《歷世真仙體道通鑑》Vol. 39

Master Liu Xuanhe, surnamed Liu and given the name Xuanhe, was known by the title Hun Chengzi. His ancestors came from Pengcheng. When the Jin dynasty moved its capital south, the family relocated to Duchang in Jiujiang (now part of Nankang Circuit). For generations, his forebears studied Confucianism, valued the Dao, and lived quietly in their home village.

The Master was born in the second year of the Kaiyuan era under Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang. He was clever as a child and grew into an unusually gifted young man. He devoted himself to serving his parents, and after they died, he completed their funerals according to proper rites. Nearly forty years old, he resolved to rise beyond worldly life and entered Longxing Abbey on Mount Kuanglu (Mount Lu), now known as White Crane Abbey. There he became a disciple of He Ziyu, the abbot and a master of the Three Caverns (Dongzhen, Dongxuan, and Dongshen). In the second year of the Tianbao era, he received ordination as a Daoist.

Later, after an extraordinary encounter, he took up residence in a stone chamber on Five Elders Peak, where he devoted himself to arduous cultivation for fifty-two years. He made his companions of frost and dew, lived on pine nuts and cypress seeds, swallowed the vital essences of the sun and moon, and nurtured the Jing and Qi in his Dantian (energy center). Here, the “Three Fields” means the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, while the “Two Luminaries” refers to the sun and moon. Like an uncarved jade stone, the Master reached full attainment through years of cultivation. Fierce beasts guarded his hermitage, and numinous cranes lived there like domestic birds. This was because his Dao-Qi was pure and deep, allowing him to live in harmony with all things. He forgot the distinction between self and other and was no longer disturbed by the pull of feelings and perceptions; he had attained a state of harmony and ease.

On the northern side of the mountain stood a towering, steep rock. The Master once planted quince trees beneath it with his own hands, and the place has ever since been called Quince Rock. The terrain is perilous, and few people can reach it. Later, one day, the Master descended the mountain to make his rounds. On its western side, he planted pine and cypress trees by hand and dug an elixir well. He drew water from the well to treat the sick, and many patients recovered. An old Chinese fir, a hundred feet tall, stood in the courtyard; the Master had planted it himself.

During the Zhenyuan era of Emperor Dezong of the Tang, Wu Yuanji rebelled, and the fighting spread to the Huai River region. The commander of Huai sent Wang Gou, an official of his staff, to the capital with a memorial, but rebels in the Huai region captured him. Wang Gou’s family went into the mountains and, grieving, begged the Master for help. He said, “The abbey enshrines the two Perfected Ones, the Director of Destinies and the Recorder of Destinies. They serve the Jade Emperor. You may pray to them with sincerity, and I will at once submit a memorial on your behalf.” Before long, the two divine beings escorted Wang Gou by chariot and galloped a thousand li, bringing him safely home. This is one example of the efficacy of the Master’s memorial prayers.

From then on, people throughout the court revered the Master, and the renowned figures of the day came in succession to pay their respects. He remained gentle and composed, welcomed others with humility, and did all he could to help them, seeking nothing else from the world. He was eighty-six years old when, on the eighteenth day of the tenth month of the tenth year of the Zhenyuan era…

He suddenly turned to his disciple Fan Xianzhou and said, “I have lived on the Five Elders Peak for a long time. Now I am about to go to Jinhua. My name is already recorded in the Mysterious Register, and I am about to depart. You must all study the Dao diligently and with great effort. Do not resign yourselves to sinking into decline.” With that, he passed away. Before his death, he instructed them to store his sword at the Cypress Altar. His disciples carried out his final wish. On the day he departed, white cranes wheeled and cried out, thunder sounded in the clear sky, and a strange fragrance spread in every direction. When they went to look, they found that his body had vanished and the coffin was empty, so they had no choice but to bury his shoes. Later, Fan Xianzhou and the others built a hall in his honor. Fan Xianzhou also later attained the Dao and became an immortal, but no one knows where he ultimately went.

Yang Taiming

The filial son Yang was named Yang Taiming. No one knows where he came from. He was originally a Confucian scholar and served his parents with great devotion, so people of the time called him “Yang the Filial Son.” He once served in the household of Guo Ziyi, Prince of Fenyang. His temperament was calm and detached, and he did not covet rank or salary. He often advised Guo Ziyi, saying, “Although military orders must be strict and clear, human life is of the greatest importance. You must not kill lightly.” As a result, during the more than twenty years Guo Ziyi commanded troops, he never wantonly killed the innocent. The soldiers loved him as they would a father or elder brother, and this was in part due to Yang Taiming’s influence.

Yang Taiming once said that constant warfare and killing harmed one’s compassion. He therefore left the army and took up a county magistrate’s post in Chang’an. In the first year of the Yongtai era under Emperor Daizong of the Tang (765), he put on a Daoist’s robes, resigned his office, and withdrew into seclusion. He first lived in seclusion on Mount Mao, but felt it was still too close to the secular world, so he went to the summit of Mount Lu, built himself a hut, and practiced the Dao. He prepared Green Essence Rice, a Daoist food made from plants, practiced fasting, made incense from pine and cypress, and prayed to the Messengers of the Nine Heavens and the True Kings for the Way to long life.

He practiced in this way for fourteen years. One autumn night, beneath a full moon and a clear sky, he was worshipping with devotion when he suddenly saw a divine being: it wore a golden crown and a crimson robe adorned with white pearls. One attendant held a jade axe, while another carried a jade casket. The divine being said, “I am a Messenger of the Nine Heavens, sent to inspect good and evil in the human world. In your successive lives, you have benefited the people. Your resolve has been austere, and your practice of the Dao sincere; your devotion has reached the Nine Heavens. The Three Primordial Lords of Great Simplicity in the Jade Clarity Heaven have commanded me to transmit to you the Scripture of the Great Truth of the Nine Heavens.”

Taiming prostrated himself and gave thanks. The divine being slowly opened the jade casket, gave him the treasured book, and admonished him: “From beginning to end, be diligent and press forward. Do not grow slack. When your practice of the Dao is complete, I will come to summon you.” As soon as the words were spoken, wind and clouds rose suddenly, and the divine being disappeared. Taiming opened the scripture and examined it. Inside were thirty-nine chapters of the Scripture of the Great Cavern from on High, also known as the Scripture of the Great Truth of the Nine Heavens.

After that, Jing Taeming practiced according to the scriptures and withdrew from worldly life for a total of thirty-six years. At noon on the first day of the first month in the eighth year of the Yuanhe era under Emperor Xianzong of Tang (813 CE), auspicious clouds circled before his hermitage to welcome him. Taeming then rode the clouds up to Heaven.

Li He

Li He, whose courtesy name was Changji, was a descendant of Prince Zheng and a member of the Tang imperial clan. At the age of seven, he was already able to write literary prose. When Han Yu and Huangfu Shi first heard of him, they did not believe it, so they went to his home and asked him to compose a poem on the spot. Li He picked up his brush and immediately wrote one, giving it the title “A Visit from the Magnificent Carriage.” The two men were astonished, and Li He became famous from then on.

Li He was slight and frail, with eyebrows that met in the middle, and long fingers and fingernails. He wrote quickly. Whenever he rode out on a thin horse, a young servant followed him carrying an old brocade pouch. As soon as a line of poetry came to mind, Li He wrote it down and put it in the pouch. In the evening, when he returned home, his mother opened the pouch and found it full of writing. Angrily, she said, “Will this child only stop when he has coughed up his heart?”

Because his father was named Jin Su, Li He refused to sit for the jinshi examination. Han Yu wrote “A Disputation on Naming Taboos” to persuade him, but in the end Li He still did not take the exam. His poetry was marked by strange and splendid diction and remarkable originality. It surpassed ordinary writing and broke free of traditional literary forms; no one of his time could imitate it. He wrote dozens of yuefu poems, which court musicians set to strings and winds for performance. Li He once served as a Court Music Instructor, an official responsible for court music. He died at the age of twenty-seven. (Another account says he lived to be twenty-four and attained no higher rank than Director of Ceremonial, an official of the Court of Imperial Sacrifices.)

As Li He was nearing death, he suddenly saw, in broad daylight, a figure dressed in red, riding a red horned dragon and holding a tablet inscribed with writing. The characters on it looked like ancient seal script, or like marks left by a lightning strike on stone. The figure said, “By order of the Lord of Heaven, I have come to summon Li Changji.” Li He could not read the writing on the tablet. He suddenly got down from his bed, kowtowed, and said, “Your servant A-mi is old and ill; he does not wish to go.” The red-clad figure smiled and said, “The Celestial Emperor has completed a White Jade Tower and is summoning you to write its commemorative account. Life in Heaven is quite pleasant, without suffering.” Li He wept alone, and those around him all saw it. Before long, he breathed his last. Thick clouds of smoke then poured from the window of his usual room, and the sounds of carriage horses and music could be heard. The Grand Madam hastily told everyone to stop weeping, and they waited for about as long as it takes to cook five dou of millet.

The Xuanshi Records states that after Li He died, his mother dreamed that he said, “The Lord of Heaven has recently built the White Jade Palace in the capital’s Cinnabar Garden and summoned me to write an account of the new palace. He has also asked me to compile the music for the Hall of Congealed Emptiness.”

Xuanyuan Miming

Xuanyuan Miming, a Daoist of Mount Heng, was of unknown origin and lived in the region of Mount Heng and the Xiang River…

More than ninety years later. (The Complete Collection of the Sacred Sites of Mount Heng says that Linglu Peak is Mount Yuelu, on the western bank of the Xiang River, and belongs to the Twenty-Second Grotto Heaven, the True Void. It was originally a blessed land. In the Song dynasty it was granted a new title, and during Emperor Huizong’s reign it was renamed the Palace of Ten Thousand Longevity at Mount Yuelu.)

During the Tang dynasty, Xuanyuan Miming lived here in seclusion. He was skilled at capturing ghosts and monsters, and could also subdue flood dragons, chi dragons, tigers, leopards, and other creatures. No one knew how long he had lived.

The successful examination candidate Liu Shifu once met him in southern Hunan. On the fourth day of the twelfth month in the seventh year of the Yuanhe era under Emperor Xianzong of Tang, Xuanyuan Miming was traveling from Mount Heng past Mount Taibai. Learning that Liu Shifu was keeping vigil through the night in mourning, he went to Liu’s lodgings to ask for a place to stay. The Collation Clerk Hou Xi had recently earned a name for his poetry. That evening, he and Liu Shifu sat by the stove discussing verse. Miming was there too. He had a very ugly appearance and spoke with a Chu-region accent. Hou Xi looked down on him.

Miming rolled up his sleeves, opened his eyes wide, and pointed to the stone cauldron in the stove. “Since you can write poetry, can you compose a poem about it?” Liu Shifu had known Miming for a long time around Mount Heng and the Xiang River. He thought only that Miming was old, so he treated him with respect, never realizing he had literary talent. Hou Xi heard the challenge and first wrote: “A master craftsman carves the mountain’s bones, hollowing them out for boiling and cooking.”

Then it was Hou Xi’s turn to continue. With lively enthusiasm, he added: “Its straight handle has not yet taken power; its mouth is stopped, so let it swallow its words.” Miming laughed. “Your poetry is no better than that.” Hou Xi withdrew his hands, hunched his shoulders, and sat leaning against the north wall. Miming said to Liu Shifu, “I don’t understand the writing of ordinary people. You write for me.” Then he recited aloud: “Its dragon head draws back, knotted and twisted; its pig’s belly swells, huge and distended.” At first, these lines did not seem to describe a stone cauldron. In truth, they mocked Hou Xi. Hou Xi and Liu Shifu exchanged astonished, embarrassed glances, then continued testing him with lines of their own.

Liu Shifu said: “Its outside is wrapped in dry moss, its markings mottled; within, dark currents seem to churn, making the heart tremble.” Hou Xi followed: “It rests at ease in the cold; when put to the fire, its resolve grows all the firmer.” Miming again told Liu Shifu to write down his words: “I have mistakenly taken my place among the cauldrons and tripods, and rashly set water and fire to contend.” Here, “cauldrons and tripods” refers to cooking vessels and is also often used as a metaphor for positions of great importance.

Liu Shifu said: “It is hard as a martyr’s gall, round as the ring of an iron horse’s bridle.” Hou Xi said: “Its top is like the tip of an incense burner; its base is as level as a mirror.” Miming said: “The autumn melon has not yet fallen from its stem, while the frozen taro insists on putting forth shoots.” Liu Shifu said: “A mass of primal Qi is sealed within; a tiny spring flows out through a deep, hidden aperture.” Hou Xi said: “If we did not see it pouring forth, how could we know it held such clear depths within?” Miming said: “Only when the great furnace is blazing can one better see how full the small vessel is.” Liu Shifu said: “So polished that no trace of chisel or knife remains, so perfectly rounded it seems shaped by Heaven itself.”

Xi said, “From a distance, I thought it was a turtle emerging from the water with a diagram on its back, just as dawn was breaking and the sky clearing.”

Miming said, “There is a single ear on the side, attached on top like a lonely hair bun.”

Shifu said, “Some might complain that it looks like a short-tailed diao, a cooking pot with a handle, or a ding without legs.”

Xi said, “What a pity that the ball tossed during the Cold Food Festival was thrown into the roadside ditch beside it.”

Miming said, “When will it ever get out of the ash pit? However hard it tries, it still cannot escape bottles and jars.”

Shifu said, “I am a crude vessel, yet my master graciously chooses to use me. My middle is narrow, and I am ashamed to be picked up and carried.”

Xi said, “How could it cook elixirs of immortality? At least it has not yet been soiled by mutton soup.”

Miming said, “It looks like a woman, which makes people laugh, yet its capacity is as shallow as a child’s.”

Shifu said, “It has nothing but a hard, heavy body; even filled up, it holds no more than a pint or two.”

Xi said, “From the side, it looks like a discarded wheel hub; viewed from above, like a broken axle lying crosswise.”

Miming said, “At times, inside an earthworm’s burrow, it gives off a faint buzzing like a fly.”

Shifu said, “When it holds things, they churn and spill over; it truly cannot bear the burden of carrying them.”

Xi said, “It is always where people glance about. How dare it reveal any secrets?”

Miming said, “It would rather cling to something warm and worn out than keep company with anything cold.”

Shifu said, “It merely shows off its own little uses. They are petty and trivial, hardly worth praising.”

Xi said, “When it turns, it turns dumbly; when it opens and closes, it clanks loudly.”

Xi racked his brain, hoping to outdo Miming. He searched over and over for the right words, but when they reached his lips, his voice sank lower and lower. His brush was about to touch the page, then stopped. In the end, he could not produce a single striking line.

The two had written more than ten lines. Miming answered with ease, each line sharp and barbed with mockery. As the night drew to a close, their ideas ran dry and they could not continue. They rose and apologized, saying, “Our honored teacher is no ordinary person of this world. We cannot surpass you. We concede and wish to become your disciples; we dare not speak of composing poetry any longer.”

Miming said emphatically, “This poem must be finished.” He said to Shifu, “Bring the brush. You and I will complete it together.” Then they wrote:

“Far surpassing the precious ritual vessels,

it has only a reputation passed from mouth to ear.

Though it is an ancient sacrificial vessel,

no one has ever laid a hand upon it.

Through grinding, its edges are worn away;

through soaking, its luster gradually appears.

I hope you will not mock it:

this thing is about to be put to use.”

After Shifu had finished writing, he had the two read it through. Miming asked them, “Isn’t the poem complete now?” They answered together, “It is complete.”

Miming said, “Neither of you is worth discussing this with. Do you call this composition? I merely wrote in keeping with your abilities. This is not the true skill I learned from my teacher. What I have heard is still beyond what you are fit to hear. Is it only so with writing? My conversation, too, is not something you would ordinarily hear. I will say no more.”

The two were filled with awe. They rose and bowed, saying, “We dare not do so again.”

Since he (Miming) had asked them something, he said he wanted to hear just one sentence. The master replied, “I don’t understand the books of the human world.” Miming then asked, “May I ask which book you mean?” The master did not answer. Finding the exchange dull, Miming returned to his seat. Before long, the master leaned against the wall and fell asleep, snoring like thunder. The two men sat anxiously, scarcely daring to breathe. After a while, they too grew sleepy and dozed off. When they awoke, Miming was gone. They heard from the servant boys that the Daoist had gone out just before dawn, so they hurried to look for him but could not find him.

The two men were greatly astonished. Taking the poem with them, they visited Han Yu and asked about the man’s origins. Han Yu said, “I have heard of a reclusive gentleman named Miming. Could that have been him?” He then wrote a preface to “Joint Verses on the Stone Cauldron.” Miming had once passed through the Bagui region and left an inscription at the Yao Temple. Later generations had the inscription carved into stone.

During the reign of Emperor Lizong of the Song, the court historian Xiao Shanze composed “Record of the Newly Established Miming Hermitage on Heng Mountain,” recounting the following:

The Water Curtain Cave is one of the finest secluded places on Southern Peak. On the last days of the seventh month in the second year of Duanping, I, Xiao Shanze, went out at dawn. I was so taken with the quiet beauty of the place that even after noon I did not want to leave. The three Daoist priests who had come with me were all tired, and my servants looked weary and hungry, so everyone sat down separately in the Tianliu Pavilion. Alone, I improvised two lines: “Ancient trees shelter an immortal’s resting form; cold springs let a guest rinse away hunger.”

At that moment, an old man with his hair knotted in a topknot came walking up from the valley. Hearing the lines I had just recited, he continued: “The mountains here are vast; do not lightly recite poetry.” His expression was stern, and his voice carried an awe-inspiring force. I asked where he had come from. He said, “From the land of the white tortoise in the west—the Whitewater Kingdom.” I asked his name, but he did not answer. He picked up a fallen pine twig and wrote on the cliff face: “Heaven sent me in the Tang; sun and moon shine upon me; Han Yu knows me.” Then he suddenly drew a sprig of grass from his sleeve. It looked like coral and bore white fruit. “When you are hungry, eat this,” he said, and walked away on his own.

I suspected he was an extraordinary being and hurried after him to ask, “You just said you would leave this for me. Why didn’t you tell me what kind of medicine it is?” He did not look back. I consulted the Materia Medica Classic and learned that red reishi grows on Heng Mountain. This was probably a kind of lingzhi mushroom.

Later, when the Daoist priest Luo Zhizhen invited me to visit White Tortoise Spring, I understood that the old man’s “Whitewater” referred to Whitewater Spring. “Yu” meant Han Yu, while “sun and moon” together made “ming”; surely the old man was Miming. So I asked Luo Zhizhen whether an old man like this lived by the spring. Luo said there was no one of the sort. But who could know whether he was dwelling in a house above the spring? People therefore fashioned a statue of him and made offerings.

Some say Miming was Han Yu himself, and no one else. Alas, the old man had already told me the truth. Others say the old man was remembered because of “Joint Verses on the Stone Cauldron” and the preface by Tuizhi (Han Yu’s courtesy name), not because of the shrine. Alas, though countless kalpas have passed since the old man’s death, his habits of speech have still not faded; nor has his proud bearing, looking down from on high and scorning Lord Liu, diminished. As for events after the Yuanhe era of the Tang…

No one on the mountain knows of that old man anymore. I was fortunate to meet Elder Zhizhen and to hear him tell his story. He said, “I settled my thoughts and made my home here for two reasons: first, to restore records of the mountain’s lost texts; second, to…” Some of the wording seems to have become corrupt, so the meaning is difficult to establish with certainty.

Miming (a legendary Daoist of Mount Heng) lived here in seclusion. Someone wrote an invitation for him and used a song in the style of the Songs of Chu to summon him. Its lyrics say:

“The luan bird leads the way ahead—ah, riding wild geese straight up to Mount Taibai. Whom can one meet upon the Great Dao? The stone cauldron is small, yet its fame is great. Transcendent, beyond the world—ah, it surpasses all the peaks of Mount Heng. When will the immortal return—ah, in what year will he come back? I chant poems of agelessness—ah, their verses are hidden beneath the Chu sky. How many scrolls of poetry lie hidden in the mountain? The secret treasure of wooden feathers—ah, it was never passed down. What remains in the cauldron is the mortal skeleton left behind by the immortal; the immortal himself has shed his form and departed. If jade essence could be offered, elixir liquid would surge forth, and a vast numinous force would stir my longing.”

In the second year of the Chunyou era (1242), someone added a note after the Illustration of the Stone Cauldron Couplet:

“Jia Dao’s stele inscription, compiled by a Tang writer, says that Miming, mentioned in the stone cauldron couplet, was this man. But Jia Dao was from Fanyang and was a Buddhist monk, while Miming was a Daoist of Mount Heng. Their origins and identities do not match. This stele inscription is absurd and cannot be trusted.”

Liu Shang

Liu Shang was from Pengcheng and lived in Chang’an. He loved learning, had a strong memory, and excelled at writing. His Eighteen Songs of the Nomad Flute became quite popular; even children and women could recite it.

Liu Shang passed the jinshi examination and served in various government offices, eventually reaching the rank of Senior Secretary. He was devoted to Daoist arts. Whenever he met a Daoist, he would seek instruction from him. He applied himself diligently to such practices as alchemical compounding and regulating the breath (cultivating through controlled breathing). He often lamented that life was short and that his body was growing weaker: “Going out early and returning late only wears me down. What good are worldly splendor and official rank to me? The worthy men of antiquity all abandoned office to seek the Dao, and many thereby attained transcendence. Fortunately, I am already married and no longer bound by worldly entanglements. Could I really be less capable than Xu Yuanyou?”

So Liu Shang feigned illness, resigned from office, and set out as a Daoist. When he reached Guangling, he saw a Daoist selling medicine in the city marketplace. A crowd had gathered, and people said his medicines often worked wonders. The Daoist spotted Liu Shang among them and looked greatly surprised. He stopped selling his medicine, took Liu Shang by the hand, and led him to a tavern upstairs to drink and talk.

The Daoist spoke of events across successive dynasties from the Qin and Han onward as if he had witnessed them himself. Liu Shang was astonished and honored him as his teacher. The Daoist then spoke of immortals and of how Daoist arts could not be obtained lightly. That evening, Liu Shang returned to his lodgings. After the Daoist went downstairs, he suddenly vanished, leaving Liu Shang even more astonished.

The next day, Liu Shang went back to the marketplace to look for him and found him still selling medicine. The Daoist was even more delighted to see him, again led him upstairs to the tavern, and talked with him to his heart’s content as they drank freely. When they parted, the Daoist took out a small medicine pouch and gave it to Liu Shang. Then, almost playfully, he chanted, “Without a care…”

When they reached Yangzhou, the two went together to a tavern. The Daoist gave the merchant the medicine pouch as a parting gift. The merchant asked him to leave a few words as a keepsake. That evening, the Daoist took his leave. The merchant never saw him again.

When the merchant opened the pouch, he found paper wrapped around it in layer upon layer. Inside the paper was a small gourd containing nine pills, each about the size of a sesame seed. Following the instructions the Daoist had left him, the merchant swallowed the pills. At once, he felt refreshed and clear-headed, no longer hungry, and so light that he seemed to drift like an immortal. He crossed the river to visit Maoshan. Much later, he went on to Zhanggong Cave in Yixing. In spring, captivated by the scenery of Yanhua Creek, he made his way to Hufu Islet, where he put his dwelling in order and withdrew into the mountains. Woodcutters in the area would occasionally catch sight of him. He called himself “Physician Liu,” but later his whereabouts became unknown. He had probably become an earthly immortal—a person who attained the Dao and became immortal while living in the human world.

Liu Jian (the character “Jian” is pronounced “jian”)

Liu Jian’s childhood name was Yige, and his elder brother was called Zhan. Though Liu Jian’s family was poor, he was fond of Daoist arts. One day, a Daoist passed by his home and, sensing that he was no ordinary person, asked whether he knew anything about Daoist arts. Liu Jian replied, “A little.” But the Daoist said, “You still carry too much worldly energy, and your ties to the world have not yet run their course. How could you force yourself to study the Dao?” The Daoist then asked, “Would you be willing to take me as your teacher?” Liu Jian replied, “How could I dare refuse?” He bowed to the Daoist as his teacher and followed him into Mount Luofu.

Liu Jian and his elder brother Zhan both studied the classics. Liu Jian lived in the mountains to cultivate the Dao. He wore no head covering, tied his hair into two tufts, and dressed in plain cloth as he followed the Daoist in practicing Daoist arts. His brother Zhan, by contrast, aspired to official rank and wealth. Liu Jian told him, “If you fail the examinations, you’ll withdraw to the countryside. If you pass, you’ll be caught up in the affairs of the world. But once you have wealth and rank, be careful in how you conduct yourself. In forty years, what I’ve said will come to pass.” Zhan replied, “The path to immortality is distant and hard to find. Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu of Han spared no effort in pursuing it. But a career in government is within reach. I, too, can follow the path of men like Ma Zhou and Zhang Xizhen.” After this, Liu Jian devoted himself even more fully to cultivating the Dao and lived in seclusion on Mount Luofu. Zhan passed the jinshi examination, held a succession of prestigious and influential posts, and, after rising to the position of chancellor, earned a considerable reputation for assisting in the administration of state affairs.

Before long, Zhan was banished to the south. When his boat reached Chaotai in Guangzhou, it moored by the riverbank. Suddenly, a young man with his hair tied into two tufts and dressed in plain cloth came hurrying through the heavy rain. Yet his clothes and shoes were not wet. He said he wished to see Zhan, and those around Zhan were astonished. The young man said only, “Yige has arrived.” Zhan’s attendants relayed the words to him and described the visitor’s appearance in detail. Deeply astonished, Zhan went out to meet him.

Liu Jian looked no more than twenty years old, while Zhan’s hair had turned gray and he looked old and worn. He was grieving over his banishment. The brothers were overcome with both sorrow and joy at their reunion. Liu Jian comforted him, saying, “We are brothers, bound together like hands and feet. What I said long ago has now come to pass, forty years later.” Zhan was even more moved by his words.

Sighing, he asked the man, “Can I still return to cultivating the Dao?” The man replied, “Elder brother, you hold a high office, enjoy honors and favor, and bear the duty of harmonizing Yin-Yang. Everything you do, whether active or still, demands effort. How could you avoid being depleted? If I were not your younger brother, what could I do? Besides, I have already ascended to Heaven and become an immortal. How could I still save you? I came this time only to say farewell, not to rescue you.”

The two then boarded the same boat and spoke privately, recalling the affection they had shared in earlier days. After spending a night together, the man vanished, and no one knew where he had gone. Even now, people in Mount Luofu often say they have seen him. Zhan then headed south and eventually died in the place where he had been exiled.

Luo Wanxiang

Luo Wanxiang’s origins are unknown. He was gifted in letters, knowledgeable about astronomy, and deeply versed in the Book of Changes. His conduct and principles were exceptional. He traveled throughout the land as a commoner, spending a long time living on Mount Wangwu before journeying on to Mount Luofu. He sighed and said, “This is Zhuming Grotto-Heaven, one of the sacred grotto-heavens and blessed lands of Daoism. In the past, Ge Zhichuan (Ge Hong) lived here and practiced alchemy. Though Deng Yue has not invited me to stay, I shall settle here for now.”

Fond of the scenery at Shilou, he built a thatched hut at the foot of the mountain and made it his home. He often ate yellow essence, a medicinal food commonly used in Daoist cultivation, and practiced breath cultivation in his hut, using regulated breathing and breath exchange to nourish and refine himself. He continued this for decades. At times he traveled to Zengcheng, Quanshan, and the Bushui area to gather herbs. He also went into towns in the Fu and Guang regions to sell medicine and drink wine, wandering from place to place. Sometimes he could eat as much as ten people in a single meal; at other times, he could go without food for a long while. No one knew how many years he had lived. His face was clear and bright, and he was light and robust; he could walk three or four hundred li in a day. Even when he walked at an easy pace, a galloping horse could not catch him. Later he returned to his hut at Shilou and never went out again, living in seclusion in the mountains.

Yin Wenxiang

Yin Qiqi, whose given name was Wenxiang and whose other name was Daoquan, often called himself Qiqi, as most people did. His origins were unknown. He traveled widely, and many people said they had seen him in earlier years, yet no one knew how old he was. His complexion was smooth, bright, and fair, and he looked about forty. He sometimes changed his name from place to place, so his identity remained uncertain.

He once sold medicine in Jingzhou. At the time, people throughout the Lingtai area, both non-Han and Han, were suffering from a severe epidemic. Those who took his medicine recovered, and everyone praised his uncanny abilities. He gave away the money he earned, but often got drunk in town. Zhou Bao met him in Chang’an and soon treated him with courtesy, inviting him to the place where he held office in Jingyuan. Zhou greatly admired his Daoist arts and his ability to restore people to youth and vitality. Later, Zhou Bao was transferred to western Zhejiang. Several years passed, and Qiqi suddenly appeared there again, selling medicine. When Zhou Bao heard the news, he was both astonished and delighted. He summoned him at once and treated him with even greater respect.

Whenever Qiqi got drunk, he would sing: “Unseal the wine jar, and in a moment you can drink; play the tune of jade, and in the blink of an eye the flowers bloom.”

Ge Xiangong (Ge Xuan) had tested his arts of alchemy and medicine, as well as his extraordinary abilities in growing melons and fishing, and found them truly effective.

At Hulin Temple, a cuckoo flower grew to a height of more than one zhang. Each year, toward the end of spring, it blossomed in profusion and radiant beauty. The monks passed down the story that, during the Zhenyuan era of Emperor Dezong of the Tang, a foreign monk had brought a medicinally treated flower root from Mount Tiantai and planted it in the temple. Later, the temple built a flower garden around it and locked the gate. Someone once glimpsed a beautiful woman in bright red garments wandering beneath the tree. Anyone who picked its flowers or broke off a branch without permission was sure to come to harm. People said she was the flower’s goddess, so everyone took care to protect it. Its blossoms were exceptionally lush and beautiful, unlike those of ordinary plants.

The flower showed signs before it bloomed. The military governor and officials from his staff came to admire it for several days in a row. Later, men and women from the city, along with visitors from elsewhere, brought wine and musicians to enjoy the sight. From spring through summer, from early morning until evening, they gathered in such numbers that they nearly neglected their daily livelihoods.

One day, Bao said to Qiqi, “The flower at Hulin Temple is a rare wonder in all the world. I often hear that some people can make flowers bloom out of season. Can this flower do that too?” Qiqi replied, “It can.” Bao asked, “The Double Ninth Festival is approaching. Can you make it bloom on that day?” Qiqi agreed.

Qiqi arrived at Hulin Temple three days early and stayed there. At midnight, a woman came and asked him, “Daoist, do you wish to make this flower bloom?” Qiqi asked who she was. She said, “I was sent by Heaven to come down and watch over this flower. It has been in the human world for more than a hundred years, and before long it will return to Langyuan, the fabled realm where immortals dwell. I am willing to make it bloom together with you. Had you not come, Daoist, I would have had no chance to manifest my powers of responsive transformation.” As soon as she finished speaking, she vanished.

The next morning, the monks were astonished to see the buds gradually opening. On the Double Ninth Festival, the cuckoo flower bloomed as profusely as it did in spring and summer. A few days later, all the flowers suddenly disappeared, and there were no fallen petals on the ground.

Later, Qiqi happened to visit an official’s home just as the host was holding a banquet for guests. The host and guests all came out to greet him. Among the singers and performers serving wine at the banquet, two treated Qiqi with scorn and mocked him. Qiqi said, “Would the host like to use two chestnuts for a drinking game?” Everyone was delighted, thinking he would perform a trick to entertain them. Qiqi had the chestnuts passed from person to person. Everyone who smelled them detected a strange fragrance and was amazed. But when the two who had mocked Qiqi smelled them, the chestnuts turned to stone and stuck to their noses; no matter how hard they pulled, they could not remove them. They could only cry, “The stench is unbearable!” Then the two of them rose together and began to dance wildly, and the flower ornaments in their hair fell to the ground.

The Art of Qiqi

The gathered crowd wept one after another, rouge and powder running down their faces in streaks of tears. The actors all at once began to dance wildly, and the drums and music sounded on their own, yet in remarkably good time. When the music stopped, the dancing did not, and everyone in the hall laughed until they bent forward and fell back. After a long while the host sincerely apologized to "Qiqi" (his name or alias), and before long a stone dropped from his nose and turned back into a chestnut. When the chestnut was passed around, everyone noticed a strange fragrance, and the hair ornaments and cosmetics were restored to their original state with almost no damage.

When someone made offerings to him, he used his art of Qiqi to turn water into wine and shave wood into dried meat. He made people retreat and the boat stopped; he called to birds and they followed him of their own accord; he spat at a fish and it came back to life. He would also scoop up earth and draw the shapes of mountains and rivers on the ground, or snap off reeds and gather ants, and then cities and people would appear. Some who had personally visited those places said what they saw was as vivid as the real thing, only slightly gratifying to the eyes and ears. Feats of this kind were countless.

Two years later, Xue Xuan and Liu Hao rebelled and fled south toward Hangzhou while Commander Bao governed the region, and punishments sometimes reached the innocent. The former Governor of Shangrao Prefecture, Chen Quanyu, passed through the area, and because of this he brought down calamity, and the Bao clan was exterminated. Bao was eighty-three years old at the time, still robust in body, and kept over a hundred female entertainers. It seems that after Qiqi obtained this art, he instead used it to harm the innocent, and when Chen Quanyu struck back as a vengeful spirit, Qiqi suddenly died one morning.

When Liu Hao's mutiny broke out, Qiqi was pushed off the northern cliff of Ganlu Temple by the crowd, and people assumed he had fallen into the river and drowned. Later someone saw him in Jiangxi, and more than ten years afterward he traveled into Shu selling medicine, after which no one knew where he went. The flowers of Hulin Temple lost their roots when the temple was burned in the fighting, and it seems he really did return to Langyuan (a fabled immortal realm).

Tan Qiaoyan

Tan Qiaoyan was a Daoist priest of Maoshan who, during the Baoli era of Emperor Jingzong of the Tang (825–827), traveled through Tiantai and the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region. He looked to be only about twenty years old, and people did not know that he possessed any arts. He often aided others through hidden virtue (yinde), dropping gold along the road on purpose to relieve the needy. When people thanked him, he refused all gratitude. When asked why, he said, "The Perfected Lord Yin (Yin Zhenjun) turns earth into gold to relieve those in want, and I regret that I cannot do the same. Is it strange to seek gratitude with worthless things?"

As time passed, people came to learn that he had arts: he could refine shards of tile into divine elixir and subdue ghosts and spirits with Fulu (talismans and registers). Once, when someone spoke of Emperor Yang of Sui's eastern tour, Qiaoyan suddenly blurted out, "In the Daye era the Danyang River was dug, cutting through the ranges of three hills, and blood flowed from beneath them without stopping. I went to see it myself." From this one may infer that Qiaoyan had lived for several hundred years.

Jia served Qiaoyan for a long time, so Qiaoyan taught him the elixir formulas and talisman arts. Yet Jia could never fully grasp their subtleties. He could only capture rhinoceroses and tigers on land and subdue flood dragons in the water. Qiaoyan told him, “Each person’s natural endowment has its limits. You can make water and stone grow hot, but you cannot make fire grow cold. Even if I teach you everything I have learned, your abilities can go no further than this.” In the Kaicheng era of Emperor Wenzong of Tang, Jia ascended to immortality at Hengshan in the Southern Marchmount.

Comprehensive Mirror of Daoist Immortals Through the Ages, juan 38.