《茅山誌》Vol. 30

The Yuan dynasty poet Lu Zhi recorded his visit to Mount Mao in the preface to his "Five Poems on Wandering Mount Mao":

Having long heard of the fame of Mount Juqu (the ancient name of Mount Mao), it wasn't until the spring of the Wuzi year in the Zhiyuan era that I finally had the opportunity to visit. While on official duties inspecting the Liyang region, I discovered the mountain was merely thirty li away. As this sacred peak is listed among Daoism's Grotto-Heavens and Blessed Lands, ritual protocol dictated that an official should pay respects, so I journeyed to this sanctuary of the Three Mao Perfected Lords.

At Chongxi Temple, Abbot Zou Xinyuan warmly received me. The temple's architecture rivaled noble mansions in elegance, with pavilions nestled among water features, trees, bamboo groves and rockeries - truly the mountain's finest scenery. We wandered so engrossed that time slipped away unnoticed. Abbot Zou, dignified in demeanor and refined in speech, possessed remarkable artistic talent. When he showed me his painting of celestial cranes, the brushwork revealed transcendent skill and spiritual resonance, truly manifesting an adept's artistic realm. During our toast to Elder Shu's longevity, we also discussed the Yuanfu Wanning Palace atop the peak (site of the Mount Mao ancestral altar).

The next day, Abbot Xu guided me through the sacred halls. Gazing afar from the heights, I sighed: if only Tao Hongjing, the recluse who once dwelled here, could have shared this view with me. Later we explored Huayang Cave, where stalactites dripped crystalline water and moss hung like silken threads from stone. Most marvelous was the Guest-Delighting Spring - this square well with stone railings, about four or five feet deep, possessed uncanny awareness. When visitors rejoiced, pearl-like bubbles would dance from its depths like undulating dragon whiskers; when guests were sullen, the waters remained still. Such numinous phenomena filled me with wonder.

Returning again to Abbot Zou's hospitality, I eventually excused myself with the adage "joy should know its limits," presenting a farewell poem. Departing through Hualin Grove to the strains of jade flutes in the breeze, I rode from this celestial realm. The account captures both Mount Mao's Daoist sanctity and the refined communion between literati and Daoist adepts.

These passages from The Records of Mount Mao depict the leisurely life of Daoist practitioners on Mount Mao (a sacred Daoist mountain), suffused with immortal imagery.

The opening describes the mountain at dusk: as the setting sun sinks beyond emerald peaks, the sounds of chickens and dogs echo through the valleys. Along the streams grow celestial herbs (yaocao), wildflowers bloom in the caves, and clear waters flow over jade-green sands. The wine brewed in the mountains last night has just matured, leaving the Daoist no time to study the Nanhua Jing (the Zhuangzi).

Next, the text portrays mountain pavilions: a soaring terrace by the bamboo grove stands beside a stone spring, while tea mist curls above the pine-covered altar. Birdsong evokes memories of night rain, and startled deer awaken from dreams, as if transported to another realm. An immortal arrives riding the clouds, laughing as he rolls up the mist and departs, leaving only the three peaks standing eternal.

The mountain springs rush ceaselessly, like ten thousand hu of pearls (an ancient unit of measure) or three feet of flawless jade, their verses flowing all the way to Xuanzhou (modern Xuancheng, Anhui). Inscribing a poem for Master Zou’s painting Pine and Crane, the writer marvels at the lifelike crane and the transcendent Daoist, who, drunk, strokes his beard while gazing at the boundless rosy clouds over Mount Mao.

On New Year’s Eve of the Wuzi year, the writer returns to Mount Mao. At dawn on the first day of the year, they perform the Zhuli (a Daoist blessing ritual). Climbing the Celestial Market Altar in the morning, they wander the Golden-Summit Peak with the master of Chongxi Temple, drink in the Abbot’s Pine Creek retreat, and return to the mist-shrouded dwelling of the distant master. The sea breeze at dawn sweeps over the Three Divine Peaks, and they grasp the fleeting beauty of the moment. Celebrating the new year in this immortal realm, they forget entirely the chill of the mortal world. Strolling by plum blossoms, their walking staff trailing fragrance, they pass jade railings atop cloud-wrapped towers. Ten thousand ages of longevity (jiaohua) paired with a cup of wine—drunk, they mount a crane to inquire about alchemy.

On the fourth day of the new year, they bid farewell to Master Xu (of Songxi) at the ancestral altar and compose five more poems for Master Zou Xinyuan:

1. When the frost-robed wanderer returns,

the green mountains soothe more than longing.

Those in yellow caps along the path are all extraordinary—

most can chant my Buxu Ci (Daoist hymns).

2. The emerald stream’s beauty cuts off the dusty world,

hastening the plum blossoms in the mirror.

Don’t fret that your carriage seems lonely—

take more of these fragrant jades (xiangyu, the plum blossoms) to ward off spring’s chill.

3. At dawn, hand in hand with mountain companions,

we tread the clouds to climb the Dipper’s Ladder.

By chance, we lodge near Maojun’s Cliff,

then follow apes and cranes past Pine Creek.

4. Cinnabar (dansha) in our sleeves, we tread auspicious clouds,

passing through ages from Yao’s reign to Han’s spring.

Now we dream as wandering immortals on Mount Juqu (ancient name for Mount Mao),

no longer hiding like the Four Elders of Shang Mountain.

5. Bowing to Master Xu in farewell,

we return beneath the moon to visit the distant master.

At midnight, the wind through the bamboo seems to chide the departing guest,

swaying the pines and bamboos—the steadfast companions of winter.

"Ode to Pine Creek for Master Xu" by Chen Jun

The pine trees tower like piled gold, their emerald canopies resembling flowing beards, while below the crystalline stream encircles a stone cottage. A thirsty tiger prowls the woods seeking amber, as a dormant turtle follows white cranes into the azure waves. Surging waves crash ashore, transforming into chill rain; the moonlit creek shimmers with jade-frost radiance. This scene resembles sitting atop a nine-tiered terrace, where rounded lightspots dance amid verdant foliage.

"Ascending Great Mao Peak" by Liang Dong

Leaning on my cane, I climb the summit seeking immortals' traces—the worldly path twists like these rugged green mountains. Sapphire clouds obscure distant vistas, while spring winds wither mortal aspirations. After the Great Lord's ascension, his sword became a dragon's shadow; the young serpent dives into the sea, its pearl vanishing. None guard the Mystic Emperor's alchemical cauldron now, yet visitors still seek Qin Shi Huang's Golden Elixir secrets. Who understands the trials of cultivation on these perilous cliffs? Ancient caves hide untraceable paths. Divine light fails to dispel the darkness; mountain spirits vainly chant Li Sao. Gazing down at rivers and peaks, I sigh—the landscape endures, but human affairs have changed. When might towering pines uphold the sun and moon? To scatter all gloom from Huayang's Grotto-Heaven. With one long whistle I depart, leaving plants trembling with lingering echoes.

"Climbing Mao Mountain" by Zhang Gui

Long weary of worldly clamor, my spirit yearned for rocky solitude. How fortunate today to ascend this autumn-hued peak! The vast sky hums with rushing winds—a rare spectacle in my life, unfolding ten thousand miles of rivers and mountains. Amid ethereal mists, emerald plains alternate with level fields. A resplendent Jade Palace (Daoist temple) rises abruptly by frozen crags. Master Mao departed ages ago—I ponder the ancient adepts. Why remain trapped in dust, squandering my days? When might I ride clouds astride horned dragons to roam the eight directions? Thoughts transcend speech as I sink into meditation. Phoenix and crane cries seem to summon me back to these familiar slopes.

"Guest-Delighting Spring"

I'd only heard of this famed spring (legend says it bubbles with pearls for visitors), but seeing it today brings joy. Leaning on the rail, I behold crystal waters like gems skimming the pool. Mountain spirits nurtured this divine marvel—a wonder under heaven. Though my fortune falters, why does the spring welcome me? Heaven knows sincere hearts; such marvels dispel all doubt.

"Jin Dynasty Cypress"

The Jin Dynasty's vitality faded long ago; its calamitous fires left but distant ashes. Only this stately cypress remains, evergreen and graceful. Its roots grip the fertile earth while boughs pierce the firmament. Unchanged through wind and frost, nourished equally by rain and dew. How laughable those who chase fleeting glory—flourishing at dawn, withered by dusk.

(Note: The final line references Yin-Yang Well, a famous ancient well on Mao Mountain with dual hot/cold springs. The original text appears incomplete here.)

These poetic verses depict several sacred cultivation sites and natural landscapes of Mount Mao (a renowned Daoist mountain), portraying the contemplative life of Daoist practitioners seeking enlightenment.

The first poem describes a jade well at an immortal's cultivation site, renowned for its miraculous properties. By observing the movements of sun and moon, the cultivator comprehends the mysteries of Yin-Yang transformation. Through complete mental purification, one attains boundless power, hoping alchemical elixirs might cleanse worldly distractions.

The second poem presents Zhao Shiyan's nostalgic reflections at Yuchen Abbey. The dragon-tenders of old have departed, leaving only tranquil pools. Abandoned towers and desolate altars stand beneath autumn's lonely corridor of sunset. He touches ancient cypresses from the Jin dynasty and reads Liang dynasty stone inscriptions.

The third poem portrays the Well of Chief Scribe Xu. Contemplating this well embodying Yin-Yang principles, the poet grasps the profound meaning of the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" from the Daode Jing. Diligently nourishing with ladlefuls of its water, the Dantian (energy center) sprouts spiritual "rootless grass," maintaining spring's warm vitality.

The fourth poem depicts a stone pavilion at Huayang Abbey. Elegant rocks encircle clear pools while cloud-piercing pines and snow-bamboo guard the lofty pavilion. This miniature universe resembles celestial realms, with hundred-mile vistas like painted screens. Since life fades and wealth proves illusory, why not borrow an eastern chamber to quietly refine one's form?

The fifth describes leaving Mount Mao to lodge overnight at Qingyuan Abbey. White clouds escort me down mountain paths to dwell west of Ge Hong's (famous Jin dynasty alchemist) elixir-refining well. Don't speak of waning homeward joy—tonight we'll drink medicinal wine (measured by ancient daogui spoons) beneath moonlight.

The sixth verse paints mountain scenery while accompanying a Buddhist monk. Pine nuts fall with one or two sounds; maple leaves drift in threes or fives. As sunset yields to new moon, a Daoist bids farewell to the returning monk.

The seventh poem portrays Ningxin Hermitage. Built against mountains in sacred terrain, it houses transcendent beings beyond worldly dust. Preserved texts dispel confusion; pine winds resemble ocean tides. A mendicant Daoist in patched robes walks through silver-mouse flowers, ink traces dancing like golden phoenixes. Recalling life's fleeting glories as mere dreams, distant lakes mirror emerald peaks.

The final verse captures Lin Defang's autumn night longing for Mount Mao companions. Twin peaks share moonlight across vast Taihu Lake's expanse. Autumn sounds gather atop whirlwinds—lend me iron flute to play immortal tunes (Wanglun signifies celestial music). It concludes with memories of lodging at Yuchen Abbey during the 1310 imperial sacrifices to Mount Mao.

This passage depicts the majestic scenery of Mount Mao (a renowned Daoist mountain in Jiangsu) and scenes of Daoist cultivation. The first section portrays the nighttime journey along the Huayang Ancient Path: beneath the starlight, six steeds gallop past as ancient cypresses frame the timeworn ritual grounds. Night cranes cry while a fresh breeze sweeps across the "Lung of Earth" mountain (another name for Mount Mao). In the morning rain, the Dragon Pavilion appears faintly visible, with the three main peaks resembling the Penglai paradise, vegetation shimmering in the radiance of all phenomena. A bluestone altar towers into the clouds, where Daoist priests use green petitions (Daoist memorials) to convey heaven's will to the emperor.

The ascent to Great Mao Peak describes: this highest summit of the "First Blessed Land Under Heaven" pierces the sky with its jade terrace of emerald hues. Here, the Great Mao Lord (founder of the Maoshan tradition) attained the Dao, followed in practice by his two younger brothers, who consumed the Returned Elixir (Daoist alchemical medicine) to reverse aging. Envoys in embroidered robes arrive riding the wind to summon them—such divine encounters are rare across millennia. Immortals and dragons lie hidden within these mountains, where cinnabar veins coil like dragon bellies in mystic patterns, capable of summoning clouds and rain to ensure abundant harvests. Here, celestial beings established altars for court rituals, and when True Men (perfected beings) received their celestial titles, they sealed them with immortal's mud (a divine medicinal paste), accompanied by gibbons and cranes in a once-in-a-thousand-years event.

The description of the three peaks continues: after midnight worship at the Jade Altar (ritual platform) to pay homage to the Celestial Emperor, one rides a bamboo sedan through the rain-drenched mountains. Visitors seem to sense the joy of the Mao Lords as clouds part to reveal the peaks' exquisite beauty. Light-footed steps tread stone paths amid pines and mist, while after rain, the empty mountains glisten with fresh greenery. Cool breezes sweep through mountain pavilions as one leans on railings to listen to deer calls.

The section on Chongxi Temple (a Maoshan abbey) describes: beside the ancient Daoist temple, a stream flows westward as a heaven-sent steed—the jade qilin (mythical beast)—carries a noble recluse. Practitioners inherit the Dragon-Tiger lineage (a Daoist school), while sages long dwell with phoenixes. Towering halls reflect the dawn light upon three peaks, while pond-side pavilions echo with May's spring sounds. Incense smoke veils cavern sanctuaries as auspicious Qi fills the Cinnabar Mound (celestial realm).

Finally, the depiction of Huayang Abbey: a divine tortoise bearing the three peaks greets visitors, where seeking truth and antiquity yields endless delight. Pear trees in night rain, kerria blossoms in spring breeze. From afar, the Dragon Cavern's Cinnabar Well divides its waters, while crane-shadowed pines mirror the crimson walls' glow. The grandmaster upholds the imperial Daoist lineage, his newly built immortal halls radiating grandeur. The closing "Mirror-Still" passage portrays mountain springs like jade, settling in acre-wide ponds—teaching stillness amid turbulence, where clarity of mind naturally awakens celestial radiance.