《沖虛至德真經鬳齋口義》Vol. 8

The chapter "Explaining Correspondences" (Shuofu) in the Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (The Perfect Scripture of Ultimate Virtue and Empty Wandering) elucidates the principle of cosmic resonance between heaven and humanity. "Fu" (correspondence) signifies harmony, referring to the mutual verification between supreme truth and natural law. Among Liezi's eight chapters, only the first and last bear intentionally composed titles, while the middle six simply take their names from the opening characters—a structure likely preserved from the original text.

When Liezi sought instruction on self-cultivation from his teacher Huqiuzi Lin, the master replied: "Only by understanding the principle of 'holding to the rear' (chihou) can one discuss cultivation." Asked to explain, Huqiuzi directed Liezi to observe his shadow: when the body bends, the shadow slants; when the body straightens, the shadow aligns. This demonstrates that the shadow's form depends wholly on the body's posture, not itself—just as human advancement should accord with external circumstances rather than stubborn opinions. Herein lies the paradox: "What appears as holding back actually leads."

Master Guan Yin expanded this teaching: "As echoes follow sounds and shadows follow forms, so reputation echoes speech and consequences shadow actions." Thus the sage speaks cautiously knowing others will amplify his words, and acts prudently understanding others will emulate his deeds. Through observing manifestations, sages discern essence; through studying the past, they foresee the future.

This universal pattern governs human affairs: kindness begets kindness, hostility invites hostility. Kings Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou thrived by cherishing their people, while tyrants Jie and Zhou perished by oppressing them. These truths remain as constant as entering through doors or walking along paths. Examine Shennong's virtue, study the classics of Yu-Xia-Shang-Zhou dynasties, and weigh the teachings of sages—all principles of survival and decline conform to this pattern.

"Holding to the rear" means not contending for precedence. By willingly yielding position, one ultimately preserves oneself best. Like a shadow that never precedes its form, those who harmonize with circumstances without coercion paradoxically attain leadership. This embodies the Daoist wisdom of "prevailing through non-contention" (buzheng). Speech generates echoes (as words ripple into consequences), actions cast shadows (as deeds manifest results)—thus the noble person must weigh words and tread carefully.

The echo follows the form as naturally as a shadow trails its substance. Fame arrives without pursuit, and respect is gained not by self-exaltation but by its absence. Just as shadows and echoes follow effortlessly without deliberate display of form or sound, this embodies the true principle of the Dao (the Way).

This is how sages conduct themselves in the world: they appear silent yet harmonize people effortlessly, seem inactive yet inspire willing followership. It is an inevitable principle—just as every exit implies an entrance, every departure a return. Ordinary people fail to grasp this law, while sages comprehend it, granting them foresight. What is called "prophetic knowledge" is merely understanding the universal patterns of human nature.

"Measurement" (度) refers to gauging, as using a ruler to assess an object is called "verification" (稽). "The measure lies within oneself" (度在身) means using oneself as the standard to evaluate others. How others treat me is how I will treat them—this is the shared pattern of human likes and dislikes. Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou were beloved by the world because they aligned with this principle, thus ruling the realm. Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang defied it, earning universal hatred and meeting ruin. History verifies this truth.

Yet despite such clear, demonstrable logic, some still defy it—like refusing to exit through the gate or walk the proper path, seeking only gain without loss. Such attempts are nearly impossible. From Shennong (the Divine Farmer) and Emperor Yan to the eras of Yu, Xia, Shang, and Zhou, history has repeatedly confirmed this law. Since ancient times, sages and wise men have affirmed it. To investigate the rise and fall of nations while disregarding this principle is utterly futile.

Though the reasoning here is sound, it differs in tone from the surrounding text—perhaps due to preceding allegorical expressions or the mingling of different philosophical traditions.

Yan Hui once asked, "Do people seek the Dao (the Way) merely for wealth and status? With precious pearls, I am already rich—why bother with the Dao?" Liezi replied, "Jie and Zhou lost their kingdoms precisely because they prized profit over righteousness. It’s fortunate I haven’t spoken to you further! A person who knows only eating, devoid of righteousness, is no different from chickens or dogs. To fight for food by brute force, where the victor rules—this is the way of beasts. How can one who acts like fowl or beasts expect respect? Those who lack self-respect invite calamity and disgrace."

"Brute feeding" (彊食) means seizing food by violence; "locking horns" (靡角) signifies resolving conflict through sheer force—both exemplify reliance on raw power.

This passage discusses two fundamental principles: the essential tenets of learning and self-cultivation, and the wisdom of human conduct.

Regarding the Way of learning, the text employs the story of Liezi learning archery to illustrate its point. Initially, Liezi could hit the target without understanding why. Only after three years of practice did he grasp the underlying principle. Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) advised him: one must not only master the method but also retain this principle without forgetting it. This truth applies not just to archery but equally to governing states and cultivating oneself. The sage never judges by superficial success or failure alone, but probes the principles behind phenomena. Like in archery, not knowing why one succeeds initially indicates lack of understanding the Dao (the Way), while later comprehension signifies mastery of its patterns.

Concerning human conduct, the text observes: those with robust appearances tend toward arrogance, and the physically strong often rely on force—such people cannot be conversed with about the Dao. Thus when even black-haired youths (those "not yet graying") discuss the Dao, they easily err—how much more so in practice? Those who persistently consider themselves right receive no admonishment from others; without guidance, they become isolated and helpless. Truly wise individuals excel at employing others' strengths, thus never declining even in old age, nor becoming disordered when their personal wisdom is exhausted. The difficulty in governing lies in recognizing true worth, not in considering oneself worthy.

Here, "robust appearance" (色盛) refers to those physically vigorous yet arrogant; "relying on strength" (力盛) means depending on brute force; "not yet graying" (不班白) denotes inexperienced youth. Young people lack worldly experience—they can't even properly distinguish right from wrong in principles, let alone put them into practice. Those who presume their own correctness find no one willing to advise them, inevitably becoming isolated. The wise, by skillfully utilizing others' abilities, maintain enduring vitality.

This passage presents two parables that both exemplify the Daoist philosophy of revering natural spontaneity and rejecting reliance on artificial cleverness or human judgment.

The first story tells of a Song Dynasty artisan who spent three years carving a lifelike mulberry leaf from jade, complete with perfectly rendered veins and textures, earning the ruler's admiration. When Liezi heard this, he remarked: "If Heaven and Earth required three years to create a single leaf, the world would have very few leaves." This illustrates how sages rely on the Dao of nature (referring to the spontaneous patterns of cosmic growth) rather than human artifice. The text elaborates on technical terms: "edges" denote the leaf's ridges, "trimming" refers to refined details, "filaments" describe the vein patterns, while "lush luster" portrays the rich textures and moist radiance.

The second parable describes Liezi living in poverty when Ziyang, the Zheng prime minister, sent him provisions. Liezi's wife complained: "Shouldn't the family of a Dao-realized man live comfortably? Now we starve—why refuse this gift?" Liezi explained: "He acts on another's recommendation; tomorrow he may punish me due to slander. Such conditional favors are unreliable." Later, Ziyang was indeed killed by the populace. The text compares this to Shang Yang's Warring States period warning—"If a ruler employs me based on recommendations, he'll execute me based on accusations"—both demonstrating the instability of relationships built on others' opinions.

Both stories emphasize that true wisdom lies in harmonizing with the spontaneous Dao (wuwei) rather than depending on human cleverness or external validation. The term "Dao transformation" refers to nature's generative power, while "artificial cunning" denotes manipulative human ingenuity.

In the state of Lu, there was a Shi family with two sons—one devoted to scholarly pursuits, the other passionate about military strategy. The scholarly son used his learning to persuade the ruler of Qi, who welcomed him as a tutor for the royal heirs. The son versed in military arts went to Chu, where his strategic counsel so impressed the king that he was appointed Military Judge. Both brought wealth and prestige to the Shi family.

Their neighbors, the Meng family, also had two sons who studied the same disciplines yet remained in poverty. Envious of the Shi family's success, the Mengs sought their secret. After hearing the Shi brothers' honest account, one Meng son went to Qin advocating Confucian governance. The Qin king retorted, "Today's feudal lords contend through martial might—what matters are arms and provisions. Preaching benevolent rule is suicidal." He had the young man castrated and banished. The other Meng son approached the ruler of Wei with military advice, only to be told: "We're a minor state surviving between powers. Our way is to serve the strong and pacify the weak—that's preservation. Martial aggression brings ruin. Letting you aid rival states would endanger us." His feet were amputated before being sent back to Lu.

The Meng father and sons beat their chests, accusing the Shis of deception. The Shi family explained: "Seizing opportunity brings prosperity; missing it brings ruin. Your learning matched ours, yet outcomes differed because timing matters more than method. No principle stays eternally right, nor any approach perpetually wrong. What worked yesterday may be discarded today, and today's reject may be tomorrow's solution. Success hinges on discerning opportunities—this is wisdom. Without it, even Confucius' erudition or Jiang Ziya's stratagems would meet failure everywhere."

The Mengs, suddenly enlightened, shed their anger saying, "We understand now—no need for further words." This parable shows how identical skills yield vastly different fates depending on situational awareness. The Shi family's key insight—"striking when the moment gaps" (投隙抵时)—means adapting to temporal openings. Their final admonition cut deep: "You knew scholarship and strategy could sway rulers, but lacked adaptability—hence your mutilations. This was the failure of wisdom."

This passage contains several allegorical stories that all illustrate the same principle: excessive reliance on clever techniques ultimately invites disaster.

The first story tells how Duke Wen of Jin planned to attack the state of Wei. His minister Gongzi Chu dissuaded him with a parable: A man escorting his wife to her parents' home flirted with a woman in the mulberry fields, only to turn and find someone else seducing his own wife. The duke realized the moral—"Do not impose on others what you yourself dislike"—and withdrew his troops. Soon afterward, Jin's northern borders were indeed attacked by another state.

The second story describes how Jin employed the talented Xi Yong to catch thieves. Xi Yong could identify criminals just by observing their facial features, arresting every last one. The ruler of Jin was pleased, but minister Zhao Wenzi warned that such detective methods only treated symptoms, predicting Xi Yong would meet a violent end. Sure enough, the thieves banded together and killed him. Zhao Wenzi advised that the fundamental solution lay in appointing virtuous officials to educate the people and cultivate moral shame. When Sui Hui was put in charge, the thieves all fled to Qin.

The third segment references Confucius observing a waterfall: Beneath a three-hundred-foot cascade in swirling rapids extending ninety li, a strong man was attempting to cross. Confucius sent someone to stop him, implying how dangerous it is to display recklessness in perilous environments.

These stories collectively demonstrate that solving problems through clever tricks is like fighting fire with fire—it only breeds more conflict. The true way to govern lies in cultivating people's hearts, as Confucius said: "In hearing litigation, I am like anyone else. But what is necessary is to make litigation unnecessary." When those in power embody integrity, the people naturally cease stealing.

The passage recounts two stories about Confucius teaching his disciples, both emphasizing the importance of "zhongxin" (loyalty and sincerity) and "wu yan" (wordlessness).

The first story tells of a brave man who could cross a waterfall thirty ren high (about 54 meters) and whirlpools ninety li long—waters so treacherous that even fish, turtles, and crocodiles could not survive. When asked how he managed it, he replied that he maintained a heart of "zhongxin" (sincerity and trustworthiness) when entering and exiting, completely letting go of selfish thoughts, allowing him to move freely through the raging currents. Confucius used this to teach his disciples: If even water can be moved by a heart of loyalty and sincerity, how much more so people? As the Book of Songs says, "When the water is deep, wade slowly; when it is shallow, lift your hem." The key lies in maintaining inner sincerity.

The second story involves Duke Bai of Chu asking Confucius, "Can one speak secret words with others?" Confucius did not answer. Duke Bai then used metaphors—"throwing a stone into water" and "pouring water into water"—to which Confucius replied that only the expert divers of Wu could retrieve the stone, and only Yi Ya (a famous chef of the Spring and Autumn period) could distinguish the mixed waters of the Zi and Mian rivers. In the end, Confucius clarified: Those who truly understand the Dao do not argue with words, just as fishermen naturally get wet and hunters must run swiftly. The highest wisdom is wordless, the greatest action is wuwei (non-action). Duke Bai failed to grasp this and later died in his bathhouse.

Both stories convey that true cultivation lies in inner sincerity (zhongxin) and natural realization (wu yan), not superficial effort. Just as crossing turbulent waters requires wholehearted focus, genuine communication transcends words.

This passage discusses the principles of veiled speech and statecraft.

Bai Gong (a minister of Chu during the Spring and Autumn period), contemplating rebellion but unwilling to speak openly, sought Confucius' advice through ambiguous words. Confucius, recognizing his intent, deliberately avoided direct answers. Just as a stone thrown into water will sink—where obvious words are easily discerned—pouring water into water may seem indistinguishable, yet the master chef Yi Ya could still detect subtle differences. This illustrates that no speech can truly remain hidden; all spoken words will eventually be understood. Bai Gong failed to grasp this when he asked, "Is there anything that cannot be expressed covertly?"—for in truth, no words are ultimately beyond comprehension.

Those who truly understand wisdom recognize that meaning lies not in the words themselves but beyond them. Just as catching fish requires entering the water, and chasing wild beasts demands venturing into the mountains, excessive pursuit of external things ultimately harms oneself. Here lies a veiled critique of Bai Gong's improper ambitions.

The profoundest truths of the Dao cannot be fully conveyed through language—one must transcend words to grasp them. Deliberate action often fails to fully embody the Dao; only through Wuwei (non-action) can one truly align with it. To contend with worldly wisdom using shallow understanding reveals ignorance of fundamental principles. Though Bai Gong understood this intellectually, he couldn't restrain his competitive heart, ultimately perishing in his rebellion.

The narrative then shifts to Zhao Xiangzi's story: When sending Xin Zhi Muzi to attack the Di state, Zhao conquered two cities in rapid succession yet grew visibly troubled. He remarked that river floods last no more than three days, storms no more than a morning, and the sun at zenith no more than a moment. The Zhao clan's accumulated De (Virtue/Power) being insufficient, taking two cities in one day surely presaged impending disaster. Hearing this, Confucius praised Zhao's future prosperity, observing that anxiety signals flourishing while complacency heralds decline. Victory itself isn't difficult—the true challenge lies in sustaining it.

This passage elucidates the profound principle of "maintaining victory" (持胜) through several historical anecdotes. Wise rulers understand how to preserve their triumphs, thereby extending blessings to future generations. Though states like Qi, Chu, Wu, and Yue frequently achieved military victories, they ultimately perished because they failed to grasp this principle—only truly Daoist sovereigns can master it.

The text cites several examples: When Xin Zhi Muzi, a retainer of Lord Xiang of Zhao, battled the Di tribesmen, his initial victory turned to defeat—just as violent storms never last a full day (quoting Laozi), and the noonday sun must soon decline. Virtue (De) requires prolonged accumulation to truly benefit others, as Zheng statesman Zichan observed: "Civil governance and moral rule cannot rely solely on military might."

Though Confucius possessed strength enough to lift a city gate's bar, he refused to be known for physical prowess. When Mozi's defensive tactics forced the master siege engineer Gongshu Ban to concede defeat, the Mohist founder declined military renown. Those truly skilled at preserving victory invariably manifest strength as softness, concealing valor within apparent timidity, maintaining their achievements with the caution of one bearing a heavy burden.

The passage concludes with a Song dynasty tale: One family maintained virtuous conduct for three generations until their black cow bore a white calf—which Confucius declared auspicious. When the father later went blind without cause and the cow again bore a white calf, Confucius reaffirmed the omen. A year later, the son also lost his sight. During Chu's invasion of Song, when starving citizens resorted to cannibalism and most young men perished in battle, this family survived because both father and son were blind. After the siege lifted, their vision miraculously returned. This illustrates how sages' seemingly paradoxical words ultimately prove true, and how events often unfold beyond ordinary expectation.

This passage recounts two profound allegorical stories that illustrate how fortune and misfortune are intertwined and the impermanent nature of worldly affairs.

The first story demonstrates that auspicious events may turn inauspicious, and inauspicious events may become auspicious—much like the tale of the old frontiersman losing his horse. What initially appears unfavorable may ultimately yield good results, while present prosperity might eventually bring calamity. Some outcomes remain latent before manifesting in due time.

It then contrasts the fates of two performers: The first could skillfully walk on stilts while juggling seven swords (with five perpetually airborne), astonishing Duke Yuan of Song who rewarded him handsomely. Hearing this, another performer demonstrated banquet tricks before the duke, only to be imprisoned in rage and nearly executed before release a month later. This shows how identical skills presented at different moments yield vastly different outcomes.

The second story tells how Duke Mu of Qin tasked Bole to recommend a horse judge. Bole admitted his son could only identify ordinary steeds and instead recommended Jiufang Gao, a former firewood-gatherer. After three months, Gao reported finding a yellow mare at Shaqiu—yet the retrieved horse was a black stallion. The displeased duke was counseled by Bole: "Gao discerns a horse's essence beyond its form—this surpasses my skill." The horse proved indeed a peerless thousand-league charger. This reveals how true masters perceive inner qualities rather than superficial appearances.

This scripture contains several allegorical stories and dialogues that primarily expound on the wisdom of self-cultivation, governance, and worldly conduct.

The horse appraisal parable states: A true judge of horses (referring to Jiufang Gao) perceives the inner essence while disregarding external characteristics. He focuses solely on the crucial innate qualities, paying no attention to superficial details like coat color or gender. Only through such discernment can one discover a genuine thousand-mile steed. What is called "heavenly mechanism" refers to the intrinsic laws governing all things.

The dialogue between King Zhuang of Chu and Zhan He discusses governance. Zhan He responds: "I only understand self-cultivation, not statecraft. Yet I've never seen someone well-cultivated whose state fell into chaos, nor someone disordered who governed well." This illustrates that governance fundamentally stems from self-cultivation. The king deeply approved this principle that "governing the state begins with cultivating oneself."

The conversation between Sunshu Ao and the Elder of Huqiu reveals worldly wisdom. The elder identifies three human misfortunes: high rank invites envy, great office arouses royal suspicion, and ample salary breeds resentment. Sunshu Ao's solution: "The higher the rank, the more humble my demeanor; the greater the office, the more cautious my heart; the richer the salary, the broader my generosity." This prevents all three misfortunes. On his deathbed, he advised his son: "If the king offers land, choose poor Qin Hill—for impoverished places bring safety." This embodies the Daoist wisdom of "remaining low without contention."

These stories collectively manifest the Daoist principle of "inner cultivation as foundation," emphasizing addressing external affairs through internal refinement while maintaining an attitude of humility and yielding in worldly conduct.

This passage presents three parables about the philosophy of conduct in life. The first story tells how after Sunshu Ao's death, the King of Chu wanted to grant his son a desirable piece of land. However, the son deliberately requested Qin Hill (a place whose name sounds like "burial ground") - a barren tract that everyone avoided. Precisely because this land bore an inauspicious name, the superstitious Chu people who believed in ghosts and spirits, along with the divination-loving Yue people, all considered it unlucky and wouldn't compete for it. Thus the family could maintain possession peacefully for generations. This teaches us that choosing what others reject may help avoid conflict and ensure lasting stability.

The second story concerns the great Confucian scholar Niu Que from Shangdi. When encountering robbers at Ousha near Handan, he remained utterly unperturbed after they took all his possessions. The bandits, impressed by his virtue (De), feared he might report them to the Zhao ruler, so they pursued and killed him. When Yan people heard this, they warned their families never to imitate Niu Que when facing robbers. Later, his younger brother met bandits while traveling to Qin. Remembering his brother's lesson, he resisted - only to be killed as well. This illustrates that fortune and misfortune follow natural laws of destiny, unrelated to one's wisdom or virtue.

The third parable describes the wealthy Yu family of Liang hosting gambling parties in their tall tower while knights-errant passed below. When gamblers upstairs cheered a lucky dice throw, a decaying rat dropped by an eagle accidentally hit a knight. Mistaking this for deliberate insult, the knights gathered forces and exterminated Yu's entire household. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) warns: "Improper speech brings calamity" - reminding us that prosperity demands even greater prudence in words and deeds.

This passage presents two allegorical tales:

The first recounts how the wealthy Yu clan, accustomed to luxury and pleasure, often looked down upon others. A group of righteous knights (xingxia zhi ren) remarked: "Though we've never offended them, they insult us with their rotten scraps. If we don't retaliate, how can we maintain our standing in the martial world?" They thus conspired to exterminate the Yu family. On the appointed night, they gathered forces and stormed the Yu residence, wiping out the entire clan. The text mentions "mingqiong" (similar to modern dice), "zhangzhong" (a method of casting lots to determine outcomes), and "chupu" (an ancient gambling game akin to Liu Yi's legendary wager on "xiao lu"). Like an eagle dropping rotten meat that accidentally hits a passing knight—an unrelated incident triggering catastrophic consequences—this mirrors the historical precedents of "the weak wine of Lu leading to the siege of Handan" (minor incidents sparking major conflicts) and "the city gate fire burning the moat fish," illustrating how calamities often arise unexpectedly.

The second tale tells of Yuan Jingmu, who collapsed from hunger on the road and was rescued by a robber named Qiu. The robber fed him until he regained his sight, whereupon Yuan, realizing his savior's identity, declared: "How could I accept food from a thief!" He vomited violently and eventually starved to death. The author comments: Though Qiu of Hufu was indeed a robber, the food itself wasn't stolen. To reject sustenance based solely on the giver's identity confuses nominal labels with substantial reality—paralleling Mencius' criticism of Chen Zhongzi refusing his brother's gift of goose meat out of disdain for his sibling's political connections.

The passage concludes with the unfinished story of Zhu Lishu: After serving Duke Ju'ao without recognition, he retreated to the seashore, gathering water chestnuts in summer and acorns in winter. Yet when the duke later faced peril, Zhu unhesitatingly went to die with him. When friends questioned his loyalty despite past neglect, the implied conclusion—echoing the preceding narratives—demonstrates how true moral exemplars uphold principle beyond personal grievances. Like Yuan Jingmu preferring death to "stolen food" and Zhu Lishu sacrificing himself despite past slights, they embody unwavering commitment to righteousness.

Li Shu said: That is not the case. I left because I felt misunderstood. If I were to die now, it would only confirm their failure to understand me. I shall use my death to shame future rulers who fail to comprehend their ministers. For rulers who understand me, I would die; for those who do not, I would not. This is the upright path. Li Shu could be said to be one who harbored resentment while neglecting his own safety. The story of Lang Shen in the Zuo Zhuan conveys the same meaning—resenting a ruler's failure to understand him, ultimately leading to his death, is not the way of righteousness. My intention in dying is to admonish future rulers who fail to understand their ministers, and this purpose is noble.

Yang Zhu said: To benefit others is ultimately to benefit oneself; to cast resentment upon others is to invite misfortune in return. What is sent forth will be answered from without, like an echo. Therefore, the wise are cautious in their words and deeds. If I can benefit others, then benefits will return to me; if I treat others unjustly and provoke their resentment, they will harm me in turn. This speaks to the principle of giving and receiving. "Responding" means: when others request something of me and I comply, then when I request something of them, they will comply in turn. What is sent forth is giving; what is received in return is repayment. To be cautious in words and deeds is to avoid harming others through one's actions. This is the meaning of "as you sow, so shall you reap."

Yang Zhu's neighbor lost a sheep and mobilized not only his relatives and friends but also Yang Zhu's servant to join the search. Yang Zhu said, "Alas! For the loss of a single sheep, why send so many people?" The neighbor replied, "There are many branching paths." When they returned, Yang Zhu asked, "Did you find the sheep?" The neighbor said, "It is lost." Yang Zhu asked, "How did it get lost?" The neighbor replied, "Within the branching paths were more branches. I did not know which way to go, so I came back." Upon hearing this, Yang Zhu's expression darkened with sorrow. For a long time, he remained silent and did not smile all day. His disciples found this strange and asked, "A sheep is a lowly animal, and it was not yours, Master. Why should it affect your speech and laughter?" Yang Zhu did not answer, and his disciples could not grasp his meaning. The disciple Meng Sunyang later recounted this to Xin Duzi. Eventually, Xin Duzi and Meng Sunyang went together to question Yang Zhu: "Once there were three brothers who traveled to study in Qi and Lu, learning the Dao of humaneness and righteousness under the same teacher. When they returned, their father asked, 'What is the Dao of humaneness and righteousness like?' The eldest said, 'Humaneness and righteousness teach me to cherish life and place reputation second.' The second said..."

This passage explores the internal divisions within Confucian teachings and the nature of intellectual evolution through several allegorical stories.

First, it recounts someone asking Yang Zhu: "Confucianism advocates benevolence, righteousness, and virtue (De). Some say one should sacrifice life to achieve reputation, others say one should preserve both life and reputation. These contradictory views all originate from Confucianism—which is correct?" Yang Zhu responds with a metaphor: A riverside dweller skilled at swimming made his living ferrying people. Many came to learn swimming, yet nearly half drowned. Learning to swim shouldn't mean learning to drown—so who's to blame for this outcome?

Xin Duzi remains silent and leaves. Meng Sunyang criticizes Yang Zhu for being too cryptic, but Xin Duzi grasps the deeper meaning: Just as too many forks in a road make sheep lose their way, too many methods of study make people lose sight of life's essence. The root of learning is fundamentally the same, though its manifestations differ. Only by returning to the fundamental "Dao" (the Way) can one transcend gain and loss. He laments that though he followed his teacher's instruction, he failed to truly comprehend the master's essential thought.

Later, the story of Yang Zhu's brother Yang Bu is told: Yang Bu goes out wearing white clothes but returns in black after getting caught in rain. His dog, failing to recognize him, barks furiously. Yang Zhu remarks: "If your dog went out white and returned black, wouldn't you find it strange?" This illustrates how people often focus on superficial changes while overlooking essential continuity.

These stories collectively demonstrate: Though various schools of thought differ superficially, their fundamental principles are identical. Obsessing over formal differences leads one astray like sheep losing their way at multiple forks, or like a dog failing to recognize its master—losing grasp of the essence. True wisdom lies in seeing through complex phenomena to return to the fundamental "Dao."

This chapter discusses how people often become deluded by external phenomena while neglecting inner truth. Just as a dog barks at white clothes turning black, if a person sees a white dog as black, they too would find it strange. People habitually focus on surface appearances rather than investigating essential principles.

Yang Zhu (a Warring States period philosopher) said: Performing good deeds isn't for fame, yet fame naturally follows; fame doesn't pursue profit, yet profit inevitably comes; profit doesn't invite conflict, yet disputes always arise. Therefore, the noble person must be cautious in doing good. This echoes Zhuangzi's teaching that "virtuous acts shouldn't court reputation"—once fame is gained, benefits will follow, and with benefits come inevitable conflicts. Thus, those who truly practice goodness must forget themselves and relinquish reputation.

A parable tells of a man who claimed knowledge of immortality techniques. The Yan ruler sent an envoy to learn them, but the man died before completing the instruction. Enraged, the ruler ordered the envoy executed until a minister reasoned: "What people fear most is death, what they value most is life. If this man couldn't preserve his own life, how could he make you immortal?" The envoy was spared. A Qi man named Qizi also sought these techniques—when hearing of the master's death, he beat his chest in anguish. A wealthy man mocked him: "You wanted immortality arts, yet the teacher himself died. Why lament? Don't you understand learning's principles?" But Huzi retorted: "The rich man errs. Some know methods but can't practice them; others can practice without understanding. In Wei lived a master arithmetician who taught his son formulas on his deathbed—the son memorized but couldn't apply them. When questioned, he repeated his father's words, and the questioner used them flawlessly. So why can't the dead transmit life-preserving arts?"

Here "受之不捷" (shòu zhī bù jié) means the envoy couldn't learn quickly enough before the master died. "善数者" (shàn shù zhě) refers to the skilled arithmetician. The chapter illustrates that learning isn't hard—practice is; knowing pales before doing. The immortality metaphor proves apt—"死者奚为不能言生术" (why can't the dead speak of life techniques) suggests that though teachers perish, the theory remains; people simply fail to implement it.

Another anecdote tells of Handan citizens presenting bamboo doves to Jianzi on New Year's Day (an ancient ritual), to which Jianzi responded...

Lord Zhao Jianzi enjoyed releasing captive animals on New Year's Day to demonstrate his benevolence. A retainer pointed out: "When the common people learn of Your Lordship's intention to release animals, they compete to capture more creatures, resulting in greater loss of animal lives. Rather than releasing them afterward, it would be better to prohibit their capture outright. Otherwise, your virtuous act (De) cannot compensate for the harm done." Upon hearing this, Zhao Jianzi had a sudden realization.

This parable closely mirrors contemporary reality, where similar mistakes abound. For instance, at Hangzhou's Solitary Hill, people release fish and turtles, only to have them repeatedly caught and sold multiple times within a single day.

When the Tian clan of Qi held ancestral sacrifices in their courtyard, among their thousand guests some presented fish and wild geese. Clan leader Tian remarked: "Heaven truly favors humankind, producing the five grains, fish, and fowl for our sustenance." All the guests voiced agreement—except for twelve-year-old Bao's child, who countered: "All creatures and humans share equal life, without inherent hierarchy. The strong preying on the weak reflects natural order, not Heaven's deliberate creation of food for humans. Just as mosquitoes drink blood and tigers devour flesh, can we say humans exist for mosquitoes or meat grows for tigers?"

This reasoning resembles Buddhism's ecological view of "big fish eating small fish." Indeed, the food chain—where humans eat chickens that eat insects—demonstrates creatures don't mutually depend for existence, nor did Heaven specifically create all things for humanity. The mosquito-and-tiger analogy proves particularly insightful.

In Qi, a beggar who routinely panhandled at the marketplace eventually found all citizens refusing alms. Reduced to assisting the horse doctor in Tian's stables for meals, he drew mockery from townsfolk: "Aren't you ashamed to beg from a horse doctor?" The beggar replied: "The ultimate shame lies in begging itself. If I feel no disgrace in begging, why should I mind working for a horse doctor?" This story subtly conveys Zhuangzi's philosophy of relative values, while echoing Mencius's "begging among tombs" parable—though expressed more implicitly.

When a Song man found someone's lost contract, he meticulously counted the property tallies (marked by notches called "teeth") at home, then proudly told his neighbor: "I'm about to become rich!" This satirizes fools who mistake empty promises for tangible gain.

This passage reveals common psychological phenomena through several vivid parables.

The first story tells of a man with a withered wutong tree in his yard. When his elderly neighbor remarked that dead trees bring bad luck, the owner promptly chopped it down. Later, when the old man asked for some firewood, the owner became resentful, suspecting ulterior motives. This illustrates how people often distrust others' goodwill, failing to distinguish between public and private interests.

The second parable describes a man who lost his axe. Convinced his neighbor's child had stolen it, he interpreted the boy's every movement, speech, and expression as evidence of theft. When he later found the axe in his own grain pile, the child no longer seemed suspicious. As the saying goes, "suspicion creates imaginary demons" — once suspicion takes root, everything appears dubious.

The third anecdote recounts how Lord Bai Gongsheng became so absorbed in plotting rebellion that he absentmindedly rested his chin on an inverted walking stick after court, piercing his jaw without noticing. When Zheng state officials heard this, they marveled: "If he forgets even his injured jaw, what wouldn't he forget?" This demonstrates how extreme concentration can make one oblivious to physical surroundings, like bumping into tree stumps or wooden beams.

The final tale follows a Qi state man who dressed formally at dawn to visit the market. At the gold vendor's stall, he snatched gold and fled. When caught, officials asked: "With so many witnesses, how dared you steal?" He replied: "When taking the gold, I saw only gold — no people at all." This satirizes how greed blinds people to everything beyond their desired object.

Collectively, these stories demonstrate how subjective perceptions can obscure reality: whether through excessive suspicion of others, hyperfocus on certain matters, or greed clouding vision. These are psychological states we must guard against.

This passage illustrates how when a person's mind is entirely fixated on seizing gold, they become blind even to people standing right before them; when chasing wild beasts, they fail to notice a mountain as vast as Mount Tai. It serves as a metaphor for how human perception becomes obscured by desire, causing us to overlook other matters of importance.

The commentary then mentions that this Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of the Ultimate Virtue of Profound Emptiness, the honorific title for the Liezi) with its Yanzhai Kouyi commentary (oral explanations by Yanzhai, the literary name of Song dynasty scholar Lin Xiyi) consists of eight sections. Some passages bear striking resemblance in content and literary style to chapters like "The Robber Zhi" and "Discoursing on Swords" from the Zhuangzi, clearly not original works of Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure). While the arguments in this section are morally sound, they indeed deviate from Liezi's consistent philosophical style. Those who have genuinely studied the various schools of thought should be able to discern these differences.