《道德真經集註(二)》Vol. 2

The Dao is empty and centered in harmony. In applying it to the myriad things, it seems never to be filled or exhausted. Deep and vast, silent and unfathomable, it appears to be the ultimate source to which all things return. The ancients did not dare say outright that it was the sovereign of all existence, and so they said only that it “seems” to be the source of all things.

The Dao is formless and grasp-free, yet it has feeling and trustworthiness, and so it can be effective. It acts without action and has no image, so it never overflows. “Emptiness” means being empty while keeping to the center; it is a state of great harmony. Zhuangzi said: the depths of a whirlpool are an abyss, the depths of still water are an abyss, and the depths of flowing water are also an abyss. An abyss is empty and still, unmixed with the confusion of things—this is the very nature of the Dao. Because it is empty, the solid forms of all things return to it; because it is still, all movement and change depend on it. Thus it is what all things rely on and what the great transformation awaits, and it is called “seemingly the source of all things.” In truth, the Dao depends on nothing; things themselves take the Dao as their source. That is why one can only say it “seems” to be so.

“Emptiness” means empty, and also centered. “Perhaps” expresses uncertainty, or something enduring. “Abyss” means deep stillness; “ah” is a sigh of deep reverence for the Dao. This empty Dao neither diminishes nor increases. Its nature is settled, clear, and unfathomably deep, so it is called an abyss. What cannot be fathomed is neither being nor nonbeing, and cannot be given a definite name; one can only say it “seems” so. All that living beings need in daily life comes from it as naturally as drawing water from a deep pool. It contains the myriad forms; good and evil alike are preserved within it, and plants and animals all return to it. Thus it is the source of all things.

Su Zhe said: The Dao is utterly empty, yet it fills heaven, earth, mountains, and rivers. Because it is formless, it seems not to be full. It is deep and distant. Knowing it to be the source of all things, we dare not speak of it directly, and so say “seemingly.”

Wang Anshi said: The Dao has substance and function. Its substance is the primordial Qi, unmoving; its function is the flowing Qi of emptiness, moving through heaven and earth. This flowing Qi is utterly empty and unified: in Heaven it is “Heaven’s Five,” and on Earth it is “Earth’s Six.” The flowing Qi arises from the primordial Qi; it is utterly empty and unified, and so it “perhaps” seems never to be full. “Seemingly” means that one does not dare give it a direct name.

Lu Dian said: Taking emptiness as its function, it extends throughout the Dharma Realm without ever seeming full. Deep beyond recognition, it is the teacher and source of all things. “Perhaps” conveys uncertainty and the reluctance to make a definite claim.

This passage primarily discusses the characteristics and manifestations of the Dao. Several Daoist scholars elucidate its profound mysteries from different perspectives.

Regarding the Dao's paradoxical nature of seeming both existent and non-existent, Liezi and Zhuangzi referred to it as "doubtful singularity" (yidu) and "doubtful origin" (yishi). Cao Daochong explains that the Dao's value lies in its ceaseless circulation—it cannot be confined by fixed names or limited by its transformations. Like the still, clear waters of an abyss that appear motionless yet serve as the source of all things. Chen Xianggu posits that the Dao permeates the harmonious Qi (vital energy) between heaven and earth, omnipresent yet never self-satisfied, defying conventional measurement.

Huang Maocai interprets the Dao through the lens of Yin-Yang as the harmonized Qi of these complementary forces—its emptiness enabling infinite responsiveness. Cheng Dachang supplements this by clarifying that "chong" (冲) signifies non-fullness, while "si" (似) indicates reluctance to make definitive claims, with all things originating in the liminal space between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu).

Concerning cultivation methods like "blunting sharp edges" and "untying tangles," the Imperial Commentary explains: blunting锋芒 prevents conflict, resolving complications maintains purity, harmonizing radiance avoids ostentation, and merging with the mundane rejects exceptionalism. The mind should achieve the stillness of dead ashes or withered wood, allowing wisdom to emerge naturally through tranquility. Su Zhe observes that sages differ from ordinary people precisely in preserving the Dao's wholeness, using these methods to prevent distractions from delusions and material desires.

These interpretations collectively emphasize the Dao's simultaneously real yet elusive nature, requiring cultivation through Wuwei (non-action) and meditative stillness for genuine realization.

This passage explores the origin and nature of the Dao (the Way), with annotations from several Daoist thinkers offering diverse perspectives:

Wang Anshi employs metaphorical explanations: sharp as the edge of fire's blaze, entangled as silk threads in disarray. Blunting the sharp edges brings completeness, unraveling the tangles brings tranquility. Harmonizing radiance without glaring, merging with worldly dust without losing one's way. He views the Dao as transcending all tangible beginnings (xiang) and ancestral origins of life (di).

Cheng Dachang elaborates: sharpness refers to outward displays of intellect, while entanglement signifies complex affairs. The dust symbolizes the floating, mixed phenomena of the mundane world. When one dissolves sharp edges and untangles complexities, one can accord with all things without claiming merit; by tempering brilliance and blending with worldly dust, one integrates into society without self-promotion. Though appearing ordinary on the surface, this state embodies the pure Dao.

Chen Jingyuan interprets "wu" (I) as Laozi's self-reference. The Dao is profoundly unfathomable, generating all things yet having neither beginning nor end. Since the Dao has no ancestors, it logically cannot have descendants. It seems to have existed even before the Heavenly Emperor (Di).

Cao Daochong asserts: Heaven represents the greatest existence (xiangdi) in the manifest world. The Dao produces true essence (jing) and primordial qi (vital energy), which in turn generate heaven, earth, and the myriad things. Yet the Dao exists spontaneously, not created by anything.

Huang Maocai synthesizes: the Dao's origin remains unknowable, seemingly existing prior to the Heavenly Emperor. These scholars collectively emphasize how the Dao transcends concrete forms, precedes heaven and earth, serves as the source of all things while simultaneously merging indistinctly with creation.

This scripture primarily discusses the nature of the Dao (the Way) and the attitude of heaven/earth and sages toward all things. The Dao itself is nameless; people reluctantly call it "the work of creation" (zaohua zhi gong), "the creator," or "that which existed before the image-like Heavenly Emperor."

Chapter Five, "The Heaven and Earth Chapter," states: Heaven and earth show no partiality—they treat all things as straw dogs (sacrificial offerings). The sage does likewise, treating the common people as straw dogs. Here, several commentators offer different interpretations:

Emperor Huizong of Song explains that kindness can bring harm, and harm can also generate kindness. Heaven and earth's treatment of all things, and the sage's treatment of the people, both follow natural laws without deliberate affection or intentional benevolence. Just as straw dogs are used in rituals when needed and discarded afterward, all things and people grow naturally and govern themselves.

Chen Jingyuan (Bixu Zi) clarifies that while heaven and earth appear unkind, they produce great kindness; though the sage seems unmerciful, he achieves great benevolence. "Unmerciful" here refers to not deliberately displaying kindness, not to being cold-hearted.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) argues that heaven and earth are impartial, allowing all things to develop naturally. Life and death are natural processes, just like straw dogs—carefully adorned when used in rituals but discarded and trampled afterward, all according to circumstance. The sage treats the people the same way, refraining from interference or harm so they may preserve their inherent nature.

Wang Anshi (Linchuan) points out that heaven/earth and sages both love and do not love all things and people, yet both are expressions of benevolence. Just as straw dogs are valued during rituals but discarded afterward, all things seem cherished by heaven and earth in spring and summer, while their decline in autumn and winter does not mean heaven and earth have ceased to care.

Cao Daochong (Daozhen Renjing Xiansheng) concludes that heaven/earth and sages embody perfect benevolence yet never consider themselves benevolent—hence they are called "unmerciful."

Huang Maocai suggests that heaven and earth need only refrain from harming all things, allowing them to develop naturally.

This passage explores the core Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." The sage ruler governs the people not through excessive intervention, but by allowing all things to develop according to their natural course. Just as heaven and earth treat all beings—appearing devoid of deliberate benevolence yet enabling everything to follow natural patterns.

The text critiques Legalist scholars like Shen Buhai and Han Fei for misinterpreting Laozi's original meaning by equating "non-benevolence" with ruthless penal techniques. In truth, heaven and earth give birth to all things like straw dogs used in sacrifices—honored during rituals but discarded afterward, embodying the natural cycle of renewal. Forced displays of benevolence create imbalance, whereas true "great benevolence" allows all beings to flourish in their proper place, appearing dispassionate yet containing ultimate compassion.

Zhuangzi further develops this idea with his notion that "perfect benevolence shows no partiality." Just as heaven and earth nurture all without conscious favor, the sage benefits everyone without special preference. What seems like mutual forgetfulness actually represents the highest form of all-encompassing care.

The passage employs the bellows (tuoyue) metaphor: only when hollow can it generate endless movement—stuffing it with objects would obstruct its function. This vividly illustrates the paradox of "non-action yet nothing left undone"—maintaining emptiness and stillness enables response to infinite changes. Chen Jingyuan explains the tuo as a wind-blowing tool and yue as a fire-blowing device, both demonstrating the power of emptiness.

Finally, it criticizes superficial Confucians who simplistically equate "non-benevolence" with cruelty. Like a king who stabilizes borders precisely by not overgoverning them, the apparent "non-benevolence" of heaven, earth, and sages constitutes the deepest benevolence. This paradoxical expression captures the essence of Daoist dialectical thinking.

This scripture employs the metaphor of the bellows (tuoyue) to expound the core Daoist concept of "emptiness, stillness, and non-action (wuwei)." Though the interior of bellows is hollow, its movement generates an unceasing flow of wind—just as the space between heaven and earth appears void, yet effortlessly nurtures all things without selfish intent.

Commentators have interpreted this metaphor from various perspectives:

Su Zhe observes that while the bellows' operation appears skillful, it merely results from maintaining its natural empty state. Wang Pang further explains that heaven and earth treat all beings, just as sages treat common people, like the bellows—following nature's course without clinging to the past or being bound by the present. Liu Ji adds that this quality of emptiness and ceaseless vitality manifests both in cosmic movements and human affairs.

Zhu Xi employs reductio ad absurdum: the slightest attachment disrupts "emptiness," and any stagnation prevents "unceasing vitality." Huang Maocai grounds this theory in cultivation practice, suggesting that understanding this principle aids in refining Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), foundational elements of Daoist cultivation. Cheng Dachang details the bellows' mechanical workings, using concrete observation to illuminate abstract philosophy.

The concluding section discusses the cultivation method of "guarding the center (shouzhong)." Imperial annotations define this as withdrawing the senses and turning inward in meditative practice. Sima Guang emphasizes that preserving inner authenticity naturally influences others. Su Zhe notes that rather than exhausting truths through words, maintaining emptiness and stillness is superior. Liu Ji synthesizes that both heaven-earth and sages achieve perpetual operation by mastering the mystery of "the one Qi (yiqi)"—the fundamental energy constituting all things. This profound state transcends language, and excessive explanation risks rigid understanding.

Collectively, the text reveals the Daoist wisdom of "non-action yet nothing left undone (wuwei er wubuwei)": an empty, serene mind responds optimally to worldly changes, while excessive speech or forced action proves counterproductive.

This scripture primarily discusses the essential techniques of "guarding the center" (shouzhong) and the "valley spirit" (gushen) in Daoist cultivation.

Regarding the practice of "guarding the center": Excessive speech depletes one's Shen (spirit) and ultimately brings no benefit. It is far better to maintain a state of inner emptiness and stillness. "Guarding the center" means preserving internal stability while remaining undisturbed by external influences. One must achieve a state free from distracting thoughts and deliberate action, functioning as naturally as the bellows (tuoyue) between heaven and earth, for within this lies the true governance of the primordial spirit.

The interpretation of "the valley spirit never dies" (gushen busi): The valley spirit refers to the eternal life source within the human body, called the "mysterious female" (xuanpin, representing the root of Yin-Yang and the mother of all things). Various commentators have offered different explanations:

Chen Jingyuan, citing the Heshang Gong commentary, explains "valley" (gu) as nourishment and "spirit" (shen) as the spirits of the five viscera. If one can maintain a pure and empty state to nourish these spirits without contamination by desires, form and spirit will be preserved to achieve immortality. Conversely, indulgence in passions leads to their dispersion.

Sima Guang interprets "valley" as symbolizing emptiness and "spirit" as representing unfathomable transformations. While heaven and earth have limits, the Dao is boundless—hence "never dies." "Mysterious" (xuan) denotes profundity, and "female" (pin) signifies the mother of all things.

Cao Daochong points out that "mysterious" refers to the deep abode where spirit resides, while "female" represents the fundamental union of Yin and Yang. He criticizes contemporary practitioners who mistakenly identify the mouth and nose as the xuanpin.

Liu Ji quotes the Ling Shu Jing to explain three crucial bodily locations: the Niwan Palace at the crown (residing place of spirit), the Scarlet Palace in the chest (residing place of Qi), and the Guanyuan in the lower abdomen (residing place of Jing). In cultivation, one must settle the primordial spirit in the Niwan Palace, elevate essence-energy from the lower Dantian, and allow spirit and Qi to interact—thus uniting with the Dao to reach the state beyond life and death.

Zhu Xi employs the metaphor of mountain echoes to illustrate how emptiness and stillness alone can produce resonance.

This passage explores the profound Daoist concept of "Mysterious Feminine" (xuanpin), referring to the universe's most subtle generative power. The term "mysterious" (xuan) signifies profound profundity, while "feminine" (pin) represents the life-giving maternal principle. This supreme truth contains the ceaseless creative power of generation, a concept later Confucian scholars like Cheng Yi of the Song dynasty drew upon from Laozi's teachings.

The valley (symbolizing emptiness) embodies receptivity through its hollowness, while the spirit (Shen, representing Dao's function) responds to all things without exception. Scholar Huang Maocai explains: the valley nurtures spiritual presence precisely through its emptiness, and because this divine presence endures, it never perishes. The principle of the valley spirit is so profound it defies verbal expression—we can only approximate it as the "gateway of the Mysterious Feminine." Here, "mysterious" signifies the portal to the Great Dao, while "feminine" denotes the source of all creation. This gateway constitutes the very root of heaven and earth.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) observes: The gateway of the Mysterious Feminine means all things emerge from it, while "root of heaven and earth" indicates their origination point. The description "continuously seeming to exist" (mianmian ruocun) captures its existential state—appearing subtle yet never interrupted, seemingly absent yet truly present. Those who attain this state can employ it endlessly without exhaustion.

Cao Daochong (Master Dao Zhen Ren Jing) clarifies: "Continuous" describes the unbroken harmony of Yin-Yang. The Great Dao values leaving no traces—if declared existent it appears rigid, if declared nonexistent it seems hollow, hence "seeming to exist." Huang Maocai adds: "Continuous" signifies perpetual flow, the very manifestation of eternal Dao. Superior practitioners hearing of this Dao diligently cultivate it, yet its application appears effortless, for in uniting with Dao, what seems like non-exertion actually achieves ultimate diligence.

Chapter Seven explains heaven and earth's enduring nature: The lofty heavens and substantial earth support sun, moon and stars above while bearing mountains and rivers below—all without conscious intention. Precisely because heaven and earth don't deliberately pursue growth, they achieve permanence. Had they striven to produce all things, heaven's covering capacity would exhaust quickly, earth's bearing strength would deplete rapidly—how could they endure? Like the vaulted sky and expansive earth that exist not for themselves, they thereby attain perennial vision.

Sima Guang (Northern Song statesman) remarked: All living beings labor tirelessly for survival, yet Heaven and Earth exist effortlessly through non-action (Wuwei).

Su Zhe (style name Yingbin) explained: Though vast in scale, Heaven and Earth remain constrained by physical form—their longevity has limits. What Laozi calls "enduring" appears as Heaven and Earth from the human perspective, but true eternity resides in the primordial state before Heaven and Earth took form.

Wang Pang (Song dynasty scholar) observed: Heaven and Earth don't strive for existence—their perpetuity isn't pursued but naturally manifests through the Dao. What we deem "long-lasting" lasts but an instant in cosmic terms. Only that which upholds all things without collapsing constitutes real permanence.

Lu Dian (Song dynasty scholar) dialectically noted: Those obsessed with longevity often fail to attain it, while those transcending life and death achieve true immortality.

Cao Daochong (Daoist name Master Renjing) revealed the essence: The seemingly non-generative state (Dao) is actually life's very source.

Huang Maocai elaborated further: While all things appear to depend on Heaven and Earth for growth, these celestial forces don't actively create. Humans, animals, and plants propagate naturally—Heaven and Earth merely provide the environment. True eternity belongs not to the ceaseless cycle of generation and dissolution, but to the unchanging laws governing Heaven and Earth. By emulating these cosmic principles, humans too may attain longevity.

Thus the Daode Jing states: "The sage withdraws yet ends up ahead, transcends self yet achieves preservation." Emperor Huizong's imperial commentary notes: Both sages and Heaven-Earth follow the Dao—this chapter first discusses cosmic principles before addressing sagely conduct.

Chen Jingyuan (Daoist name Master Bixu) described the sage's state: Though attending courtly affairs, the sage's spirit roams free like the immortal of Mount Guye. Emulating Heaven-Earth's all-embracing nature, humility brings public reverence; detachment from fame invites divine protection.

Su Zhe employed reductio ad absurdum: Should Heaven-Earth compete with creatures, or sages vie with commoners for gain, they'd become ordinary entities—how then could their greatness manifest?

Wang Pang concluded: Though sages possess wisdom, their physical form resembles ordinary people—the crucial distinction lies in aligning with celestial patterns.

To stand apart from the crowd, one must refrain from contention. If a person insists on distinguishing themselves by opposing the multitude, even ordinary men and women can surpass them.

Liu Jing explains: The sages (those who have attained the Dao) align with the movement of heaven and earth. They willingly take the rear position and transcend their personal form, just as heaven and earth do not deliberately pursue growth. What appears as yielding actually leads the way; what seems indifferent to life actually preserves it—this is the enduring Way. "Taking the rear position" refers to self-restraint, while "transcending the self" means rising above petty individuality.

Cao Daochong (known by his Daoist name, Master Zhenren Jing) elaborates further: By actively yielding, one paradoxically takes the lead, for humility elevates a person in the eyes of others. What seems like falling behind actually moves ahead. Those who transcend physical existence are not bound by life and death; those who surpass bodily limitations are not hindered by their form.

Liu Ji (known as Master Qingyuan) says: Humans exist between heaven and earth, originally sharing the same primordial Qi (innate energy) as the cosmos. The reason they cannot endure as long as heaven and earth is due to excessive deliberate action and desire, an overattachment to life. Thus, the sage willingly takes the rear without forcing their way and transcends the self without craving. While others rush ahead, the sage alone remains behind—this is "taking the rear position." Forgetting sensory perception and rising above life, death, fortune, and misfortune—this is "transcending the self." Seemingly yielding yet never truly behind, detached from form yet truly present, they roam freely beyond the mundane world, wandering in the realm of Wuwei (non-action). Letting go of physical senses, discarding cleverness and cunning, freeing themselves from the constraints of body and mind, they merge with the great Dao. Without striving to lead, they naturally take the lead; without seeking permanence, they endure eternally.

Huang Maocai observes: Taking the rear position is the way to navigate the world; transcending the self is the method to realize the Dao. In reality, those who are humble and yielding are esteemed in their villages and employed in high office. From this, we can understand that those who surpass physical form and stand independently in the world will surely endure.

Is it not precisely because they are selfless that they ultimately fulfill themselves? The Imperial Commentary states: The highest virtue of heaven and earth is the nurturing of life; the highest treasure of the sage is proper positioning. Heaven and earth follow the Dao, and thus they are selfless—selflessness leads to endurance. The sage emulates the Dao, and thus they are selfless—selflessness leads to permanence.

Chen Jingyuan (known as Master Bixu) adds: Heaven and earth nurture the myriad things; the sage sacrifices the small self to preserve the people. Neither claims benevolence—how could they harbor selfishness? True selflessness leads to endurance, and because they endure, they ultimately fulfill themselves.

Su Zhe (styled Yingbin) said: The Dao is simply that which exists spontaneously.

Liu Jing explained: Heaven and Earth do not act for themselves in nurturing all things, and the sage does not place himself first—neither has selfish intent. Yet Heaven and Earth endure because of this, and the sage preserves himself because of this—paradoxically, both achieve their own eternity.

Huang Maocai raised a question: If all others perish while one alone remains, if all things wither while one alone attains longevity—is this not selfishness?

Cheng Dachang concluded: Those who do not seek personal gain ultimately fulfill their own desires.

Chapter Eight discusses the principle that "the highest goodness is like water":

The highest form of goodness resembles water. The Yijing states that the alternation of Yin and Yang is the Dao, and what inherits the Dao is goodness. Zhuangzi, however, argues that deliberately pursuing the reputation of goodness harms the essence of the Dao. Yet water is nurtured by Heaven and Earth, never far from the origin of the Dao—deep, tranquil, and clear, it can truly be called the most refined existence in the world. Thus, the highest goodness is like water.

Chen Jingyuan (styled Bixuzi) added: Those who attain the Dao maintain a mind of emptiness and desirelessness, adapting to the changes of circumstance without defying fate. They act with goodness yet do not cling to its name—hence, it is called "highest goodness." Water can be square or round, frozen or flowing, deep or shallow, buoyant or sinking—wholly following natural law while encompassing all. Only those of supreme virtue can be as penetrating as water.

Wang Anshi (of Linchuan) believed: Goodness can inherit the Dao but does not fully embody it, so those with the highest virtue resemble water.

Liu Jing cited the Yijing and Zhuangzi: Descending from the Dao, what comes closest to it is goodness.

Liu Ji (styled Qingyuanzi) observed: Water is the first substance formed between Heaven and Earth, never distant from the origin of the Dao, and thus the highest goodness resembles it.

The goodness of water lies in nourishing all things without contention, willingly occupying the low places that others despise—thus, it is closest to the Dao. Transforming into rain and dew, it moistens all things; condensing into frost and snow, it ensures abundant harvests; flowing as rivers and gathering as lakes, it sustains all beings yet never exhausts itself. Nothing is more adept at benefiting all things than water. Though all creatures receive its grace, water remains soft and non-contentious, embracing impurity without resentment—hence, it is nearest to the Dao. "Ji" here means "close to."

Chen Jingyuan noted three ways in which water approaches the Dao: Without water, Heaven would parch, and Earth would turn to dust—water benefits all things, which is the first mark of its goodness. Flowing into emptiness, descending to the lowest places, even when obstructed...

This scripture uses the characteristics of water as a metaphor for the moral cultivation of Dao practitioners. Several commentators elucidate the seven virtuous qualities of water from different perspectives, and how humans might emulate them.

Su Zhe observes that water, like the Dao (the Way), begins from formlessness before taking concrete shape, hence sharing the same underlying principle. Though water has already assumed tangible form, it still differs from the ultimate Dao, which explains why it is described as "approaching the Dao." Among all named virtues, none surpasses the perfection of water, thus it is called "supreme virtue" (shangshan).

Cao Daochong notes that softness and occupying low positions are qualities despised by worldly standards, yet water's nature directly contradicts conventional values. Huang Maicai summarizes water's seven virtues: benefiting all without contention and dwelling in places people detest (these two constituting supreme virtue), plus five lesser virtues.

Chen Jingyuan elaborates how water's seven virtues correspond to a cultivator's refinement:

The first virtue is excelling at choosing humble positions, like water flowing downward to nourish all things;

The second virtue is maintaining inner emptiness and stillness, mirroring a deep pool's clarity;

The third virtue is practicing benevolent care, as water universally nourishes without discrimination;

The fourth virtue is speaking with integrity, reflecting reality as faithfully as water mirrors landscapes;

The fifth virtue is governing effectively, leveling unevenness and cleansing impurities like water regulates all things;

The sixth virtue is skillful employment, adapting to various containers like water conforms to different vessels;

The seventh virtue is timely action, flowing according to seasonal changes like water's movements.

The passage concludes that precisely because water contends with nothing, it remains flawless. Practitioners who emulate these watery virtues may thereby approach the realm of the Dao.

This scripture uses the characteristics of water to illustrate seven virtues that a Daoist cultivator should embody. Su Zhe explains: Water always avoids high places and flows downward (symbolizing humility and non-contention), which is called "dwelling in good places" (ju shan di). Water appears empty yet holds unfathomable depth (symbolizing inner stillness), called "a mind good at depths" (xin shan yuan). Water nourishes all things without seeking reward (symbolizing benevolence), called "giving with good kindness" (yu shan ren). Water turns with roundness, bends with squareness, stops when blocked, and flows when released (symbolizing trustworthiness), called "words good at keeping faith" (yan shan xin). Water can cleanse filth and balance unevenness (symbolizing governance), called "governing with good order" (zheng shan zhi). Water adapts to the shape of any container (symbolizing adaptability), called "handling affairs with good capability" (shi shan neng). Water freezes in winter and melts in spring (symbolizing timing), called "moving with good timing" (dong shan shi).

Liu Jing further elaborates: All these qualities of water stem from its fundamental nature of "non-contention" (bu zheng). Precisely because it does not contend, water can simultaneously possess these seven virtues without incurring faults. If cultivators can emulate water's non-contending nature, they will receive divine protection and human assistance, naturally avoiding all transgressions.

Huang Maocai illustrates with concrete imagery: Water gathering to form marshes represents "dwelling in good places." A calm water surface reflecting all things represents "a mind good at depths." Water extensively nourishing myriad beings represents "giving with good kindness." The ceaseless sound of flowing water represents "words good at keeping faith." Water's ability to cleanse impurities represents "governing with good order." Water changing shape with its container represents "handling affairs with good capability." All these demonstrate how cultivators should model themselves after water's qualities.

This passage elucidates the principle of "non-contention" (不争). Laozi teaches that one should emulate water's natural adaptability ("方圓也動善時" - being square or round, moving in perfect timing), just as ice forms in winter and melts in spring with impeccable timing. While embodying any single aspect of this makes one virtuous, none compare to the state of non-contention. By not contending with others, one remains free from fault ("无尤" - without blame).

Scholar Cheng Dachang observed that six chapters in the 81 chapters of the Dao De Jing specifically extol the benefits of non-contention: First, avoiding self-praise preserves one's achievements; second, true leadership requires humility, and genuine advancement necessitates retreat; third, the Dao's operation appears non-contentious yet naturally prevails; fourth, the sage's way is to act without contention; fifth, military victory without aggression exemplifies the "Virtue of Non-Contention" (不争之德); and sixth, the present passage's teaching that "through non-contention, there is no blame."

Here, "contention" need not imply physical conflict—any mutual stubbornness or deadlock qualifies. Consider the Yin-Yang (阴阳) interplay governing natural laws: even during the profound solstice transitions, when outgoing and incoming energies vie for dominance, a momentary contention arises. Yet Daoist practitioners transcend this, embodying nature's flowing wisdom through attunement rather than opposition.