Does my body not also contain essence and Qi? Why, then, must they be obtained from external things?”

Someone replies, “It is indeed there, but the principle has not yet been fully explained. I was once deeply immersed in…” The text that follows repeats the points about jade as Yin essence, Yang Qi within Kan, and whether the body itself contains essence and Qi that must be obtained from elsewhere. The passage does not seem to connect fully, so it can only be understood on the basis of the text as it stands.

Someone said, “There is indeed truth in this; it is only that the explanation so far has not been finished. I was once deeply absorbed in the discourses of the old sage Yu Wu, and only now do I truly understand. Please listen quietly while I try to explain.

“I heard my teacher say, ‘The two kinds of Qi, Yin and Yang, mingle wondrously with the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), and gather to take form.’ This is how human life comes into being. At birth, a person is simple and uncarved, possessing in full the complete state of Taiji (the origin of all things). Laozi said, ‘One whose De is profound is like a newborn baby.’ A baby does not yet know the union of male and female, yet can have an erection: this is Jing and Qi at their fullest. A baby can cry all day without its voice becoming hoarse: this is the body at its most harmonious. This is precisely the state of pure harmony between Yin and Yang.

“At that time, a person’s innate nature is whole and undivided. What need is there to draw anything in from outside, or to replenish anything? If one can preserve this state in cultivation, what more could be added to the highest De of Wuwei (non-action)?

“When desires arise, the Qi of Yin and Yang respond to one another, and the innate Qi scatters and drains away into Kun (the trigram symbolizing yielding Yin). The Qian trigram, originally composed of three Yang lines and symbolizing pure Yang, is thereby damaged and becomes the Li trigram, with Yang lines above and below and a Yin line in the middle. Li symbolizes the sun; when the sun declines in the west, it signals the approach of old age. How, then, can life be preserved for long? This is why the methods of the Elixir teach one to take from Kan. To take from Kan means to recover Yang Qi from the Kan trigram, whose outer lines are Yin and whose middle line is Yang, and use it to restore the damaged Qian trigram, filling its emptied line so that the body of pure Yang may be restored. This is what the immortals mean by returning the Elixir: through cultivation, Jing and Qi are brought back to completeness.”

Someone else asked, “My Li trigram took shape only after the innate Qi had scattered. Those whose innate Qi has not yet scattered should originally be in the Kun trigram. Why, then, are they regarded as being in the Kan trigram?”

Someone said, “A good question! When Heaven and Earth first emerged from chaos, the Kun trigram, which symbolizes pure Yin, was in a phase when Yin energy had accumulated to its height. Within it, signs of Yang energy beginning to stir had already appeared. When Yang suddenly stirs within pure Yin, is that not the Kan trigram, which symbolizes water and has Yin containing Yang in its image? Kan is therefore Yang within Yin. It embodies the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), turning from stillness at its utmost into movement. Since this change occurs naturally, it is called the precelestial state. ‘Heaven’s One gives birth to water’: the Qi of True Yi—an Neidan term referring to the Qi of true essence—is concealed within Kan. The mother is hidden within it, and the offspring are contained within; gold, too, is concealed in water. To refine the Golden Elixir, one should take Kan as one’s model. It is the source from which the ingredients of the elixir arise, and the ladder and means by which one cultivates the Dao and attains the Real.

Yang within Yin is governed by movement, so when drawing from Kan, one must observe the moment when it stirs. Yin within Yang is governed by stillness, so after using the Li trigram, which symbolizes fire and has Yang containing Yin in its image, to replenish it, one must nourish the source in stillness. Who, perhaps, but a sage can understand movement and stillness and act without missing the right moment? Sages observe the Dao of Heaven and follow its course. Thus the waxing and waning of the moon serve as a metaphor for the changing maturity of the elixir’s ingredients, while the sun’s changing course and timing serve as a metaphor for increasing or decreasing the firing process. When the ingredients and the firing process are properly matched, the Golden Elixir can be refined. Once refined, one can shed the womb and undergo spiritual transformation.”

Another person then asked, “Everything you have said concerns the postcelestial state. What can be said about the precelestial state?”

I have considered the Classic of Changes (Yijing) for this reason. It says, “Jing and Qi gather to form the myriad things; when the hun and po souls wander and disperse, change takes place.” Yin contains Yang, and this is called “Qi”; Yang contains Yin, and this is called “Jing.” The two depend on one another, and from them all things are born.

I have also considered the natural course of reproduction: when Jing arrives first and Qi follows, Yin enfolds Yang, and a female is formed; when Qi stirs first and Jing follows, Yang enfolds Yin, and a male is formed. This shows that the distinction between the Li trigram (symbolizing fire and Yang) as male and the Kan trigram (symbolizing water and Yin) as female does not arise only after the body has taken shape. It is determined from the moment the first Qi is received.

The way of the Golden Elixir—the Daoist method of Neidan cultivation—also comes about through the union of Yin and Yang. The human way follows Yin and Yang’s natural sequence; the immortal way reverses their course and gathers them in: the medicine is taken from Kan and the elixir refined in Li. What question could remain about this?

Middle Section

Someone asked, “Our body is composed of the four great elements—earth, water, fire, and wind, the basic constituents of the human body—and all belong to Yin. The body sometimes moves. Does that movement not belong to Yang?”

The answer was, “Li symbolizes fire and the sun. Movement belongs to Yang, yet its root lies in Yin; hence the saying, ‘Fire’s Yang has its root in Yin.’ The numinous light flickers unpredictably and is difficult to control. The Yang movement within our bodies is just the same, and so we are often troubled by its escape and inability to be reined in. The sages understood this, so they take the true Yi water from Kan—Kan symbolizes water, and true Yi refers to prenatal Jing and Qi—to restrain it.

When desire blazes within the heart, Jing and Qi are easily expended outward, just as a fire burning below makes the water in a pot boil. Take the prenatal, true Yi Qi and subdue the Jing and Qi that are prone to escape, just as drawing water from a jar can stop a pot from boiling. Nothing cannot be brought into harmony.”

Someone else asked, “Then could you also explain the method of taking from Kan?”

He said, “The workings of Heaven are profoundly hidden. Without a teacher’s instruction, who would dare speak of them casually? I will offer only a small clue and let you grasp the rest for yourself. The Book of Changes says, ‘Thunder within the earth’; this corresponds to the Return hexagram. Amid the earth’s layers of Yin, Yang suddenly stirs. This is the root of creation and transformation, and the key to the growth and change of all things. When Confucius studied the Book of Changes and reached this passage, he could not help exclaiming, ‘In the Return hexagram, perhaps we can glimpse the heart of Heaven and Earth, ceaselessly bringing forth life!’ The Token for Joining the Three also discusses this principle. Thus it says that the Book of Changes governs the heart of Heaven, and the Return hexagram marks the renewal of all things. The scripture also says, ‘In issuing commands, follow the seasons; do not miss the moment when the lines stir.’ This is precisely the same principle. Once you understand that thunder concealed within the earth forms the Return hexagram, you can see that Yang arises from Yin, and that the True Yi Qi—the innate Qi of Yang and vitality—is hidden there as well. There is no need to say more; you can understand it naturally.”

Someone else asked, “Alchemical texts often use ‘on the third day, Geng appears’ as a metaphor for the sprouting of the medicine. Could you explain its meaning?”

He said, “The Kan trigram symbolizes the moon. The moon belongs to Great Yin and becomes visible through receiving the sun’s light. ‘On the third day, Geng appears’ means that on the third day of the lunar month, Yang begins to sprout. This is the same principle as the Return hexagram. By the eighth day, at the first quarter, moonlight shines upon the positions of the two Yang lines; the eastern side grows increasingly full, Yin and Yang join, and vitality flourishes. At the last quarter, Yang begins to wane; by the end of the month, it has been exhausted. The Stripping and Return hexagrams alternate in a cycle: after an ending comes a new beginning. Thus, after three days, Yang revives once more. The transformations of nature work this way, and the methods of the elixir follow the same pattern to determine whether the ingredients have matured. My teacher once instructed me, ‘The medicine in the furnace at the moon’s full.’ He also said, ‘Like snowlight shining over an icy pool, it must become as pure and clear as the new moon above a plum branch; only then does the medicine begin to sprout.’ The subtle workings of Heaven have all been revealed in these words. In the past, I understood my teacher’s words but could not express them fully. Now, all at once, I have grasped them, and only then have I realized the depth of my teacher’s kindness—as if he had lifted the sun and moon before me so I could see them plainly.”

Someone asked, “How exactly should one use this to determine whether the ingredients have matured?”

He said, “The transformation of the Golden Elixir is brought about by the congealing of innate True Yi Qi. Innate Qi is perfectly clear, as if the sun and moon had been lifted before your eyes, so that you could see them plainly.”

Someone asked, “The medicinal substance may be young or mature. How should we judge when to use it?”

The reply was, “The Golden Elixir forms and transforms through the condensation of innate True Yi Qi. Innate Qi is light and pure, not yet manifest in bodily form; it is the purest kind of Yang Qi. Its first signs are exceedingly subtle, and its wonders are difficult to fathom. So one must gather it promptly, when Gui Water first arises and the medicinal Qi is still young, and use it in time, maintaining undivided attention. Delay even slightly, and impurities will arise in the medicinal Qi, shifting it into the acquired state. Though it still belongs to Yang, it will then transform into Yin. The Wuzhen pian says, ‘Once seen, it cannot be used’: this refers to the medicinal Qi after it has grown old. ‘In an instant, the fire and smoke fly up, and the True Person appears of himself’: this means that gathering and refining must be swift. Ah, who can know the mysteries of Creation, except the sages? And who can put them to use?”

Part Two

Someone asked, “If only the sages can put the mysteries of Creation to use, and we are not sages, what is the key to using them?”

The reply was, “Hasn’t the master said, ‘True Earth captures True Lead; True Lead controls True Mercury’? What is True Earth? It is Ji Earth. If those who cultivate and gather the medicinal substance do not refine Ji Earth, they will fall into the predicament of ‘only the sages can put it to use.’ We are not sages, so what is the key to using it?”

Someone once asked, “Didn’t the master say, ‘True Earth can capture true Lead, and true Lead can subdue true Mercury’?” What is meant here by “true Earth”? It is Ji Earth. For those who practice collecting the medicine, unless they first refine Ji Earth, numinous Mercury is easily lost and their cultivation is unlikely to succeed; instead, they may encounter hardship and setbacks. This is precisely what the scriptures mean by “laying the foundation and refining the self.”

In a person, “Ji” refers to the intention, also called “one’s own nature.” Because it moves among the Four Images—symbolic forces such as Metal, Wood, Water, and Fire—and has no fixed position, it is called Earth. From the beginning to the end of Golden Elixir cultivation, everything depends on it: when refining the medicine to seek Lead, one uses one’s intention to receive it; when gathering the Fire and returning it to the cauldron, one uses one’s intention to guide it; when cooking and refining, and during bathing, one uses one’s intention to maintain it; and when nurturing it with warmth and emerging from the womb, one uses one’s intention to bring the work to completion. By correcting the mind and making one’s intentions sincere and upright, one can cultivate oneself, then govern the state and bring peace to all under Heaven. This is the key to alchemical cultivation.

The Cantong qi says, “Set the grain’s central axis aright.” It also says, “At the celestial pole, the position is correct.” The admonitions left by the ancient immortals are repeated again and again, beyond counting.

My parents conceived me through sexual desire, so the temperament of human nature—shaped by innate endowment and acquired habits—often responds emotionally when it encounters things in the world. If refining oneself has not yet borne fruit, and the six faculties—the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—are still unsettled, then when one enters the chamber to cultivate and reaches a crucial stage where the process takes effect, the mind and nature will stir and desire will flare up. The Maiden (a Neidan term often referring to the mind-spirit or the true Yin Qi) will then flee. How, in such a moment, could one seize the precious pearl from beneath the Li Dragon’s jaw—a metaphor for attaining the precious elixir or the fruits of cultivation?

The Tradition says: “Probe a tiger’s den and stroke its whiskers, and you will scarcely escape its jaws! How dangerous, how dangerous! Without great wisdom, you cannot pass this trial; without great strength, you cannot obtain this treasure.” My master said to me, “The mirror at the entrance to the path is within your own heart. If your heart is not empty, what you see will not be real.”

Ah, surely the essence of an empty heart is the key to refining oneself? The Classic of Purity says: “Look within at your own mind, and you will see that there is no fixed mind within it. Look outward at your own body, and you will see that it too has no fixed, unchanging form. Look from afar at the things of the world, and you will see that they have no fixed, unchanging substance. Once you understand all three, all you see is emptiness. Even the so-called ‘emptiness’ does not exist; there is not even ‘nothingness.’” This is what is meant by an empty heart, and it is the complete release and repose attained through refining oneself. The scripture therefore continues: “Always still, always responsive.” To be always still shows that refining oneself has borne fruit; to be always responsive is to seek the action of lead—the key substance or force needed for the elixir.

My master once said to me, “The medicine in the furnace on a moonlit night.” He asked me to answer with a matching line, but I was at a loss. Then my master supplied the line himself: “Wind-blown flowers, ashes upon the seat.” People in the world cling to fine sights and scenes, and often regard wind, flowers, snow, and moonlight as four kinds of beauty. When they encounter things outside themselves, their feelings are stirred, and they are too busy responding to all that comes their way. My master, however, compared all of it to ashes upon a seat. Was he not telling us to forget both self and things outside ourselves, and even not to cling to the idea of “forgetting”? My master had already explained with great clarity both the right moment to gather the medicine and the essentials of refining oneself. In the past, I understood only part of what he said; only now can I explain it fully.

A listener rose joyfully and said, “If you had not explained this, I would never have heard the essentials of the Great Dao. Let me fall silent and withdraw, and return to cultivating my nature.”

A Discourse Refuting False Views

After Luzi (Lu Xixing) learned from a sage master the teachings on nature and life—the cultivation of human nature and life—some people from across the land came to him for guidance and discussion. Luzi sat and talked with them. When their views did not agree, they debated back and forth.

Someone criticized him, saying, “Laozi said, ‘Those who truly know do not speak much; those who speak much do not truly know. Those who are truly good do not argue; those who argue are not truly good.’ Yet you now discuss the Way with people at great length and cannot stop. Is this not a waste of words and a harm to De?”

Luzi replied, “I have indeed been at fault. Allow me to explain. In the past, the teachings of Yang Zhu and Mozi spread throughout the land and obstructed benevolence and righteousness, so Mencius refuted them with words. Gongsun Chou asked Mencius, ‘People outside say you enjoy arguing. May I ask why?’ Mencius replied, ‘How could I enjoy arguing? I truly have no choice.’

“When the Great Way prevailed, people held no divergent views, and scholars followed no competing doctrines. The sage could therefore live in peace with everyone without speaking. Yet people across the land did not always accord with the sage’s intentions. The sage worried about this, and only then, with no alternative, established teachings in words to guide the world.

“Works such as the Yinfu Jing, the Daode Jing, the Cantong Qi, and the Wuzhen Pian are proofs by which sages affirm the Way. They are also classics that bring inexhaustible benefit to people throughout the world and in every age. But some arrogant teachers and blindly credulous, ignorant people can neither rely on and explain the classics of the sages and worthies nor understand their meaning. They simply follow their own ideas and make claims at will, using them to mislead the world. What could be more harmful than corrupting people’s hearts and throwing the true Way into disorder?

“It is like a place beyond the reach of sunlight, where mountain spirits and wild foxes lure people into a valley. Anyone who saw this would surely shout aloud and do everything they could to drive them away, for fear those people would lose their way, become bewildered, and die without realizing what had happened. How, then, could I conceal the truth, spare myself, and keep silent? If someone blames me for being self-righteous, competitive, and fond of argument, then all this time I would have had no way to explain what I truly mean.”

People enjoy pursuing all kinds of minor magical tricks, yet they cannot distinguish profound Daoist methods from shallow ones. This allows some arrogant people and frauds to practice their sham arts without restraint. The mysteries of the Dao are profound and hard to understand. Since people cannot investigate them thoroughly and lack sound judgment of their own, they are easily misled.

There are roughly these kinds of fraudulent arts in the world: some prepare the fetus of a pregnant woman for use in fasting from the grains; some take substances such as arsenic and sulfur to ward off the cold. Some use lead swords to open and close the apertures of the body; some raise numinous tortoises, claiming they can make their bodies stretch and contract at will. Some shake their shoulders and backs until they make a series of crackling sounds; some strike their skulls so they ring like metal. Some sit with crossed legs, rigid as stones; others puff out their bellies until they rumble like thunder. Some hang upside down like apes, or curl up to sleep like dragons; some spin lightly like the wind, holding their breath without panting. Some run swiftly like monkeys, their steps so quick no one can catch them. Such tricks are too numerous to list one by one, but they have nothing at all to do with the true Great Dao. They are merely displays of clumsy skills, used to conceal deceit, just as Perfected Sima said: “They conceal cunning in their hearts and use it to seek short-term gain.”

The frauds surrounding Waidan furnace alchemy are especially widespread. Some claim that by attaching so-called “silver essence” to the body, they can turn metal into gold; others say they have mastered the art of attracting and capturing. There are many such deceptions in the world. Those who study the Dao, not understanding what lies behind them, believe them to be true and think they can really transmute metals and stones. They are gravely mistaken—gravely mistaken!

Next come those who use various tricks to switch objects, stealing in plain sight: they point to a deer and call it a horse without the owner knowing, or swap a sheep for an ox without anyone else noticing. A step lower still are those who burn and refine blindly, wasting fuel and money, squandering their time and adding to their worries, all without achieving anything. It is not the Dao that has led people astray; it is people who have failed to discern the true Dao.

Alas! They cannot distinguish profound Daoist methods from shallow ones, yet call themselves lovers of the Dao. They cannot tell whether a master is genuine, yet claim to have met an enlightened teacher. In the end, they let a fraud stand before them and then kneel in reverence. What could be more shameful? So I have written this essay to warn all those who share my aims and love cultivating the Dao: cherish yourselves, put an end to deluded thoughts soon, and seek the truth without delay. Even if I wished to spur you on, I might not be able to.

Once fruits have been cut open, or a jar of wine has been unsealed, they begin to spoil and cannot last. The same is true when the body has been damaged. The sages understood this, and so they sought what is called the “primordial True Yi”—the pure and complete Jing and Qi present from before birth—to replenish the body.

Today, most people who speak of the primordial Way simply seal and secure the body’s gates and orifices after it has already been damaged, then gather and harmonize what is inside, hoping in this way to bring forth the Qi of True Yi. They take this to be the Way of long life and far-reaching vision. But they do not understand that once the body has lost its original wholeness, all its Jing, Qi, and Shen will change with time and pass into the acquired state. How, then, could the Qi of True Yi remain whole? It is like trying to preserve fruit that has already spoiled, or keep unsealed wine from turning bad. How easy could that be?

This principle is clear and easy for anyone to understand. We can observe it nearby in our own bodies, and grasp it at a distance through the myriad things. These are simple but apt analogies. The Way of Returning the Elixir—the Neidan method of refining Jing, Qi, and Shen so they return to their source—is recorded in the alchemical scriptures. Yet students of the Way fail to read them carefully and ponder them deeply. Instead, they hear a sentence or two from someone else, or repeat something offhand, then imagine they have received the true transmission and mastered actual practice. They remain deluded their whole lives, cultivating only one thing without understanding its principle. How lamentable! I pity them, and so I have written this treatise.

The immortals of antiquity said, “The body is preserved through the Way; nature and life are extended through technique.” Today, people who speak of the Way are everywhere. But where is the technique for prolonging life? Consider this carefully.

Treatise on Refuting Heterodoxy

There are many claims about “correspondence” (cultivating by coordinating things within and beyond the body), and I have listed them all. The so-called “Nine-to-One Method” is so deluded and perverse that it is not worth discussing. Some speak of a “precelestial plum,” drawing an analogy from its shape and shadow. Some of what they say may sound plausible, but what they refer to is still something with form and substance. In practice, it differs from the worldly so-called “red lead” in name alone; the method is the same. It is surely mistaken to take this for the Great Dao.

As for such claims as “joining forms to exchange Qi,” “the two apertures of the field,” “opening the pass and forging the sword,” and “advancing above and advancing below”: some call practices that violate ordinary principles “Immortal Peaches”; some hold dates in the mouth while drinking sweet dew; some ferment crushed magnets and iron into a brew; some mix the sexual fluids of men and women with yeast; and some combine these with “autumn stone” (a substance made by refining urine), calling it “human origin” (a practice that uses the human body as its material). These methods take many forms. Most come from deviant teachers and shallow doctrines, with the blind leading the blind. People spend their lives at it, their hair turning white, yet in the end achieve nothing. Instead, they ruin their virtue, invite calamity, and become objects of ridicule to the world. It is truly pitiful.

Moreover, precelestial Qi (the original Qi spoken of in cultivation) comes from emptiness. It cannot be seen or heard, nor can it be touched. If, as in the claims above, one repeatedly speculates about it, tries to hook it out, and seeks it by every means, one only moves farther away. Where, then, are the methods for weighing its heaviness and reckoning its ounces and taels? From what I have heard, the true Dao and these heretical doctrines are like the scents of fragrant and foul plants: they cannot be placed in the same vessel. Laozi said, “It is precisely because I have no worldly knowledge that no one understands me.” If there were truly people in the world who understood the principle and could discern words, my Dao would not be so solitary.

On Dispelling Doubts

Someone may ask, “There is a saying in the divination texts: ‘A single word or half a sentence is enough to understand the mysteries; why read ten thousand chapters of alchemical scriptures?’ This means that teachings passed down from antiquity are not worth treasuring. Yet the Master teaches people to read many alchemical scriptures, so they can understand the transformations of Yin-Yang and gain deep insight into the creative workings of Heaven and Earth. Would that not waste their time and leave their original nature clouded by what they hear and see? If I grasp my teacher’s intent, I can follow a single word or half a sentence into the Dao. Why read more?”

The reply was, “What you say sounds reasonable. But there are both orthodox and heterodox paths, and teachers who are genuine and those who are false. You have never developed the discernment to distinguish between them, so how will you tell which is which? It is like testing gold: you need a touchstone. Alchemical scriptures are the touchstone for testing what teachers today say. If you do not think carefully and read the alchemical scriptures closely, but follow a teacher in search of the Dao on the strength of a single word or half a sentence, few will avoid straying into a deviant path or being misled by other doctrines.

“Once, a man wanted to travel to the capital. Along the way, he asked people for directions, but received conflicting answers. Afraid, he did not dare continue. Later, he found a travel guide at a market and set out with it. The guide recorded places to stay and trade along the route, and listed the checkpoints, ferries, and postal stations in order, without a single error. Only then did he understand that written records and oral accounts differed as greatly as Heaven and Earth.

“Alchemical scriptures are a travel guide for those beginning to cultivate the Dao. To set them aside and ask teachers today only for their secret formulas is like throwing away a route guide and relying solely on directions from passersby. How could you reach the capital without going astray? Besides, only a genuine teacher can transmit the formulas contained in a single word or half a sentence. You want to seek a teacher—but where, exactly, is that teacher?”

Nowadays, most people who seek the Dao invite alchemists—practitioners of arts such as divination and alchemy—to tend their furnaces, hoping to transform ordinary materials into precious substances or refine pills for consumption. This is called Waidan (external alchemy). In truth, such practices often begin with unrealistic fantasies. Once people give in to such fantasies, they are apt to attract others who are just as unreliable. The deceitful then seize the opportunity to blur right and wrong, pass off inferior goods as genuine, and cheat people to their faces, while those who are duped often fail to notice. The number of such frauds would be impossible to count.

In my early years, before I understood the essence of my teacher’s instruction, I nearly fell prey to these people. Fortunately, Heaven protected me and I suffered no loss. I have therefore written this discussion for those who come after me. Furnace alchemy is not entirely without principle; it can serve as a confirmation of the Way of the Golden Elixir. The Cantong qi (Token for Joining the Three), a Daoist alchemical classic, says: “The work of the furnace does have a basis. Only those who can discern Yin-Yang and deeply understand the transformations of creation can see its subtle workings.” In the principles they follow, the timing they observe, the patient tending they require, and the final transformation they bring about, furnace alchemy and the cultivation of oneself and refinement of one’s nature share common ground. The key is to distinguish the floating from the sinking in the ingredients, and the immature from the mature in the firing process; only then can one approach the Dao of the Elixir.

Those who speak of furnace alchemy today often do not know what lead and mercury refer to, understand neither the proportions nor how the “true earth” (an alchemical term for the essential substance that harmonizes and centers the process) is put in its proper place. Instead, they casually mix ordinary cinnabar and mercury, then boil and refine various minerals and herbs. Some mistake lead white for “water metal,” or treat a component of cinnabar as “yellow sulfur.” Some strip away the outer layer of cinnabar and call it “heavenly lapis”; others combine cinnabar mercury with Tiangui (a term connected with the body’s physiological cycles). Still others mine tin and ore, choose their timing at random, and claim to have obtained true lead, true mercury, and true earth. Few in the world know whether these claims are genuine. Though the names vary, they all amount to the same sort of practice. Some act on their own guesses, each claiming exclusive possession of a supposed secret treasure, concealing tricks and waiting for a chance to profit, while the world remains unaware. Those who trust them may suffer immeasurable financial loss.

The Way of the Golden Elixir is treasured by Heaven. It is enough to find support from outside and receive help with both the teachings and the resources. What sense is there in selling it and demanding gifts and payment in return? Is it not foolish to trust someone without finding out whether they are a fraud, or to follow a procedure without examining its principles? Is it not foolish to be deceived once and then fall into the same trap again? Is it not foolish to neglect the cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) while recklessly seeking blessings from chance? People often end up exhausting their family’s wealth and leaving their wives and children in hunger and poverty. In the end, they are unlikely to encounter a genuine opportunity, and success is rarer still. Even if someone is fortunate enough to come across a true secret method left behind by an immortal, only one person in ten will benefit.

Alas, this is truly dangerous! Whether the Way of Waidan can be put into practice depends on the person; whether it succeeds depends on Heaven. Understanding it depends on an insightful mind, while bringing the refinement to completion also requires good fortune. The oral instructions must come from a teacher, while the true meaning must be discerned with a discerning eye. Not the slightest part can be entrusted to another. If one quietly cultivates De, sincerely befriends like-minded people, and lets one’s virtue move Heaven and Earth and one’s sincerity reach the spirits, then tending the furnace will naturally involve fewer mistakes and troubles. Otherwise, even if one learns the right methods and has a keen eye for discernment, how can one withstand trials and demonic obstacles? These are things I have tested and experienced myself, and now I dare not conceal them. I fear that someone who does not understand the situation may act rashly, accomplish nothing, and as a result lose heart and turn away. This is not the Dao failing people; it is people failing to truly understand the Dao.

It is better to understand these principles and refrain from acting rashly; to be able to practice without abusing the art; and, even when using it, not to claim it for private gain.

The way of cultivating the Golden Elixir lies both in truly understanding it and in beginning early. As Master Chunyang said, “When you begin cultivation, even if you start at once, you are already too late.”

People do not understand this principle and cling to the claim in the Taishang that one can still cultivate and return to the origin at the age of one hundred and twenty. In the years when they are full of energy, they indulge in sensual desires and become entangled in worldly affairs, unable for a long time to break free. They toil day and night, gradually exhausting their Jing, Qi, and Shen. Only when they are old, weakened, and at the end of their options do they begin to follow the Dao, treating it as a plan for their later years. They do not know that time waits for no one. Once the right moment and conditions for cultivation have passed, the body’s foundation has already been depleted. Even if they meet a clear-sighted teacher and learn about the medicines—the Jing, Qi, and other substances needed for Neidan cultivation—the proper season and opportunity for practice may already be gone. They may reach old age with white hair and nothing accomplished, left only to sigh, “Emptiness yields nothing.” This is truly regrettable.

For this reason, Master Ziyang opened the Wuzhen pian by comparing the brevity of time to a spark from flint and the impermanence of life to a bubble on water, urging people to awaken in time. The warning is profound and urgent.

Someone asked about the claim in the Huangting jing that cultivation remains possible at the age of one hundred and twenty. The reply was: “People in antiquity were simple and sincere, their affairs few, and they married later. They were like fertile fields whose soil had not yet been depleted, so even a late sowing could still yield a harvest. People today have a poorer foundation and begin late as well. They may see seedlings grow without flowering, or flowers bloom without bearing fruit; this is hardly surprising. Besides, the difference between people of old and people today comes from the customs of their respective times. How can we use people today to infer what conditions were like in antiquity?”