《茅山誌》Vol. 29

Before assuming office in Nanxu (modern-day Zhenjiang, Jiangsu), Fan Zhongyan composed this poem during his visit to Maoshan. As the newly appointed governor of Danyang, he first paid homage to the immortal masters of Maoshan (the Mao brothers), expressing how after three political demotions, he had devoted himself to Daoist cultivation in his fifties. Seeking celestial herbs and elixir ingredients, he wished to study the Daoist scripture Jade Texts (Yushu), believing earthly officialdom's vicissitudes irrelevant—heaven's will had destined him to govern while pursuing immortality here.

Tian Kuang's poem to the Daoist hermit Zhang Mingzhen depicts this recluse's lifelong yearning for the white-clouded immortal realms, yet still bound by worldly ties. The poet muses: perhaps because Zhang's name was recorded in the golden registers (Jinjian, Daoist immortal archives), fate allowed their meeting with this jade-cultivating transcendent on Maoshan.

Teng Zongliang's Maoshan verses describe: This ancient cave-heaven (Dongtian) of Juqu Mountain (Maoshan's old name) connects golden palaces and jade chambers. At the age when Qu Boyu (a Spring and Autumn period sage) reflected on his faults, Teng acknowledges the Mao brothers had long achieved immortality.

Wang Sui's tribute to Zhang Mingzhen portrays the hermit with fiery hair and childlike complexion, dwelling in pure solitude amid Great Mao Peak's mist. Skilled in the esoteric rites of Polaris worship and honored with imperial verses by Emperor Zhenzong, his mountain abode reveals auspicious herbs swaying and divine dragons sporting in waters. The poet, though a governor (symbolized by "five-horse" rank), humbly counts himself blessed merely to glimpse this immortal aura.

Hu Su styles himself "the fugitive guest of Huayang" (a recluse in Maoshan's Huayang Cave), having lost track of time there. Sipping transcendent wine and playing chess, though unenlightened, he edited the guqin score Guangling San and the Daoist text Autumn Waters (Qiushui). He laments his lingering worldly attachments, unworthy of these hidden forests and springs.

Excerpts from Wang Anshi's Climbing Mao Peak series depict: The towering summit stands peerless, severed from mortal realms. Below, boundless cloud seas; above, vines scaling the void. Though dynasties have fallen (Jiaping Emperor alluding to Qin Shi Huang), the earth's veins still link to immortal grottoes. History's rights and wrongs vanish in wild grass, yet blind devotion to legends persists among the vulgar.

The first passage depicts a recluse transcending worldly life: leaning on his bamboo staff and wearing straw sandals, he leaves the clamorous mortal realm for the silent wilderness. Though seeking the legendary Five Lingzhi Mushrooms (Daoist spiritual herbs), he finds only withered stems and leaves; gazing upward, he watches three cranes fly toward distant horizons. The mountain stream's reflections disorient his path, while crisscrossing trails mark the boundary between immortal realms and earthly dust. The mountain wind topples a woodcutter's load of firewood, and as sunset falls, he feels no urge to return home—still less to grind ink and compose poems recalling bygone dynasties.

The second passage recounts an ascent of Maoshan: clinging to vines halfway up the mountain, he overlooks clouds swirling around the peaks. Such transcendent wanderings surpass worldly riches—he desires only the company of Poria cocos (an immortal herb). Seated deep within white clouds, the Dragon Pool becomes invisible; returning under bright moonlight, the cranes have vanished. Turning to contemplate the Three Mao Lords (founders of the Maoshan tradition), he wonders who could match the noble lineage of Zhang Liang (styled Zifang).

Regarding Xu Kai's seal script on Middle Mao Peak: though weathered by centuries of wind and rain with moss-covered traces, the calligraphy of this Southern Tang master endures. Yet he fears it will eventually vanish like the Yi Mountain Stele, while autumn winds set the plains ablaze with swaying grasses.

Visiting Master Guanmiao during his midday meditation: pure breezes stir the temple's depths, where pines cast dense shadows across the courtyard. The master now practices Neijing techniques (visualization of internal landscapes)—as inaccessible to outsiders as moonlight stored in the Mud Ball Palace (upper Dantian) or the sun dwelling within the Heart Palace.

The Left-Twisting Juniper of Yuchen Temple: Though Huayang Mountain boasts thousands of junipers, none compare to this spiraled tree before Yuchen Hall. Its coiling branches reach toward dawnlight, as if competing with the Fusang Divine Tree of the East. Among the nine junipers planted by Laozi at Bozhou's Taiqing Palace, one shares this extraordinary form. Deep roots ensure immortality, proving all blessed lands grow trees planted by high immortals (Shangzhen). This mirrors the alchemical principle "the dragon emerges from fire, the tiger is born of water"—where life's Qi follows the leftward rotation (Daoism holds celestial motion spins leftward), like the sun, moon, and five planets. The Left-Twisting Juniper embodies profound truths—those who comprehend them may attain longevity.

Cai Zhao's "Three Poems Seeing Off Dharma Master Dongyuan to Maoshan": The first describes the master descending from the Purple Purity Heaven with crimson talismans (immortal credentials), mastering esoteric formulas for longevity. Should he meet the Star God of Longevity from Fangzhang Isle, he'll receive the Crimson Armor Scripture from his pouch. The second portrays Chongning-era towers piercing clouds, while celestial talismans (Fulu) glow with floating radiance. The Jade Emperor dispatches dragon guardians—midnight storms over deep pools signal their return. The third recalls their former perilous mountain hermitage, where ancient trees and hanging vines witnessed passing years. Perhaps fulfilling a past-life pact with Fang Guan (styled Cilü), he now seeks old traces with vine-wrapped staff.

Inscription for "Three Mao Winds and Rain Painting": Cloud-forms emerge from the brush's tip, while pine-waves on paper hover between presence and absence. Capturing three... (fragment suggests the painting embodies three moods of Maoshan's storms).

Mount Mao (the ancestral seat of the Shangqing lineage of Daoism) possesses remarkably unique scenery—even in midsummer, its lofty halls feel as refreshing as an ice jar. These records preserve stories of literati interacting with Daoist masters:

In his dedicatory poem for Wang Quan, Gong Yuan mentions that Wang Quan, styled Zizhen, was once a retainer of Duke Fu Zheng. During the Yuanfeng era, he was granted the imperial title "Recluse of Penetrating Illumination." In the third year of Yuanfu, while studying Shangqing Fulu (esoteric talismanic scripts of Daoism) under Master Liu, the side gate of Huayang Grotto suddenly opened—legend says this gate had remained sealed ever since the Eastern Han mystic Zuo Ci entered it nearly a millennium earlier. The poem marvels at this auspicious sign, interpreting it as the grotto opening for the transmission of registers to an exalted adept.

Qiu Jun's poem to his Daoist companions on Mount Mao depicts the mountain's pure cultivation environment through imagery of phoenix cries, solitary peaks, and ancient dwellings. He expresses ambition to emulate the golden ages of legendary sage-kings Yao and Shun, yet laments his inability to match the transcendence of Mao Ying and Xu Mi (founders of the Maoshan tradition) in abandoning worldly cunning. The poem concludes with his reluctant departure by boat, leaving behind the mountain's perennial purple mushrooms growing beyond his reach.

Chen Fu's inscribed verses describe Jijin Peak standing like a screen, its jeweled pavilions spanning the sky amidst radiant clouds. He recounts how immortal cranes regularly transport Mao Ying and Xu Mi, while dragon chariots convey Guo Sichao and Yang Xi (key Maoshan figures) to celestial gatherings. Marveling at the transcendent beings inhabiting these grotto-heavens, he admonishes worldly people not to cling to mundane trivialities.

Poems about Xiabo Palace record legends: the dragons and tigers of Xianyang achieved ascension here, while their two younger brothers attained the Dao on Eastern Mountain. Though the life-governing pear tree of antiquity is no longer visible, a clear elixir well remains.

Zhou Bangyan's "Song of Ganoderma and Atractylodes" documents Daoist Lu Zhirou's miraculous discovery: a luminous ganoderma fungus growing among white atractylodes on stone, their roots inseparably entwined. When woodcutters felled it near White Crane Temple, the blade rang as if striking metal. The poem describes Huayang Grotto-Heaven's elusive mystery—the Three True Lords (Mao brothers) still attending the Celestial Emperor's court, leaving only empty canopies and crane feathers behind. Yet numinous herbs and miraculous fungi still appear unpredictably, defying human coercion—an implicit critique of the futile chiseling during recent temple renovations.

These literary works vividly capture Mount Mao's celestial aura through Song dynasty literati eyes, preserving invaluable details of Daoist practice—ordination rituals, grotto mythology, and elixir well remnants—while expressing reverence for nature's spiritual wonders.

These poetic works from Maoshan Zhi depict the sacred landscapes of Mount Mao (a renowned Daoist mountain in Jurong, Jiangsu) and the life of spiritual cultivation. Let me explain them section by section:

The first poem by Zhang Shangying portrays Mount Mao's mystical scenery: When immortals arrive, even celestial cranes dance upon the sea; when they depart, mountain mists intertwine with riverine rains. Vermilion herbs (divine plants) manifest their sanctity to the mortal world, deliberately sending woodcutters deep into the forests to gather them. Purple-lacquer-like elixirs naturally solidify, clinging to celestial lichens and coiled stone terraces. Mortals only fear encountering strange misfortunes or having these divine substances taken away. The prefect of Luling, with his immortal demeanor, possesses a vigorous physique seemingly ready for ascension. Beloved by the people for his healing benevolence, even heaven permits his longevity through spiritual medicines. May he abstain from meat and partake of immortal herbs, attaining a state no less profound than Zhuangzi's "Essentials for Nurturing Life."

Zhang Shangying's second inscription describes Huayang Cave (a famous grotto-heaven of Mount Mao): White tigers and spotted dragons tread upon purple mists, witnessing the transformations of oceans into mulberry fields. After seeking immortals at Mount Chicheng and Mount Yusi, he arrives at Huayang Cave—the eighth layer of heaven.

Zhang Gang's Incident at Southern Cave reflects: At eighty-three, still wearing the purple绶绶 and golden seal, my aged frame no longer suits these official trappings. Paint me instead as a retired farmer, sitting quietly on green cliffs in simple hemp robes.

Zhang Fu's Sending the Crane Back to Qiyun uses the crane as metaphor: Who brought this immortal crane to the mortal realm? Its pure cries accompany my idle days. Unlike Zhi Dun's (the Eastern Jin monk) crane that yearned for the heavens, it bears arrow marks like Zuo Qing (the legendary immortal who transformed into a crane). Eventually it will chase phoenixes into the misty clouds—how could it long remain among common fowl? Tell Qiyun Mountain to tend it well, for next year I'll seek it at Mount Gou (where Prince Qiao ascended astride a crane).

Cai Bian's For Huayang's Daoist Master praises: Since the master came to Huayang Cave, mountain blossoms have bloomed many times. It's his constant mind to aid the world that lets ordinary men approach him.

Zhang Jian's farewell verse states: Western Mountain invites me to lighten my form and ascend, while this abbey keeps you refining the Great Return Elixir. Grieve not at worldly partings—when we meet again, both shall wear youthful faces.

The note on the Crane Temple Pine laments: Someone damaged the pine roots while gathering poria cocos (medicinal fungus), leaving half the tree dead. The poet sighs: The ancients who planted this ladder to heaven have vanished with wind and rain—who can tell Councilor Yang to spare new branches for Lingwei (Ding Lingwei, the immortal who returned as a crane)?

Zhou Wenpu's Rain on Maoshan paints the scene: Scattered rain veils the morning sun, as drifting clouds form unbidden. Tell the cave spirit not to prepare his chariot—this fugitive guest has returned to plow and read.

Huayang's Southern Cave records: After paying respects to the numinous mountain, we ride into Huayang. The southern cave's profound wonders and ancient pines blot out the sky.

The spring waters encircled exquisite pavilions, while mysterious talismanic scripts (Fulu) were carved upon the rocks. Bowing my head, I passed through the mountain gate shrouded in mist, the cool breeze brushing against my thin robe. The Daoist guardian of the hermitage warmly welcomed me, brewing precious purple herbal soup and gifting me secret "goose-eye coins" stored in the cave. It's said that seekers of the mysterious who came here once glimpsed walls cast of gold, and those overcome by greed nearly met with misfortune. Should fate grant me the opportunity to cultivate here, I would build a quiet chamber—studying immortal scriptures at dawn and practicing grain-abstention techniques at dusk.

The description of Golden Ox Cave portrays this perilous cultivation site: following steep stone steps into the deep cavern, turning sideways to avoid swirling clouds, one can glimpse both sun and moon overhead. Medicinal herbs grow in rocky crevices while bamboo roots cling to stone walls. Who would imagine such wonders beneath these secluded valleys? Traces of the legendary golden ox remain visible, with spring vitality abundant on the mountain slopes where crimson wolfberries glow like blood. Only the fear of sudden gales splitting the cliffside boulders gives pause.

Three poems dedicated to fellow Daoist Huayang: The first speaks of devoting my life to serving the Three Mao Perfected Lords (founders of the Maoshan tradition), yearning foolishly to ascend in an immortal chariot. The yellow dragon trees I planted long ago now tower into the clouds. The second depicts burning incense at dusk in the Nine Honors Stele Pavilion, smiling at worldly fame-seekers while clouds drift serenely over Juqu Mountain. The third describes holding a feathered fan in the Mystic Garden, clad in rainbow robes performing rituals upon the altar, where pine boughs stand cool and apricot blossoms fade.

Records from the Jade Dawn Temple (Yuchen Guan): Wind carries the rustling of cypresses where the Chief Officer ascended to immortality, while grass conceals the sword-burial mound of an ancient transcendent. Before the Auspicious Image Hall, no trace remains of legendary horse hoofprints, yet the Dragon Pool still echoes with alligator-dragon murmurs.

Reflections on the return journey from Maoshan: A high pavilion stands atop the famous peak where I lean all day upon the railing gazing afar. White birds swoop low like drawn bows in flight. Last year while traveling with my book satchel, I lodged at the Primordial Talisman Palace (Yuanfu Gong). The Parting Cave remains silent even at noon, its interior chilled by lingering spring. I marvel at past masters who built temples amid clouds and rain—though they never rode phoenixes to ascension, they shed mortal form. Though the old palace once burned, now half of the Thousand-Pillared Mystic Altar has been restored. In straw sandals I visit each site, consulting Master Jade Axe, gathering spirit mushrooms to cast into golden rings. By the Ink Pool I practice talismanic writing (Fulu), while the Elixir Platform shimmers with vital breath (Qi). Paying respects to the Great Director of Fate (Da Siming), I behold two immortals arriving on cranes, both wearing Han-style Daoist caps. How I long to journey with them! Yet bound by earthly ties, I must return—nearly overturning my medicine cauldron in the process.

Yankou Cave (a sacred Daoist grotto in Mount Mao) exudes an ethereal clarity, where Immortal Qian once left traces of transcendence. Though the senior brother has ascended to immortality, his master still dwells in this world cultivating the Dao; by the time the junior sister returned, the cave entrance had already sealed shut. The cloud-like moss patterns on the stone walls resemble unbleached silk, while the murmuring spring seems to chant the Huangting Jing (Yellow Court Scripture, a pivotal Daoist classic). The scene of blooming green peaches and purple calamus forms a natural screen left for the mortal world.

When Master Rui of the Jade Dawn Temple (a renowned Daoist monastery on Mount Mao) arrived by boat, his fluttering sleeves seemed ready for celestial flight. Crossing thirty thousand leagues of the Weak Waters (the mythical river dividing immortals and mortals), he met us worldly beings for the first time in five hundred years. Only with age have I learned to accept life as it comes—though this existence still lacks a truly restful sleep. The elder Daoists of Mount Mao excel in herb-gathering and alchemy; perhaps, if fate allows, we may practice together.

They say that in the Five Grotto-Heavens of the Three Mao Lords (the founding patriarchs of Mount Mao), immortals ride the wind without restraint. Deep in the misty peaks, even celestial steeds would struggle to tread, while the tortoise and snake (sacred Daoist creatures) beneath ancient pines have lived beyond reckoning. Once, I chanced upon an immortal in riverside mist, then slept by a mountain stream with water as my pillow. This old cultivator of Tianzhu Peak (Mount Mao’s summit) still maintains an unbroken bond with the immortal legacy of Juqu Mountain (Mount Mao’s ancient name).

Viewed from Liyang, the layered peaks resemble ten thousand steeds charging southwest. The surrounding mountains bow from afar to the Three Mao Peaks, not daring to approach their majesty. The three main peaks stand in orderly procession like chariots, mirroring the hierarchy of elder and younger brothers. The level path due west serves as the gateway for immortals’ comings and goings—even now, celestial banners often flutter above the mountain’s temples.

Borrowing a day of leisure in the mortal world, I’m grateful for your profound words that unveiled hidden truths. Who’d have thought I’d resemble the impostor of Nanguo, ashamed of failing to retreat to Northern Mountain as vowed. The breeze seems intent on detaining me, while the lone moon inadvertently accompanies your return. Should the Three Mao Lords inquire of my whereabouts, tell them I roam carefree between heaven and earth.

Beyond Qibai Hermitage stand a thousand bamboo stalks, where two narrow paths fork atop the cliff. A waterfall sprays jade-like droplets, and ancient trees pierce the clouds, hindering their passage. Weary travelers pause to rest, while the taciturn Daoist only mentions how Qin Guan (the Song Dynasty poet) once encountered Lord Mao (a divine guardian of the mountain) here.

Venturing out in year-end chill, I coincide with the turn of seasons. Riding the celestial winds astride a biaolun (a Daoist immortal’s flying chariot), I ascend directly to the Qingdu Paradise. The Huayang Grotto-Heaven (Mount Mao’s Eighth Grotto-Heaven), abode of sages and immortals, has an entrance so narrow it barely admits—

This passage from Records of Maoshan documents several literati's travels and reflections on Mount Mao. The first poem depicts the mountain scenery: the broad valley resembles a dwelling, with a stream flowing before it separating the mundane world. To the right stand countless rocks, their verdant hues intermingling, while thatched hermitages nestle in secluded depths, paths winding along rugged slopes. The clear spring seems to welcome visitors as dusk falls in the deep mountains, with people hastening toward Yuanfu Palace (a Daoist temple), where celestial music of sheng and xiao instruments drifts from its golden-green halls. Gazing down at the mortal realm, the poet laments worldly turmoil resembling swarming insects, humbled that his ordinary self may share in immortal blessings.

The next set, Three Poems on Huayang Cave, describes an immortal realm: on a night of clear Milky Way, the Nine Radiance Immortal descends to the mortal world, playing a jade flute atop the mountain as clouds part to reveal the moon. Dew moistens fragrant herbs while gazing downward reveals land like polished jade, the lower world silent save for the mountain's nocturnal stillness like the sea. When the immortal departs on celestial winds, looking back shows only mist-veiled mortal realms with moonlit peaks interlacing.

Portrait of Great Maojun depicts the Daoist immortal Mao Ying: his face resembles red jade, piercing green eyes exuding majesty, with loose hair and oak-leaf garments. The poet remarks that had he not seen this atop Mount Mao, he might have mistaken it for the ancient sage Fuxi.

To Venerable Master Wen expresses longing for a mountain-dwelling Daoist: though letters were sent repeatedly, their receipt remains uncertain, imagining the master chanting poetry on mossy stones or making nocturnal obeisances before the Star Altar. Even immortal cranes with changed names go unrecognized, broken steles proving illegible—yearning compels thoughts of personal visitation, wondering if the mountain's divine mushrooms have ripened.

Mountain Journey briefly sketches wilderness charm: vines are grasped to cross deep ravines where wild deer dwell, as birds drop mountain fruits.

To Recluse Ling portrays a Daoist's life: star-crowned and feathered-robed (Daoist ritual attire), he appears solemn, newly receiving official patronage. The poet feels inadequate compared to the three Mao brothers (immortals Mao Ying, Mao Gu, and Mao Zhong) who sustained their pure practice lifelong on wild fruits and herbs.

Mountain Roaming with Nephews appears to be the poet's exchange with younger kin during a mountain excursion, though the original text remains incomplete.

On the southern slopes of Maoshan winds a serpentine path reaching to the clouds, where I once wandered with companions of extraordinary bond. The fairyland scenery of Fuyu (Daoist celestial realm) astonished visitors from the capital, while alchemical cultivation dreams in the mountains were all recorded atop Zhongmao Peak. The immortal atop the summit rode away on a yellow crane, leaving behind spiritual herbs coiled like emerald dragons upon the stone cliffs. They say the Western Garden now lies overgrown, yet the young cypress we planted together now towers above birds' nests.

Yang Zhizhi's depiction of Maoshan: The sacred Jade Lung Mountain veiled in mist, its five celestial gates standing open, revealing cavern-heavens (immortal abodes) of boundless expanse. In autumn one gathers purple spiritual herbs, at night witnesses crimson alchemical flames. Painted water buffalo graze leisurely while three cranes alight upon the peaks. The traces of immortals prove elusive, their sublime aura long departed—who could now point out the cultivation marks upon a true master's brow?

Farewell to Magistrate Liu of Maoshan bound for Southern Peak: I recall our joint cultivation in Huayang Grotto (famous Maoshan cavern-heaven), where purple ganoderma perfumed the clear skies. Now you leave these empty mountains for the capital, while I too shall wander like drifting clouds. Dew soaks my straw sandals in grassy paths, my satchel bearing only alchemical scriptures (neidan texts). May you ascend Zhurong's summit to behold vermilion tangerines gilding Fusang's dawn.

Deng Daoshu sees off Daoist Lin returning to Maoshan: Years spent serving the Lords of Mao (Maoshan patriarchs), clad in hemp robes with kudzu sashes. Your discerning eye perceives mortal ranks, your cultivated heart refines form and spirit (achievement in cultivation). The Six Ding and Six Jia (Daoist guardian deities) answer your summons, yet kings and generals cannot command your bow. Returning to Huayang Grotto at dusk, you'll find cave-side ganoderma through how many cycles of decay and bloom?

Zhao Boxiu sends the Jade Sea Patriarch mountainward: A decade's wandering lakes and seas yields to tranquil leisure; perfected jade scriptures (Daoist classics) surpass worldly honors. Capital dust hinders profound cultivation—in twilight years one returns to Huayang Abbey with cranes. Chanting the "Five Sighs" ode near cinnabar palaces (imperial courts), sharing three laughs at Frosty Painting Brook. Mortal ties exhausted, immortal bonds now ripen—sit still to comprehend the True Dao's highest gate (cultivation realm).