《沖虛至德真經四解》Vol. 19

This scripture passage recounts how Liezi learned from his master Huqiuzi Lin the principle of "holding to the rear" (chihou), and how he gained insight into worldly wisdom by observing shadows.

Huqiuzi Lin told Liezi: Only those who understand the principle of "holding to the rear" (maintaining humility and retreat) can properly discuss self-cultivation. Here he quotes Laozi's famous saying: "By placing himself behind, he actually takes the lead," meaning that putting oneself last paradoxically leads to advancement.

When Liezi asked how to "hold to the rear," Huqiuzi Lin instructed him to observe his own shadow: when the body bends, the shadow slants; when the body straightens, the shadow becomes upright. This demonstrates that the shadow's form depends entirely on the body's posture, not on the shadow itself. From this, Liezi realized that in human affairs one should be like a shadow—bending when appropriate, extending when suitable, conforming to external circumstances without stubborn insistence. This embodies the wisdom of "holding to the rear yet actually taking the lead"—appearing to yield while truly advancing, making it impossible for others to contend with you.

The text suggests this dialogue might not be Huqiuzi Lin's direct response but rather Liezi's own explanation after attaining understanding. Commentator Lu further analyzes: while shadows depend on physical forms for existence, what truly determines the form is the internal "Shen" (spiritual essence). Therefore, observing shadows requires understanding the form's function, while observing forms requires comprehending the spirit's fundamental role. This reflects the Daoist cultivation view of "form and spirit mutually containing each other," emphasizing that internal refinement surpasses external manifestation in importance.

Through this ordinary observation of shadows, the passage elucidates the Daoist philosophy of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong" in worldly conduct, while subtly indicating the cultivation sequence of progressing from external to internal, from form to spirit in spiritual practice.

This scripture expounds the Daoist wisdom of "holding to the rear yet actually taking the lead" in worldly affairs, along with the relationship between words/deeds and their consequences.

The text begins with the metaphor of a shadow: having no independent existence of its own, it completely follows the movements of the physical form. Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) don't criticize shadows to correct postures, nor cling to physical forms to manifest the great Dao. By observing surface phenomena one can deduce fundamental principles; through examining prominent features one can recognize subtle essences - this approach paradoxically allows one to consistently occupy the leading position.

Next using the well-sweep (an ancient water-drawing device) as illustration: its up-and-down movements entirely follow human operation. Without contending with external objects, it nevertheless achieves its water-drawing purpose. Similarly, rulers who take humility and yielding as their guiding principles, responding receptively without striving to lead, actually make it impossible for others to contend with them. This embodies the Laozi principle of "yielding precedence yet actually taking the lead" - apparent withdrawal that paradoxically achieves precedence, because the bending and stretching of phenomena ultimately don't depend on individual will.

Fan Shi further explains: shadows manifest under sunlight and disappear in darkness, appearing dependent yet actually existing freely. They perfectly follow the form's changes, bending or straightening in accordance with nature. From this Liezi realized the wisdom of "holding to the rear": while others rush ahead, one deliberately takes the rear position, enduring worldly criticism. By not contending with others, none can contend with you, thus maintaining lasting precedence.

Master Guan Yin told Liezi: "Beautiful words create pleasant echoes, harsh words create grating echoes; tall bodies cast long shadows, short bodies cast short shadows. Reputation is like echo, the body like shadow. The retribution for good and evil is as precise as echoes and shadows. Therefore guard your speech, for it will be heard; be careful in actions, for they will be imitated. Good words travel a thousand miles, nearby actions influence distant places. Sages predict future consequences by observing present words/deeds, foresee results by examining past experiences - this is how they achieve prescience."

Master Lu supplements: "Echoes originate from sounds - beautiful sounds create pleasant echoes; reputation originates from substance - true substance creates authentic reputation. Reputation is like sound's echo, the body like spirit's shadow. Sounds emitted find echoes responding, habitual actions attract spiritual resonance. Therefore sages understand original sounds through echoes, recognize principles by observing conduct."

This passage explores the intrinsic connection between one's words and actions and their external repercussions, much like the inseparable relationship between sound and echo, or an object and its shadow. Whether your conduct is virtuous or flawed, lengthy or brief, it will invariably elicit a corresponding response. Thus, a noble person must exercise utmost caution in their solitary thoughts before speaking or acting.

The Book of Changes states that those who can foresee subtle transformations approach divine wisdom. By observing outward manifestations, one can discern inner truths; by examining the past, one can predict the future. To prepare for events before they manifest—is this not approaching the realm of the numinous?

As Master Fan explains, human speech and action operate like sound and echo, object and shadow. Beautiful sounds elicit harmonious echoes, while discordant ones provoke harsh reverberations; tall forms cast long shadows, while short ones yield brief traces. Thus, words spoken from one's own mouth influence the masses, and actions taken nearby resonate afar. Words and deeds are the means by which noble individuals move heaven and earth—how could they not be treated with care? Only sages who study subtle transformations can perceive all while in solitude and reveal illumination in the finest details.

King Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou became rulers through their love for the people, while Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang met their downfall through cruelty—this stands as definitive proof. Master Lu further notes that just as shadows follow forms and echoes answer sounds, the deeds of Tang-Wu and Jie-Zhou are clearly documented in history. One's inclinations toward love or hatred must be handled with utmost prudence.

To understand these principles yet fail to practice them is like exiting through a side gate instead of the main door, or walking without following the proper path. How could one hope to attain benefit this way? To seek profit while defying cosmic principle has never succeeded in all of history.

From the era of the Divine Farmer through the sage-kings Yao, Shun, and Yu, to the classical texts of Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties—when we examine the teachings of wise figures across generations, all principles of survival and demise, prosperity and decline bear witness to this truth. From ancient times to the present, there has never been an exception to this universal verification.

This scripture explores the fundamental principles of governing a nation and cultivating one's character through dialogues between several figures.

Lu Zhongxuan observes that examining the words and deeds of emperors and sages throughout history reveals that those who governed according to the Dao prospered, while those who violated this principle inevitably declined. To understand whether one's conduct meets the standard, one must reflect upon others' criteria for judgment. The rise of virtuous rulers and the reverence for worthy scholars both originate from this truth.

Fan Zhongyan elaborates further: The foundation lies in taking oneself as the standard, while the effect of such examination manifests in others' responses. Treat people with benevolence, and they will love you in return; approach them with malice, and they will respond with hatred. Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou gained the empire through accumulated virtue (De), while Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang lost their kingdoms through tyranny and abandoning the Dao—these historical lessons all verify this principle.

Yan Hui raises a question: Don't people seek the Dao precisely for wealth and status? If one obtains precious pearls, isn't that already wealth—why still pursue the Dao? The response clarifies: The Dao is the root of true prosperity, while material treasures are merely branches. Losing the root, even temporary wealth will ultimately lead to ruin. Liezi cites Jie and Zhou as examples who perished precisely because they prioritized profit over the Dao.

The text concludes by emphasizing: Those who understand neither the Dao nor righteousness, knowing only to fight for food and contend through brute force, differ little from chickens, dogs or beasts. Prevailing through violence isn't the human way (Dao), and such methods can never earn genuine respect. True reverence comes from following the great Dao—violating this principle invites danger and disgrace. What we call prosperity doesn't mean chasing selfish gains, as Jie and Zhou's tragedies demonstrate the consequences of valuing profit above the Dao. Those behaving like wild animals in their scrambles will inevitably plunge into peril and humiliation.

(Note: "Jinshen xiansheng" refers to learned scholar-officials; "Tang-Wu" indicates Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou; "Jie-Zhou" refers to Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang)

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue in the Highest Emptiness) elucidates two core principles through its narrative:

The first passage contrasts material wealth with Dao cultivation, demonstrating how pursuing external possessions pales in comparison to realizing the Dao. The text states that even if one possesses priceless jade disks so large they require both arms to embrace, or rides in magnificent carriages drawn by four steeds, these cannot compare to the state attained through serene Dao cultivation. Those who disregard spiritual practice to chase material gains not only fail to earn genuine respect but invite danger and humiliation. Wealthy individuals exhaust themselves accumulating riches they can never fully use—such a lifestyle fundamentally contradicts the essence of life. True Dao practitioners understand contentment, moving through the world without leaving traces yet finding harmony wherever they dwell, their needs naturally met. Thus, sages remain unswayed by worldly riches, effortlessly earning universal reverence.

The second passage uses Liezi's archery training to illustrate the principle of "knowing not just the how but the why." When Liezi initially hit the bullseye but couldn't explain the underlying principles, Master Guan Yin (a Daoist adept) declared this insufficient for true mastery. After three years of dedicated practice, Liezi finally grasped the laws governing successful archery, prompting Master Guan's approval: "Now you can preserve this skill." This principle extends beyond archery to governance and self-cultivation—sages never judge by superficial success or failure but penetrate to fundamental laws. Just as both clumsy and skillful archers may hit the mark, only understanding-based accuracy holds true value; similarly, all people live regardless of wisdom, but only those comprehending life's essence truly fulfill its purpose.

Lu Zhongxuan's commentary clarifies: Mere target-hitting doesn't represent the highest attainment—only when mind and hand unite in Dao-aligned understanding does "hitting the mark" attain perfection. Master archers value not accidental hits but the principles ensuring consistent accuracy; likewise, skilled rulers and cultivators seek not surface-level stability but the eternal laws sustaining enduring harmony.

This scripture primarily discusses the way of self-cultivation and governing a state, emphasizing the importance of addressing root causes rather than superficial phenomena. Using archery as a metaphor, it illustrates that a truly skilled archer does not hit the target by chance but consistently achieves the intended aim through deliberate practice. This demonstrates that any endeavor requires clear direction and thorough preparation.

The sage does not merely observe the outcomes of success or failure but focuses on the underlying reasons behind them. Just as nurturing life requires understanding the principles of the body's flexion and extension, handling affairs demands comprehension of the Dao of growth and decline, and governing a state necessitates mastery of the pivotal factors determining success or failure. Those of genuine wisdom can perceive the essence of things and adapt effortlessly to all changes.

The text later observes that in the vigor of youth, one is often arrogant and self-assured (色盛者骄), while in the prime of physical strength, impulsiveness prevails (力盛者奋). Such states make it difficult to grasp the Dao. By the time one grows old and weak, the desire to learn the Dao often comes too late. The prideful refuse counsel and ultimately find themselves isolated. Truly wise individuals excel at employing others, so even in old age, they remain clear-minded, and when their wisdom is exhausted, they do not descend into confusion.

The greatest challenge in governing a state lies not in flaunting personal talent (自贤) but in recognizing and appointing capable individuals (知贤). Those who understand how to employ talent can harness the wisdom of the insightful for strategy and the skills of the capable for their fullest application—thus making the state easy to govern. Like archery, where one must aim for the bullseye, governing a state requires grasping the fundamental principle of employing the right people.

Ordinary people place the highest value on physical appearance and brute strength. Those who rely on their good looks often become arrogant and lazy, while those who depend on physical power tend toward aggression and conflict. Neither type can be reasoned with in any meaningful way. By the time their beauty fades and their strength declines—even if they finally hear the truth with gray hair—they can neither understand it nor put it into practice.

Thus, those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) cherish those who maintain simplicity and gentleness. As for the aggressive and competitive types, no one wishes to instruct them. Without guidance, how can they find support? The wise know how to employ others' talents, so even when working tirelessly for years, their spirit never wearies; even when exhausting their wisdom, their mind never becomes confused. Governing a state follows the same principle: recognize the capable and employ them, and the worthy will serve you. But if you consider yourself wise enough to need no assistance, you will lose talented people.

The true art of governance is fundamentally plain and unadorned, manifesting as gentle humility. Those who grow arrogant about their appearance without restraint, or rely on force without temperance, are not yet qualified to discuss the great Dao. Ancient texts say: "Those who practice virtue (De) without boasting of it—where would they not be welcomed?" Hence, those who refrain from self-display find others eager to share wisdom with them. This is why some Daoist practitioners, though advanced in years, retain the complexion of children—this is called growing old without decline. Those who understand the Dao comprehend principles without being harmed by external things—this is called exhausting wisdom without confusion. The key to governance lies in humility and the elimination of arrogance.

Fan Yingyuan remarked: Only by avoiding self-praise can one refrain from arrogance over appearance; only by eschewing ostentation can one avoid oppressing others with force. Even those who grasp the Dao find this difficult—how much more so the complexities of worldly affairs? Self-righteousness leads to narrowness, while open-mindedness brings expansiveness. Skillful rulers treat others with humility and capability, never lording their wisdom over them. Thus, the intelligent fully employ their insight, and the capable exhaust their strategies. Practicing virtue without boasting of it—what governance could fail this way?

There was a craftsman in Song who spent three years carving a mulberry leaf from jade for his ruler. The veins, stem, and tip were all lifelike, its sheen and texture indistinguishable from a real leaf when mixed among them. He made his living in Song with this skill. When Liezi heard of it, he commented: "If Heaven and Earth took three years to produce a single leaf, there would be very few leafy plants." Therefore, sages rely on the Dao's natural transformations, not on personal cleverness or contrivance.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist core principle of "following nature and not relying on clever artifice" through several parables and analogies.

The first analogy using carving illustrates: A truly masterful craftsman doesn't depend on external tools like glue or locks, just as the most eloquent appear inarticulate and the most skillful seem clumsy. If one spends three years carving a single leaf, even achieving perfect verisimilitude, this hardly constitutes the great wisdom needed to govern a state. The sage follows natural laws like the gentle Qi that nurtures all things, never deliberately flaunting cleverness. All techniques that violate heavenly principles through affectation and artificiality stem from misunderstanding the fundamental truth.

The political metaphor continues: Heaven and Earth create all things without deliberate carving, just as the sage governs with the naturalness of cosmic operation. All things possess their own forms and colors without needing artificial embellishment. The sage transforms the world through the Dao, governing through Wuwei (non-action) - why would they exhaust themselves playing with petty cleverness?

Finally, the story of Liezi (Lie Yukou) is recounted: Though so poor his face showed hunger, when the Zheng prime minister Ziyang sent him provisions, Liezi firmly declined. He explained to his wife: "The man doesn't truly understand me - he sends grain only because others told him I follow the Dao. By the same token, he might later believe slanders and punish me." When Ziyang was eventually killed by rebelling citizens, this verified Liezi's foresight.

This story demonstrates how accepting ill-considered gifts creates dependence - true cultivators prefer purity and poverty to maintain independence. As commentator Lu Zhongxuan emphasized: "Eating another's salary means sharing their worries. If the ruler doesn't truly know you, such relationships cannot endure."

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue in the Void) expounds wisdom for navigating worldly affairs and mastering the art of timing.

There was a man named Shi who had two sons—one devoted to scholarly learning, the other to military strategy. The scholar went to the state of Qi and impressed its ruler with his erudition, becoming tutor to the royal heirs. The strategist traveled to Chu and won the king’s favor with his tactical insights, securing the post of military commander. Their family thus prospered. A neighbor, the Meng family, also had two sons who pursued the same disciplines yet remained impoverished. Seeking advice, they asked the Shis for their secret. The Meng sons copied the Shis’ approach exactly: the scholar went to Qin to advocate benevolent governance, but its king declared, "In this age of warring states, only military might prevails—ruling through virtue invites ruin." He had the scholar castrated and banished. The strategist offered his services to Wei, but its ruler countered, "A small state survives among great powers through diplomacy, not force—relying on arms brings destruction." He amputated the strategist’s feet and sent him back to Lu.

Furious, the Meng father beat his chest and confronted the Shis. Shi replied: "Success comes with timely opportunity; failure follows its absence. Your methods mirrored ours, yet the outcomes diverged—not due to flawed actions, but mistimed execution. No principle remains eternally valid: what’s discarded today may prove vital tomorrow. The key lies in aligning with the moment—like catching the tide, one thrives; missing it, one falters."

The text further illustrates with the example of Liezi (Master Lie): "Those who truly understand me neither rejoice at praise nor resent slander." When the Zheng minister Ziyang was executed, Liezi, having foreseen the shifting currents, escaped unscathed—a testament to transcending external harm. Daoist practitioners of the Zhenghe era recognized that nurturing life meant avoiding excessive preservation that paradoxically harms the body. Liezi embodied this prescient wisdom long before.

As Fan Shi concluded: "The genuine adepts of antiquity remained unmoved by offers of high office or lavish wealth. They refused when refusal was due, never delighting in external gains. Ziyang’s fate only reaffirms the sage’s ability to discern subtle omens in the flow of change."

This passage elucidates the principle that "wisdom must accord with timeliness."

There is no absolute right or wrong in employing or abstaining from particular methods—the crux lies in seizing the opportune moment and responding with flexibility. This constitutes the essence of wisdom. Even when one masters methods like benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and law, insufficient wisdom or mistimed actions will cause opportunities to slip away.

With inadequate wisdom, even Confucius's erudition or Lü Shang's (Jiang Ziya's) strategic brilliance couldn't prevent them from encountering predicaments. Their hardships arose not from lack of knowledge or ability, but from failing to grasp the proper timing.

Hearing this, the Meng father and son attained sudden enlightenment, acknowledging they'd comprehended the principle without needing further explanation. The text clarifies: while studying the Dao of benevolence differs from mastering military strategy, both require wisdom's timely application. True wisdom must be as precise as an arrow hitting its target or actions seizing their moment. The capacity to adapt to circumstances manifests wisdom's presence.

In governing a state, there are no fixed, unchanging methods—what aligns with the times is right, what contradicts them is wrong. The noble person understands that adversity and prosperity are both decreed by destiny, thus they abide peacefully in timing's flow, following nature's course without flaunting cleverness due to favorable or unfavorable circumstances.

The passage illustrates this with Duke Wen of Jin's story: When preparing to attack Wei, his minister Gongzi Chu cautioned him using the metaphor: "When you covet another's wife, forget not that yours may likewise be coveted." The awakened duke withdrew his troops, only to discover his northern borders were indeed under attack. This demonstrates that what we intend to do, others may also be planning—we cannot single-mindedly pursue our own designs.

People often become confused due to their attachment to external things, deluded by comparisons of gain and loss. Lu Zhongxuan (a Daoist thinker) pointed out: Ordinary people constantly crave acquisition, yet fail to understand that true attainment lies in preserving their original mind—this is the common failing of worldly individuals. They indulge desires without restraint, causing the innate true Dao (the Way) to gradually diminish. What is truly valuable are those who comprehend the great Dao—they maintain inner integrity without losing their way, while externally employing all things without attachment. But worldly people do precisely the opposite: externally coveting beauty, lusting after others' wives; internally losing De (Virtue/Power), even despising their own spouses.

Zhenghe Zhenren (the Daoist title of Emperor Huizong of Song) held that understanding the patterns of prosperity and decline reveals that gain and loss are inherently impermanent. With this realization, how could one cling to personal advantage or elevate oneself above others? Thus, when sages witness the chain of harm—the cicada caught by the mantis, the mantis in turn pecked by the magpie—they never allow external things to injure their original mind.

Fan Yingyuan (a Song Dynasty Daoist) added: Those who scheme against external things are instead ensnared by them; those who harm others inevitably face retribution. All things are inherently interconnected, and different categories of phenomena naturally attract each other. Just as the strict overseer of the chestnut grove brought about his own demise, or how ancient realized beings avoided the imperial court for three months to escape calamity—these share the same principle as the story in the Zuo Commentary where the King of Wu, preparing to attack Chu, was admonished by a child.

The state of Jin once suffered from rampant banditry. A man named Xi Yong could identify thieves by observing subtle changes in their eyes and facial expressions. The Marquis of Jin employed him to capture bandits, and indeed, he succeeded every time. Delighted, the Marquis told Zhao Wenzi: "With this one man, we can eliminate all bandits in the country—why employ more?" But Zhao Wenzi predicted: "By relying on surveillance to catch thieves, my lord, banditry will never cease—and Xi Yong will surely meet a bad end." Sure enough, the bandits conspired and killed Xi Yong.

Shocked, the Marquis summoned Zhao Wenzi for counsel. Zhao Wenzi quoted a Zhou dynasty proverb: "Those who see fish in deep pools meet misfortune; those who perceive hidden affairs invite disaster." He advised: "To eradicate banditry, better to employ virtuous men and promote moral transformation. When the people understand shame, who would become bandits?" The Marquis then appointed Sui Hui to govern, and the bandits all fled to Qin.

This story illustrates: Using cleverness to discern right and wrong only drives the crafty into deeper concealment; employing foresight to expose wickedness invites the hatred of evil men. The calamities brought by cunning schemes—are these empty words?

This passage conveys principles of governing a nation and cultivating the self through several illustrative stories.

The first segment explains that teachings are like footprints that people follow, while the Dao (the Way) is the unseen law guiding daily life. When hearts are aligned, teachings succeed. Employing virtuous talents naturally eliminates thieves. Someone asked: Zhuangzi said sages' emergence brings forth great thieves, yet here it claims employing the virtuous removes thieves—isn't this contradictory? The response clarifies: Those chasing empty fame while losing substance attract thieves; those grasping substance without seeking fame repel them. Employing the virtuous seeks reputation, but practical figures like Sui Hui (a virtuous minister of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period) attain substance—the two aren’t contradictory.

The second section discusses governance. Guiding people with De (Virtue) fosters self-restraint through shame. Sages use the Dao to teach—even rewards wouldn’t tempt people to steal. Harshness mistaken for discernment backfires. Xi Yong (noted for identifying thieves) was ultimately killed for his methods, proving mere vigilance insufficient. Employing the worthy while distancing the unvirtuous, like Sui Hui’s governance wisdom, makes thieves depart naturally.

The third segment uses a mirror’s reflection as a metaphor for governance. Water reflects objects perfectly without deliberate arrangement—round or square, straight or curved. Skilled rulers conceal stratagems, governing through Wuwei (non-action), so people transform naturally; without desire, they remain pure. Why rely on cleverness, laws, or intimidation to control the ignorant, or vigilance to catch thieves? Figures like Xi Yong failed to grasp this.

Finally, the story of Confucius observing a man crossing a torrent illustrates the power of sincerity. A thirty-ren waterfall with ninety-li whirlpools—unpassable even for fish—yet the man crossed effortlessly. Asked his secret, he replied: "Entering the water, I hold loyalty and trust; exiting, I keep them. My body follows currents without selfishness—thus I cross safely." This shows sincerity and selflessness conquer adversity.

This passage recounts several stories about the path of loyalty and sincerity, as well as the subtlety of words.

First, it quotes Confucius instructing his disciples: Even something as unconscious as water can be approached through loyalty and trust—how much more so when dealing with conscious beings? A similar account appears in the Huangdi chapter, though the wording differs slightly, the principle remains the same.

Next, Lu Chongxuan (a Daoist thinker) explains: Loyalty means being of one heart with all things, and sincerity means harboring no suspicion. To act without selfishness, to be of one heart with all things and free from doubt—this is to understand the Dao (the Way). The utmost sincerity can resonate with all things, even moving heaven, earth, and spirits. This is why, in legend, those who attain the Dao can pass through metal and stone, tread upon fire and water.

Fan Yingyuan (a Song dynasty Daoist) adds: Just as swimming in the Lüliang rapids requires following the nature of the water, crossing a river demands loyalty and sincerity—the principle is the same.

The latter half recounts a dialogue between Bai Gong Sheng (a noble of Chu) and Confucius. Bai Gong, plotting rebellion, tested Confucius with veiled words: "What would happen if someone threw a stone into water?" Confucius replied, "The expert divers of Wu could retrieve it." This metaphor suggests that even the most hidden schemes can be uncovered by those with keen insight. Bai Gong then asked, "What if one poured water into water?" Confucius answered, "Yi Ya (a legendary chef) could distinguish between the waters of the Zi and Min rivers." This illustrates that even the most concealed matters cannot escape the perception of the wise.

Lu Chongxuan explains: Throwing a stone into water symbolizes actions that are hard to trace, while pouring water into water represents essences that are hard to distinguish. Confucius did not respond directly to Bai Gong’s probing because he knew of his rebellious intent. This dialogue demonstrates the Daoist insight into subtle matters and the boundless reach of the utmost sincerity in understanding the Dao.

This scripture explores the profound relationship between "words" and the Dao through vivid metaphors. The text mentions that just as mixed waters make it difficult to distinguish the flavors of the Zi and Mian rivers (Shandong waterways), true understanding of principles can only be attained through spiritual attunement. When Confucius responded to Duke Bai (a minister of Chu during the Spring and Autumn period), he indicated it wasn't that one couldn't discuss subtle truths with others—the key lay in whether the listener truly comprehended the mystery of "speaking through non-speech."

The author employs two metaphors: fishermen inevitably wet their clothes, and hunters must run after game—not because they enjoy these actions, but because circumstances demand them. Similarly, the most profound speech transcends language itself, and the highest form of action follows natural spontaneity. Those with limited vision often cling to trivialities, like Duke Bai who, failing to grasp this principle, ultimately met his tragic end in the bathhouse (alluding to Bai Gong Sheng's suicide after his failed coup in Chu).

The text particularly emphasizes: just as a stone cast into water creates ripples, yet skilled divers perceive the essence beneath; or like Yi Ya (the renowned chef of the Spring and Autumn period) who could distinguish blended waters, while the higher state lies in savoring the "flavor of flavorlessness." Though truly subtle teachings may appear obscure, through the awakening of "grasping the Dao at a glance," one reaches the realm where words become unnecessary. Duke Bai's failure stemmed precisely from his superficial quarrels, never comprehending the profound truth that "the ultimate speech dispenses with words, the ultimate action embodies Wuwei (non-action)."

This passage illustrates Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and the prudence in speech and action through several parables.

First, it states that while water is supremely soft yet penetrates all things, once attached to external objects it becomes difficult to transcend. Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) need not speak much, for hearts communicate naturally. Forcing words to express subtle truths may instead distort them and invite misfortune—just as fishermen inevitably wet their clothes, and hunters must exhaust themselves chasing prey. These seemingly laborious actions actually stem from unconscious inner desires. When human thoughts become fixated, words and deeds easily spiral out of control, where the slightest misstep may invite calamity. Thus the highest speech appears as non-speech, and the highest action as non-action. Those who quarrel over trivialities resemble the fool Bai Gong Sheng, who perished in his power struggle.

Next, it recounts how Lord Xiang of Zhao sent his retainer Xin Zhi Muzi to attack the Di state, swiftly conquering two cities. When the victory report arrived during a meal, the lord showed concern instead of joy. Puzzled attendants heard his explanation: "River floods last but three days, storms but one morning—what rises must decline. Our Zhao clan's accumulated Virtue (De) remains shallow, yet we've suddenly achieved great merit. Shouldn't this make us vigilant? This surely heralds impending disaster." Scholar Lu Zhongxuan commented: "Victory through force rather than accumulated Virtue inevitably reverses—how could such not perish?" The wise understand this principle, hence their wariness amidst success.

Finally, Confucius observed: "The Zhao clan shall prosper, for they know distress preserves while complacency destroys. True difficulty lies not in winning, but sustaining victory." Through contrasting "knowing speech" versus "contentious speech," and "forced action" versus "non-action," the text elucidates the Daoist dialectic of "fortune and misfortune being interdependent." It emphasizes genuine wisdom lies in vigilance during peace and relinquishing merit after achievement.

This scripture discusses the "Way of Sustaining Victory" (Chisheng zhi Dao), the wisdom of maintaining the fruits of triumph. Truly wise rulers understand that after defeating enemies, one must act with even greater caution, thereby allowing blessings to extend to future generations. Historically, the states of Qi, Chu, Wu, and Yue all achieved victories but ultimately perished precisely because they failed to comprehend this principle.

The text offers two examples: Confucius possessed the strength to lift a city gate's bar yet never flaunted martial prowess; Mozi (founder of Mohism) mastered defensive tactics so thoroughly that he humbled the renowned craftsman Gongshu Ban (also known as Lu Ban), yet never boasted of military skill. This illustrates that those truly adept at sustaining victory always manifest their strength as gentleness.

A profound truth is revealed here: those with extraordinary skills easily become instruments for others, while those who contend for supremacy inevitably meet stronger opponents. Only those embodying Dao, De (Virtue), benevolence, and righteousness can command all things and enlighten beings. Just as mighty rivers eventually ebb and violent storms must cease, as the sun declines past its zenith, even heaven and earth cannot perpetually maintain their peak condition—how much less can humans?

The essence of sustaining victory lies in: maintaining humility (chongxu, the Daoist concept of receptive emptiness) when at full measure, recognizing insufficiency amidst success, and preserving flexibility within strength. The diligent and cautious ultimately enjoy peace, while the indulgent court their own ruin. The true Way of Sustaining Victory is this: possessing the power to subdue multitudes without martial posturing, commanding armies capable of conquest without displaying might, overcoming the strong through apparent weakness.

(Note: "Chongxu" is a key Daoist concept denoting a state of empty receptivity and wuwei (non-action); "Gongshu Ban" refers to the legendary Spring and Autumn period craftsman also known as Lu Ban)

This passage expounds the principle of the "Way of Constant Victory" (Chang Sheng Zhi Dao). The so-called "Way of Constant Victory" refers to the method of maintaining triumph. The scripture points out that defeating an enemy is relatively easy, but preserving the fruits of victory over time is far more difficult. Only a ruler who truly comprehends the Dao (the Way) can sustain victory.

"The strong cannot be surpassed" means that a truly powerful entity cannot be overtaken by others. The emphasis here is not on temporary victory, but on the ability to maintain a dominant position continuously. The Fan commentary (likely an annotator) adds that winning battles is easy, but preserving victory is hard—therefore, rulers who haven't truly mastered the Dao cannot maintain triumph indefinitely.

Here, the "Dao" refers to the supreme principle and fundamental law in Daoist thought. Through the metaphor of military victory, the scripture illustrates that in any field, temporary success may come easily, but to sustain lasting advantage, one must follow fundamental principles and master the correct methods.