《沖虛至德真經鬳齋口義》Vol. 3

During the reign of King Mu of Zhou, a mysterious stranger skilled in illusion arts (huaren) arrived from a distant land. This man could freely pass through fire and water, penetrate metal and stone, and even move mountains and relocate entire cities. He could float in midair without falling, pass through solid objects unhindered, and transform in countless unpredictable ways. Not only could he alter the forms of objects, but he could also influence human thoughts. King Mu treated him as a divine being, honoring him like a sovereign—yielding the main palace for his residence, offering sacrificial animals (oxen, sheep, and pigs), and selecting musicians to entertain him.

Yet the huaren found the royal palace too crude to inhabit, the imperial cuisine too foul to eat, and the concubines too odorous to approach. So King Mu built him a new palace, exhausting all architectural techniques, using vermilion pigments lavishly, and depleting the state treasury to construct the Zhongtian Terrace, towering a thousand ren (an ancient unit of measurement). On the terrace, he placed the most beautiful women from Zheng and Wei, their eyebrows painted dark, adorned with jewels, dressed in luxurious silks, and playing ancient melodies like "Chengyun," "Liuying," and "Jiushao." Every month, jade garments were presented; every day, exquisite delicacies were served. Still, the huaren remained unsatisfied and, after reluctantly staying for a short while, invited King Mu to travel with him.

Holding the huaren's sleeve, King Mu soared into the sky, stopping midair. There, he saw the huaren's palace, built of gold and silver, adorned with pearls and jade, floating above a sea of clouds, appearing from afar like piled-up clouds. Everything he saw, heard, ate, and used there was unlike anything in the mortal world. King Mu believed he had reached the Qingdu Ziwei Palace (a Daoist celestial realm where the Heavenly Emperor resides), listening to the immortal music of the heavens. Looking down at his own palace, it now seemed like a pile of dirt and straw. King Mu stayed there for decades, completely forgetting his kingdom.

Later, the huaren took King Mu even farther on their journey—to a place where one could neither see the sun and moon above nor rivers and seas below. The light dazzled the eyes; the sounds deafened the ears. Trembling and disoriented, King Mu begged to return. The huaren then gave him a push—(implying King Mu awoke from the illusion).

King Mu of Zhou suddenly felt himself falling from a great height while in a daze. Upon awakening, he found himself still seated in his original position, with all his attendants present. The wine before him retained its flavor, and the dishes remained fresh. When the king inquired what had transpired, his attendants replied, "Your Majesty merely sat in quiet meditation for a while." This experience left King Mu in a state of mental disquiet for three months before he fully recovered.

Later, the king consulted the "Transformation Master" (a cultivator capable of shape-shifting) about the incident. The master explained: "I merely guided Your Majesty's spirit (Shen) on a journey—your physical body never moved. Moreover, was the place we visited any different from your palace? Were the gardens we wandered through unlike your own royal grounds?" These words left King Mu frequently doubting whether he had briefly lost consciousness.

The Transformation Master elaborated: "The ultimate state of transformation, the shifts between swiftness and slowness—how could these possibly be fully replicated?" This master could perform miraculous feats: walking through water without drowning, passing through fire without burning, and altering the forms of objects. When accompanying King Mu to visit the celestial palace, he transformed human perception—making foul odors seem fragrant, seductive appearances appear dignified, coarse cloth resemble fine silk, and wild grasses smell like aromatic orchids. The celestial music they heard—"Cloud Bearer" from the Yellow Emperor's era, "Sixfold Radiance" from Emperor Ku's time, and "Morning Dew" from King Tang of Shang—along with their jade garments and divine cuisine, all represented the pinnacle of exquisite beauty.

Yet when they gazed down from the heights at human dwellings, the palaces appeared as small as dirt mounds and grass stalks. The intense light dazzled their eyes, the cacophony of sounds overwhelmed their ears, and King Mu felt his spirit (Shen) becoming unsettled, as if on the verge of losing consciousness. This sensation of falling through emptiness felt as natural as fine wine gradually losing its flavor or exquisite dishes spoiling over time.

What we call "silent preservation" (quiet meditation) is essentially a brief state of trance. Like the later Tang Emperor Xuanzong's legendary moon palace journey with Daoist Ye Fashan, it involved spirit travel while the physical body remained motionless. Such transformation arts often cause confusion because people habitually use ordinary perception to doubt extraordinary temporary experiences—considering familiar sights as real while dismissing brief spiritual journeys as illusion. In truth, whether transformations occur swiftly or slowly, whether experiences last long or briefly, none can be measured by concrete forms.

King Mu of Zhou (the fifth ruler of the Western Zhou Dynasty) was overjoyed, neglecting state affairs and distancing himself from ministers and concubines as he indulged in unrestrained travels. He ordered the preparation of a chariot drawn by eight legendary steeds: on the right were Hualiu (a crimson charger) and Lü'er, while the left side featured Chiji and Baiyi (a snow-white steed), with Zaofu as the charioteer and Yanqihe guarding the right flank. The second chariot had Quhuang and Yulun on the right, Daoli and Shanzi on the left, driven by Baiyao with Canbai steering and Benjie protecting the right side.

They raced a thousand li to the land of the Jusou tribe (an ancient western nomadic people). The Jusou people presented swan's blood for the king to drink and used mare's milk to wash the feet of Mu and his retinue. After the feast, they journeyed onward, camping overnight at the northern foot of Kunlun Mountains by the southern banks of the Red River. The next day, they ascended Kunlun's summit to visit the Yellow Emperor's palace and performed the Fengshan sacrifices (imperial heaven-earth worship rites) to establish his legacy. Later, they paid homage to the Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu, foremost Daoist goddess), feasting at the Jade Pool. The Queen Mother sang the "White Clouds Ballad" for Mu, who responded in kind with plaintive melodies. They also witnessed the place where the sun sets, covering ten thousand li in a single day's travel.

King Mu sighed: "Alas! My virtue (De) falls short while I indulge in pleasures—will posterity condemn my excesses?" Living with near-divine freedom, Mu exhausted worldly joys and lived a hundred years before passing. People believed he had attained the Dao and ascended as an immortal.

(Note: This account parallels the "Chronicles of Emperor Mu," also cited by Han Yu in his "Stele Inscription for King Xu Yan's Temple." Steeds like Hualiu, Baiyi, and Quhuang are legendary horse names. The Jusou tribe near Kunlun's Red River region practiced customs resembling northern nomads—drinking swan's blood as wine and washing feet with mare's milk, akin to fermented mare's milk traditions. "Two chariots" refers to Mu's carriages; "Feng" denotes the Fengshan ceremony; "Shang" indicates the banquet. The Queen Mother sang the "White Clouds Ballad," while the sunset location was Mount Yan. "Insufficient virtue" (不盈于德) implies moral lack; "contentment" (谐) suggests satisfaction—King Mu worried that indulging without cultivating virtue would draw later criticism.)

This passage expounds on the illusory nature of human existence and the realms of Daoist cultivation. There was a man named Lao Chengzi who studied the art of magical transformation with Master Yinwen for three years without receiving the true transmission. Eventually, Master Yinwen revealed to him: "When Laozi journeyed westward, he once said that all phenomena of life and material forms are illusory—the transformations of life and death are but manifestations of Yin-Yang's creative process. The profound Dao of creation is difficult to comprehend, while superficial magical transformations are easily displayed and equally quick to vanish. Only those who understand that magical transformations share the same essence with life and death are qualified to learn these arts. In truth, even our own existence is illusory—why cling to learning mere conjuring tricks?"

After deep contemplation of these words for three months, Lao Chengzi attained the realm of freely manipulating existence and dissolution. He could reverse the order of seasons—making thunder roar in winter and ice form in summer—and interchange the natures of flying birds and running beasts. Yet he never displayed these abilities, leaving the world unaware of his Daoist arts.

The text reveals several profound insights: First, what ordinary people consider wealth and glory appear insignificant from higher spiritual perspectives. Second, magical transformations and life-death transitions share the same essence as expressions of Yin-Yang's interplay. Finally, genuine Dao attainees transcend conventional understanding, capable of freely manipulating natural laws without ostentation. What Daoism calls "ascending to transcendence" (dengjia) isn't literal death but achieving a state beyond life and death. Just as an emperor's luxurious life holds no appeal for the truly realized, who have attained the far vaster realm of carefree wandering.

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) states that those truly skilled in teaching employ methods that appear ordinary yet conceal profound mysteries, achieving results indistinguishable from conventional approaches. The virtue (De) of the Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers) and the accomplishments of the Three Kings (founders of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties) were not necessarily attained solely through wisdom or courage—some were realized through subtle, transformative instruction whose profundity few can fully comprehend.

The concept of "secret efficacy" (密庸) refers to silent influence that operates imperceptibly. Though invisible, this method of teaching produces tangible effects equivalent to overt approaches. The pedagogical ways of the Five Emperors and Three Kings resemble the "magical transformations" (幻化) described by Lao Chengzi (a Daoist figure) and Yin Wenzi (a Warring States philosopher), pointing to that ineffable realm of wonder.

Human consciousness manifests through eight waking states and six dream conditions. The eight waking manifestations are: first, past experiences; second, daily activities; third, gains; fourth, losses; fifth, sorrow; sixth, joy; seventh, life; and eighth, death. These all represent direct physical experiences.

The Rites of Zhou records six dream types, but here we first elucidate the eight waking states. "Past experiences" refer to one's life journey; "daily activities" denote daytime actions; while "gains, losses, sorrow, joy, life and death" constitute universal experiences of embodied existence—hence termed "bodily interactions" (形所接), phenomena resonating with physical form.

The six dream states are: first, prophetic dreams (正梦); second, nightmare-induced awakening (蘁梦); third, longing-induced dreams (思梦); fourth, hypnagogic states between sleep and wakefulness (寤梦); fifth, joyful dreams (喜梦); and sixth, fearful dreams (惧梦). These all emerge from the interpenetration of spirit (Shen) with external phenomena.

These six dream categories align with the Rites of Zhou documentation. The human mind inherently possesses empty luminosity and awareness, allowing omens to manifest in dreams: prophetic dreams foretell future events; nightmare-induced awakening occurs when fright interrupts sleep; longing dreams form from mental preoccupations; hypnagogic states permit perception of actual scenes; while joyful and fearful dreams stem from corresponding emotions. Note the distinction between fearful dreams and nightmare-induced awakening—a differentiation unaddressed in Rites of Zhou commentaries. All dreams represent the interactive play of spiritual activity with external reality.

Those unaware of the principles governing mental resonance and transformation become perplexed when events occur, while understanding individuals discern their causes. Comprehending these principles dispels fear, for one recognizes how the waxing and waning of one's vital energy (Qi) and blood resonates with all creation. Our natural correspondences with external phenomena generate diverse transformations ("resonant changes" referring to the aforementioned eight waking states), all originating from the mind's operation.

This passage primarily explains the principles behind dream formation and its relationship with one's physical and mental state.

It first observes that human confusion and fear all originate from within—understanding this truth dispels perplexity. The patterns of transformation between heaven, earth, and all things follow universal principles, much like Confucius' state of "no confusion at forty."

The text then details how different physical conditions produce distinct dreams: excessive Yin Qi leads to dreams of fearful water crossings, abundant Yang Qi manifests as dreams of raging fires, while balanced Yin-Yang excess results in dreams of life-and-death struggles. These phenomena are also recorded in medical texts, demonstrating that dreams genuinely emerge from our inner being.

Several common dream types are enumerated: overeating causes dreams of giving, hunger produces dreams of taking; physical lightness inspires dreams of flying, heaviness brings drowning visions; sleeping on clothing straps generates snake dreams, while hair-tugging by birds transforms into flight. These all represent daytime experiences reshaped in dreams.

Special dream patterns are noted: dwelling in darkness may spark fire visions, impending illness often manifests as eating dreams; wine-drinking dreams may foretell sorrow, while song-and-dance visions could correspond to weeping. Such dreams frequently invert reality, as documented in ancient oneiromancy texts.

Finally, Liezi's perspective is cited: daytime sensory contact forms memories (xingjie), while nighttime spiritual activity generates dreams (shenyu). Those who truly attain the Dao (zhenren, perfected persons) maintain focused awareness, neither indulging wild thoughts nor chaotic dreams. The sage-dreams of King Gaozong meeting Fu Yue or Confucius encountering Duke Zhou represent authentic spiritual resonance—not ordinary delusions.

(Note: "Yin Qi" and "Yang Qi" are foundational energies in Chinese medicine; "zhenren" denotes high-level Daoist adepts; Fu Yue was a virtuous Shang dynasty minister, Duke Zhou a Zhou dynasty founding statesman.)

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue in Simplicity and Vacuity) employs three fictional nations to explore the philosophical relationship between dreams and reality.

In the southern reaches of the Western Extremity lies the land of Gumang, where yin and yang energies fail to intermingle, resulting in the absence of seasonal changes. Neither sunlight nor moonlight penetrates this realm, leaving no distinction between day and night. The inhabitants neither eat nor wear clothes, spending most of their time asleep and awakening only once every fifty days. They regard dream experiences as reality while considering waking consciousness as illusion. This allegory illustrates how prolonged dream states can make brief periods of wakefulness appear unreal.

At the center of the Four Seas (referring to China), spanning both banks of the Yellow River, lies a vast territory where yin and yang operate with perfect regularity. Distinct seasonal changes and clear day-night cycles prevail here. The people exhibit both wisdom and foolishness, all creatures thrive, arts flourish, and social institutions like ruler-subject relationships and ritual propriety have been established. These people consider waking activities real and dream experiences illusory.

In the northern reaches of the Eastern Extremity lies the scorched land of Fuluo, illuminated only by residual light from the sun and moon, where no crops grow. The inhabitants subsist on wild roots and berries, never having mastered fire, and possess fierce temperaments that value martial prowess. These contrasting living conditions metaphorically represent differing perceptions of reality.

The text particularly emphasizes that those who have truly attained the Dao (zhenren, or perfected persons) transcend worldly attachments while awake, maintaining minds as pure and empty as a clear mirror, thus experiencing dreamless sleep. This state resembles the Buddhist concept of "dream and awakening being fundamentally one" - where no distinction exists between dreaming and wakefulness. The author cites examples from the letters of Chan Master Dahui, including Emperor Gaozong of Shang dreaming of virtuous ministers and Confucius dreaming of the Duke of Zhou, demonstrating how sages also experienced this transcendence beyond the dream-wake dichotomy.

These parables collectively explore a single truth: people often cling to habitual cognitive patterns, mistaking transient experiences for reality while dismissing uncommon states as illusion. In truth, what we call reality and illusion are merely different modes of existence.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between reality and dreams through two allegorical tales, aiming to broaden people's limited perspectives.

The first story describes the "Land of Fuluo" (an allegorical utopia), where alternating residual light from the sun and moon ensures perpetual daylight without night. Its inhabitants never sleep, remaining perpetually awake. The author uses this to illustrate how people in the Central Plains consider "daytime wakefulness and nighttime dreaming" as natural law, unaware that lands exist beyond this diurnal rhythm. This serves as a reminder not to confine one's understanding to personal experience.

The second story contrasts the dreams of master and servant to reveal life's philosophical balance: A wealthy Yin family patriarch of the Zhou dynasty employed an elderly servant who, exhausted from daily labor, dreamed nightly of being a king enjoying luxuries. Meanwhile, the patriarch who managed estates by day dreamed nightly of being a beaten laborer. A friend enlightens him: worldly riches and dreamt sufferings maintain equilibrium—one cannot have both. Taking this to heart, the master lightens the servant's workload while reducing his own worries, alleviating both their conditions.

Key terms are specially explained: "Xi" refers to night, "zhong" means accumulation, "anyi" denotes sleep-talking, and "jian" signifies tranquility. Through this juxtaposition of dreaming and wakefulness, the text vividly demonstrates life's profound truth of coexisting joy and suffering, leaving readers with enduring contemplation.

In the state of Zheng, a woodcutter was gathering firewood in the wilderness when he encountered a startled deer darting wildly. He intercepted the deer head-on, killed it, and then, fearing discovery, hastily hid the carcass in a dry moat, covering it with banana leaves. Overjoyed, the woodcutter soon forgot the hiding place and began to suspect the whole incident had been a dream. As he muttered about it on his way home, a passerby overheard him and, following the clues, found the deer.

The passerby told his wife, "Earlier, a woodcutter dreamed he caught a deer but couldn’t remember where he hid it. Now I’ve found it—seems he was the one dreaming!" His wife countered, "Or perhaps you dreamed of the woodcutter catching the deer? Who’s to say the woodcutter was real? Since you now have the deer, maybe you’re the one dreaming!" The husband insisted, "What does it matter whose dream it was? The deer is in my hands!"

Meanwhile, the woodcutter, unable to let go of the lost deer, dreamed that night of the hiding spot and even of the man who took it. At dawn, he retraced his steps and found the deer in the other man’s possession. Their dispute escalated until they brought it before a judge, who ruled: "You truly caught the deer but dismissed it as a dream; he dreamed of taking it but treated it as real. Now he has your deer, and you quarrel over it. As his wife said, since neither can distinguish dream from reality, divide the deer equally."

When the king of Zheng heard of this, he laughed, "Surely the judge must also be dreaming of dividing the deer!" Consulting his chief minister, the latter replied, "Even I cannot discern the boundary between dream and waking. Only sages like the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) and Confucius could—but they are no longer with us. Best to follow the judge’s ruling."

(Note: "Intercepted" (御) means to confront head-on; "dry moat" (隍) refers to a drained city trench; "banana leaves" (蕉) are plantain fronds; "dawn" (爽旦) denotes daybreak; and "recognize" (仞) is interchangeable with "acknowledge." This parable, through its nested dreams, explores the blurred line between reality and illusion, concluding that only the wisest can perceive truth, while ordinary people must rely on conventional judgment.)

This passage explores the paradoxical nature of reality through the lens of dream and wakefulness, with the story itself carrying profound philosophical implications.

In the state of Song, there was a man named Yangli Huazi who, in middle age, developed severe forgetfulness. If he took something in the morning, he would forget it by evening; if given something at night, he would forget it by morning. While walking, he would forget his destination; while sitting indoors, he would forget what he intended to do. He could no longer distinguish the order of events. His entire family was deeply distressed. They consulted diviners (shi), but the results were inconclusive (fu zhan). They summoned shamans to perform exorcisms, but the rituals proved ineffective (fu jin). They sought medical treatment, yet the illness persisted (gong zhi fu yi).

Later, a Confucian scholar from the state of Lu volunteered, claiming he could cure the condition. Huazi’s wife offered half their family fortune for his prescription. The scholar said, "This illness cannot be treated through divination, prayer, or medicine. I will attempt to transform his mind and alter his thoughts—perhaps then he may recover." He deliberately subjected Huazi to cold so he would remember to seek clothing, to hunger so he would recall the need for food, and to darkness so he would yearn for light. Pleased, the scholar told Huazi’s son, "The illness can be cured. But my method must remain secret." He dismissed everyone else and stayed alone with Huazi for seven days. No one knew what transpired between them, yet the long-standing affliction suddenly vanished.

Upon regaining his senses, however, Huazi flew into a rage. He drove away his wife, punished his son, and even chased the scholar with a weapon. The people of Song restrained him and demanded an explanation. Huazi replied, "In my former state of forgetfulness, my mind was so empty and clear that I didn’t even perceive the existence of heaven and earth. Now, suddenly, I remember decades of gains and losses, successes and failures, joys and sorrows—all these troubles flood my heart. I fear these distractions will disturb my inner peace. Can I ever reclaim even a moment of that forgetfulness?"

When Zigong heard of this, he found it strange and reported it to Confucius. Confucius said, "This is beyond your understanding," then turned and instructed Yan Hui to record the incident.

Annotations:

• "Troubled by it" (du zhi) refers to the family’s distress over the condition.
• "Diviners, shamans, and physicians" (bu wu yi) denote the three methods of divination, shamanism, and medicine, showing how human concerns remain consistent across eras.
• "Divination yielded no result" (fu zhan) means the divination was inconclusive.
• "Exorcisms were ineffective" (fu jin) indicates the rituals failed.
• "Medicine could not cure it" (gong zhi fu yi) suggests the treatment was unsuccessful.
• "Volunteered" (zi mei) means the scholar offered his services unprompted.
• "Transform his mind and alter his thoughts" (hua qi xin bian qi lü) implies that mental afflictions require unconventional methods.
• "Seeking clothing, food, and light" (qiu yi qiu shi qiu ming) describes using stimuli to restore basic awareness.
• "Stayed alone with him" (du yu zhi ju) suggests a specialized therapy during those seven days.

(This passage uses an extreme case to illustrate how what ordinary people consider "clarity" may, for some, become a burden—hinting at the divergence between the transcendent state sought by Daoist practitioners and conventional worldly understanding.)

The passage conveys two layers of meaning—first discussing the "illness of forgetting" (liberation through oblivion), then using the story of "the disease of delusion" (a cognitive disorder) to provide contrast.

It begins by stating that when one realizes worldly affairs disturb the mind, rather than being troubled by worries, joys, gains, and losses, it would be better to forget them entirely, like suffering from amnesia. Ordinary people are often unsettled by mundane pleasures, gains and losses, life and death, likes and dislikes. Those who truly attain the Dao can transcend these, but instead of striving deliberately for transcendence, it is better to let go naturally, as if afflicted by forgetfulness. However, the author deliberately leaves the conclusion open-ended, saying, "This is not something you can comprehend"—itself a skillful teaching technique.

Next comes the story of a man named Feng from the state of Qin: his son was intelligent as a child but later developed a strange cognitive disorder. He mistook singing for weeping, white for black, fragrance for stench, sweetness for bitterness, and wrong for right—his perception of heaven and earth, the four directions, water and fire, heat and cold, was completely inverted. A man named Yang advised Feng to seek help from a noble scholar in the state of Lu, but on the way, he encountered Laozi (Lao Dan). Laozi said: "How do you know your son is the deluded one? Nowadays, the people of the world cannot distinguish right from wrong or recognize benefit and harm. So many suffer from the same 'disease' that no one considers it an illness anymore. If one person is deluded, it does not burden the whole family; if one family is deluded, it does not affect the whole village; if one village is deluded, it does not harm the whole state; and if one state is deluded, it will not overturn the world. But if the entire world is deluded, then those who are clear-minded will be regarded as the sick ones." Laozi finally advised him: "Don’t waste your travel expenses—go back home."

Here, the "disease of delusion" contrasts with the earlier "illness of forgetting," illustrating that when most people are lost in greed and desire, the truly awakened are instead seen as outsiders. The phrase "the most deluded of all" refers to those utterly lost in confusion, implying that the so-called "noble scholars" of the time were in fact the most deluded—incapable of resolving anyone else’s perplexities.

There was a man from Yan (modern-day Beijing region) who grew up in Chu (present-day Hubei and Hunan areas). In his old age, he wished to return to his homeland. While passing through Jin (today's Shanxi region), his traveling companion decided to play a trick on him. Pointing at the city walls of Jin, the companion said, "This is the city of Yan." The old man's expression darkened with sorrow.

Next, the companion pointed to a village shrine (a place for worshiping the local earth god) and said, "This is the ancestral temple of your hometown." The old man could not help but sigh deeply. Then, indicating a house, the companion claimed, "This is the old residence of your forebears," at which the old man began to weep. Finally, pointing at a burial mound, the companion declared, "These are the graves of your ancestors." Overcome with grief, the old man broke down in loud sobs. At this moment, the companion burst into laughter and admitted, "I was just deceiving you—this is actually Jin!" The old man was deeply ashamed.

Later, when he truly returned to Yan and saw with his own eyes the city walls, the ancestral shrine, his family home, and the graves of his ancestors, his sorrow was not as intense as before. This story illustrates how easily the human heart can be misled by illusions, often mistaking the false for the real and the real for the false. The phrase "sorrow diminishes upon facing reality" suggests that when one truly confronts the truth, grief actually lessens. This passage comes from the original text of the Liezi, using this vivid tale to profoundly reveal the limitations of human perception.