《沖虛至德真經四解》Vol. 5

There was a man named Fan Zihua in the state of Jin who excelled at cultivating his reputation (essentially a wandering knight-errant type), and the entire country admired him. Though he held no official position, he enjoyed greater favor with the ruler of Jin than even the three highest ministers. A mere glance of approval from him could secure someone a noble title in Jin, while a word of disapproval could lead to their dismissal. Those who visited his home received treatment comparable to an audience at court.

Zihua encouraged his followers—knights and warriors—to pit their wits and strength against one another. The strong bullied the weak, and even bloody brawls were treated as trivial matters. Day and night, this became their pastime, and the practice nearly became a custom in Jin.

(Note: Here, "partial favor" refers to special treatment, while "partial slander" means malicious defamation. People based their judgments of honor or disgrace on Zihua’s words, which is why visitors to his home were as numerous as court attendees.)

Among Zihua’s guests was a man named Hezisheng Bo. Once, while traveling through the countryside, he stayed at the home of an old farmer named Shangqiu Kai. Late at night, Hezisheng Bo and others were chatting about Zihua’s influence—how he could turn the living into the dead, the dead into the living, the rich into the poor, and the poor into the rich.

(Note: "Turning the living into the dead" refers to slandering someone into ruin, while "turning the dead into the living" means reviving reputations through praise. "Turning the rich into the poor" implies seizing wealth, and "turning the poor into the rich" refers to charitable giving. Shangqiu Kai, a simple country man, didn’t understand these subtleties and took it to mean Zihua possessed divine, miraculous powers.)

At the time, Shangqiu Kai was suffering from hunger and cold. Eavesdropping from beneath the north window, he borrowed some grain, shouldered a basket, and set off to seek Zihua’s patronage. Zihua’s followers were all scions of noble families, dressed in white robes and riding in grand carriages, strutting about with an air of arrogance. When they saw Shangqiu Kai—an elderly, frail man with a sallow face, tattered clothes, and unkempt appearance—they looked down on him. Later, they went out of their way to mock and humiliate him, pushing and shoving him with every trick in the book. Yet Shangqiu Kai never lost his temper. Eventually, it was his tormentors who grew exhausted from their own antics.

(Note: This passage describes extreme contempt and humiliation. "Casual mockery" refers to playful, disrespectful teasing.)

This story recounts how Shang Qiu-kai created miracles through absolute faith. The retainers of Fan Zi-hua (a powerful minister of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period) often mocked Shang Qiu-kai, bullying him in various ways—some feigned friendship while deceiving him, others deliberately provoked him through physical contact, some humiliated him verbally, while others outright rejected and excluded him.

On one occasion, the group took Shang Qiu-kai up a high platform and deliberately incited him, saying, "Whoever dares to jump down will be rewarded with a hundred pieces of gold!" The others pretended to compete for the chance. Shang Qiu-kai took them at their word and leapt down like a bird in flight—miraculously emerging completely unharmed. Fan’s followers dismissed it as mere luck.

Later, they pointed to a deep bend in the river and claimed, "There are precious pearls at the bottom." Shang Qiu-kai immediately dove in to retrieve them and indeed returned with pearls. The group began to find this strange, and only then did Fan Zi-hua grant him fine clothes and meat to eat.

When a fire later broke out in the Fan family’s storeroom, Fan Zi-hua announced, "Whoever rushes into the flames to save the brocades will be richly rewarded according to the amount salvaged." Without hesitation, Shang Qiu-kai charged into the inferno and emerged without even a trace of soot on his body. At this, the crowd was utterly convinced and rushed to apologize: "We had no idea you were a true master of the Dao (the Way)! All our earlier deceptions and insults treated you as though you were deaf and blind!"

Shang Qiu-kai explained, "What Daoist arts do I possess? I had simply heard that the Fan family could bring the dead back to life and reverse fortunes between rich and poor, and I believed it wholeheartedly. After arriving here, I took every word you spoke as truth, fearing only that my sincerity might be insufficient or my actions too slow—never once considering my own safety. When the mind is purified to its utmost, external things cannot harm it. That’s all there is to it. Now I realize you were all deceiving me!"

(Note: In the text, "泳" refers to diving; "昉" means "beginning"; "诞" means deception. This story comes from the Liezi, emphasizing the cultivation state of "utmost sincerity moving heaven"—when the human mind is completely pure, it can manifest extraordinary abilities.)

This scripture illustrates the wondrous power of "utmost sincerity" through several parables. It first describes how a person filled with suspicion dares not approach even water or fire, while one who has truly attained the "great wisdom appearing as foolishness" can forget their physical form—unaffected by concerns of life and death—having already merged with the Dao.

The text recounts how disciples of the Fan family, when encountering beggars and horse doctors (considered lowly professions) on the road, dared not treat them lightly and would always dismount to pay respects. Confucius, hearing of this, explained: Those with utmost sincerity can move all things—their power not only penetrates water and fire but connects heaven and earth. Like Shang Qiu Kai, who, because of his sincere heart, could leap from a high platform unharmed, swim in a river to retrieve precious pearls, and pass through fire without being burned.

The key lies in this: Maintaining pure and genuine sincerity allows communion with the divine. Sages roam the mundane world with this spirit, unshaken by fears of life and death. When one's heart is completely pure, even danger holds no terror. Like a drunkard who falls from a carriage unharmed, or the Dark Pearl of the Yellow Emperor found by someone free of intent.

Conversely, harboring cunning calculations disrupts this purity, leading to a scattered mind and the loss of the Dao's power. Thus, Master Guan Yin held that preserving upright Qi (vital energy) is the true key to resisting flames. Through these contrasts, the scripture reveals the starkly different outcomes brought by "utmost sincerity" and "scheming intent."

Shangqiu Kai knew those exaggerated claims were false, but recalling his past experiences of remaining unharmed amidst water and fire, he still felt lingering fear, never daring to approach such elements again. This was because his mind had begun harboring cunning doubts. Those with sincere faith can harmonize even with falsehoods, while those with suspicious minds create such vast differences. As for those who possess ultimate sincerity and trust, their realm is even higher—they can move heaven, earth, and spirits, traversing the six directions (referring to the entire cosmos of up-down and four cardinal directions) without obstruction. How could their achievements be limited to merely treading dangerous grounds or passing through water and fire?

The Fan family said: Those who rely on fame and power to show off cannot gain trust wherever they go, while those who treat others with sincere faith can find contentment everywhere. Shangqiu Kai could truly be called a practitioner of genuine trust. He believed wholeheartedly in the Fan family's praise, remained unangered when insulted by the crowd, suffered no injury when falling from a high platform, didn't drown when swimming in rivers, and remained unburned when retrieving brocade from fire. The reason lay in his heart maintaining ultimate sincerity, free from conflict with all things. If even treating others' falsehood with my sincerity brings no harm, how much more so for those of ultimate sincerity and trust? That they can move heaven, earth, and spirits, traversing the cosmos without obstruction, is hardly surprising.

King Xuan of Zhou's herdsman had a servant named Liang Yang who excelled at taming wild animals. When he fed them in the gardens, even fierce creatures like tigers, wolves, eagles, and ospreys became docile. These animals mated and multiplied before him, with different species coexisting without attacking each other. Worried this skill might be lost, the king sent Mao Qiuyuan to learn from him. Liang Yang said: "I'm but a lowly servant—what secret arts could I teach? Lest you accuse me of withholding, I'll share one method for handling tigers: They're pleased when obeyed and angered when opposed—this is the nature of all blood-and-Qi creatures. Yet their moods don't arise without cause, always stemming from frustration. Tiger feeders dare not give live prey, fearing killing will provoke rage; nor whole carcasses, lest tearing flesh incite fury. One must time their hunger and fullness, channeling their anger appropriately."

Xiang Xiu explained: This means avoiding what angers them while following their nature. Though tigers differ from humans, they favor those who feed them precisely because their nature is accommodated.

(Note: "Six directions" is a key Daoist concept denoting the complete cosmic space formed by heaven-earth and four cardinal directions; "breeding" refers to animal mating; "channeling their anger" uses "channel" in the sense of guiding. Liang Yang's tiger-taming method embodies the Daoist principle of "following nature's course," contrasting with forced domestication.)

This scripture expounds the principle of harmonious coexistence by following the innate nature of all things. All beings possess their own distinct natural dispositions, and forcibly opposing their inherent tendencies will inevitably lead to conflict. Just as a tiger keeper must understand the rhythms of its hunger and satiety, and discern the causes of its anger to properly accommodate the beast's nature, so too does the sage govern the world—neither deliberately pleasing nor provoking creation, but maintaining a centered and balanced state of mind.

The text offers vivid examples: When human hearts hold no distinction between opposition and compliance, wild beasts regard people as their kind, resting peacefully in courtyards without yearning for remote mountain valleys. Zhuangzi once said that viewed from their differences, the liver and gallbladder seem as distant as the states of Chu and Yue, yet seen from their sameness, all things form a unified whole. Those who attain the Dao (the Way) can coexist harmoniously with birds and beasts—ferocious animals can be tamed, seagulls will approach without fear—precisely because they follow these creatures' inherent natures.

The author employs the phrase "the softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest" to illustrate how the most yielding can master the most unyielding, representing the supreme state of sage governance. Just as fierce tigers, wolves, and birds of prey can dwell peacefully together in gardens, the essential skill lies in understanding the Dao (the Way) of nurturing. When emotions like joy and anger become excessive, disrupting the balance of Yin-Yang and violating the nature of things, calamity ensues. True cultivation neither provokes beings by opposing their nature nor indulges them into wild euphoria, but allows all existence to abide in natural ease.

(Note: The referenced "Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing" refers to the Liezi, an important Daoist classic; "Lu's commentary" indicates annotations by Tang dynasty Daoist priest Lu Chongxuan; "Zhenghe" refers to official commentaries from Emperor Huizong of Song's Zhenghe reign period.)

This passage elucidates the principles of self-cultivation and mastering skills. Regarding the Dao of nurturing life, the key lies in preventing excessive preferences and aversions from harming body and mind. Those who truly understand life cultivation maintain harmony with all things, just as skilled tiger handlers neither provoke nor deliberately placate the beasts—thus even ferocious animals cause no harm. Zhuangzi presents a similar tiger-taming parable in the "Human World" chapter, illustrating how sages interact with external phenomena without harming them, and consequently remain unharmed in return.

Yan Hui recounted to Confucius an observation: At the Shenyuan abyss, he witnessed a ferryman demonstrating supernatural boat-handling skills. When asked whether such techniques could be learned, the ferryman replied that swimmers could be taught, while expert swimmers could master it quickly. But those proficient in deep diving—even having never seen a boat—could instantly grasp the skill. Yan Hui couldn't comprehend why the ferryman didn't explain this principle directly.

Confucius clarified: You've been studying surface words without grasping their essence. Swimmers can be taught because they understand water's nature; expert swimmers learn quickly because they've "forgotten" water's existence (having fully merged with its properties). As for master divers (called "meiren"—those naturally adept at submersion), their innate ability allows them to command boatmanship without study. This represents the mysterious realm of Dao—a profundity beyond verbal explanation.

This passage discusses the Daoist cultivation state of "forgetting external things." Skilled swimmers move through water as effortlessly as on land because they understand water's nature, while expert divers who've never seen boats handle vessels with remarkable ease. They perceive deep abysses as level ground and view capsized boats as casually as one might see a carriage backing up. This stems from their transcendent inner state where external disturbances cannot penetrate their spiritual abode ("不得入其舍" means nothing can disturb their Shen-spirit).

Three metaphors illustrate how attachment to objects affects mental clarity: when tossing roof tiles, one moves with natural dexterity; when throwing valuable hooks, hesitation appears; when casting gold, the mind becomes utterly confused. This demonstrates that the more one values material objects ("钩" represents precious items, "黄金" the most valued possessions), the more constrained the mind becomes. True practitioners should transcend distinctions between inner and outer, abandoning judgments of value, thereby eliminating concepts of skill or clumsiness.

The text mentions that "proficient swimmers frequently forget about water," meaning through constant practice they reach a state where water's presence fades from awareness. Genuine adepts ("没人" refers to master divers) can effortlessly handle boats without prior experience because they've achieved unity between self and object, where neither life-and-death nor fear occupies their mind—how much less would worldly gains and losses? This state requires profound internal cultivation ("内资于道" - internally nourished by the Dao); without it, one remains vulnerable to emotional fluctuations caused by external things.

This passage illustrates the core Daoist concept of "following what is natural" through several vivid stories.

The first analogy uses gambling: the more valuable the wager, the more tense the person becomes. When betting with a tile, one's movements remain nimble; when using a belt hook as stake, hesitation appears; with gold at stake, the mind becomes utterly distracted. The more one fixates on external gains and losses, the more the inner self becomes constrained, unable to maintain natural ease.

Next comes Confucius' encounter at the Lüliang waterfall. The cascade plunged thirty ren (approximately 70 meters) with rapids stretching thirty li, where even turtles couldn't swim. Yet a man swam calmly through the torrent. Thinking he meant to drown himself, Confucius urgently sent disciples to rescue him. The man emerged hundreds of paces downstream, shook out his hair, and strolled away singing. When Confucius asked his secret, the swimmer replied: "I have no technique. Born in mountains, I became at ease with heights; raised by water, I grew accustomed to currents—all by following what's natural. I sink with the whirlpools and rise with the surges, completely yielding to water's ways without imposing my own will." This exemplifies the Daoist principle: "Begin with what's given (accepting inherent nature), grow through innate tendencies (following natural disposition), and achieve through ming (fulfilling natural destiny)."

The conclusion reveals: Human adaptation to environment resembles dyeing white cloth—maintaining fundamental authenticity allows harmonious existence anywhere. Those raised in water become naturally aquatic; following nature's patterns removes all obstacles. The true state is achieving without knowing why—this ineffable natural condition is ming (natural law). Just as mountain dwellers become at home on cliffs and water-nurtured people adapt to currents, when habit becomes second nature, one suddenly communes with the Dao. Such attainment cannot be reached through forced striving.

(Note: The ancient measurement ren equals approximately 2.3 meters; "swirling and surging" describes water's eddying and upwelling movements)

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue in Simplicity) expounds the wisdom of following the natural Dao. Through several parables, it illustrates how those who truly understand principles act with the effortless flow of water.

First, it describes how expert swimmers navigate torrents where even fish and turtles struggle—not through special skills, but by completely conforming to water's nature (the Dao of water). They sink when encountering whirlpools and rise with surging currents, thereby reaching places others cannot. Like mountain dwellers adapting to slopes or riverside inhabitants attuning to water's ways, this reflects harmony with environment rather than resistance to innate tendencies. Such "unknowing mastery"—the ability to act perfectly without conscious reasoning—embodies "ming" (natural destiny).

Next, Confucius encounters a hunchbacked old man in Chu who catches cicadas as effortlessly as picking up objects. The elder reveals his five-month training: first balancing two clay balls on his pole without dropping them (rarely failing), then three balls (missing once in ten attempts), until handling five balls with the ease of plucking fruit. His secret: standing stable as a tree stump, arms steady as dead branches, eyes focused solely on cicada wings—all distractions vanished. This exemplifies Zhuangzi's "attaining this while forgetting that"—total presence achieved by relinquishing peripheral concerns.

These stories collectively demonstrate how releasing forced effort and aligning body-mind with phenomena's inherent nature leads to transcendent skill. Just as swimmers don't fight currents and cicada catchers avoid divided attention, this state of "wu si" (absence of selfish striving)—untainted by subjective compulsions—embodies true unity with the Dao.

This recounts the story of a hunchbacked old man catching cicadas. When first practicing, he couldn't even balance two balls steadily. After six months of practice, he could stack two without dropping them, and through persistent training eventually mastered balancing five. The key lay in his complete immersion—his body stood as steady as a wooden stake, his arms remained motionless like withered branches, his mind wholly focused, entirely undisturbed by external distractions. Even amidst the myriad distractions of the world, his attention remained fixed solely on the cicada's wings.

When Confucius witnessed this, he told his disciples: "With undivided concentration, one can attain communion with the divine." He meant that single-minded focus allows one to approach a state akin to spiritual enlightenment, just like this hunchbacked elder.

The old man said to Confucius: "You scholars in your wide robes and flowing sleeves, busily preaching benevolence and righteousness to transform the world, have made people chase fame and fortune, exhausting their minds and losing their true nature. How could you possibly comprehend such a state? You wish to record my method in writing, but can the true Dao (the Way) ever be fully expressed in words?"

The text emphasizes that those who truly master the Dao can adapt to any environment. Their bodies stand firm as wooden stakes, their arms still as withered branches, completely forgetting their own existence. Though heaven and earth are vast and the myriad things abundant, they focus solely on the cicada's wings. The longer this concentration lasts, the fewer mistakes they make. At first there might be minor errors, but with time it becomes as effortless as picking something up at will. There's no secret to it—just complete absorption. Only through ultimate focus can one reach this divine state. Hence the saying: "When will is undivided, it coalesces into spirit (Shen)."

Fan Shi comments that though cicada-catching may seem a trivial skill, achieving such undivided concentration allows one to attain the state of focused spirit (Shen) and gathered Qi (vital energy).

This scripture reveals the core Daoist principle that "the ultimate words are beyond words, the ultimate action is non-action (Wuwei)" through two vivid parables.

The first story tells of a seaside child who loved seagulls, playing with them daily until hundreds flocked to him. When his father asked him to catch some for amusement, the next day the gulls only circled overhead without landing. This illustrates how the slightest impurity in one's heart manifests outwardly—even birds can perceive it, let alone humans.

The second story contrasts two states of being: an old cicada catcher so absorbed in his skill that he forgot himself, and the seaside child interacting with gulls in perfect sincerity. Though expressed differently, both demonstrate the essential teaching of "single-minded spiritual focus." The old man shows how concentration shields one from external disturbances, while the child reveals how genuineness dissolves barriers.

The text emphasizes: true wisdom transcends verbal expression, and the highest accomplishment lies in following nature's flow. Clinging to clever schemes only erodes one's original purity (what Daoists call "unblemished whiteness"). Just as governing through cunning proves inferior to ruling through Wuwei, maintaining inner purity allows all things to harmonize naturally. When people shed calculating minds, even beasts drop their guard—how much more so in human interactions?

Together these fables demonstrate: communion with all beings depends on spiritual resonance rather than emotional cognition, and only by eliminating selfish desires can barriers be broken. Those who flaunt cleverness only drift further from the Dao.

This passage elucidates the Daoist state of "Wuwei" (non-action) and the miraculous abilities of those who have attained the Dao.

First, it explains the realm of Wuwei: True sages speak without being constrained by words and act without leaving deliberate traces. To comprehend this state with limited intellect is profoundly superficial. Like seabirds skimming the ocean's surface—if one harbors cunning calculations in mind, it's akin to sea foam dancing pointlessly without settling. When Dao-realized sages speak, they appear to speak yet haven't spoken; when they act, they seem to act yet haven't acted. Their minds remain utterly pure and uncluttered, so much so that even birds wouldn't startle and flee.

Next comes a wondrous tale: When Lord Xiang of Zhao led a hundred thousand men hunting in Zhongshan and set the forest ablaze, a man emerged from stone cliffs, walking unscathed through smoke and flames. All assumed him to be a ghost. After the fire subsided, the man walked out composedly as if nothing had occurred. When questioned how he could traverse stone and fire freely, he countered: "What is stone? What is fire?" Being utterly insensible to their existence, he remained unharmed.

Hearing this, Marquis Wen of Wei asked Confucius' disciple Zixia about the man's identity. Zixia quoted Confucius: "One who harmonizes completely with all things encounters no obstruction from external phenomena, thus moving freely through metal, stone, water, and fire." When the Marquis asked why Zixia couldn't do this, the disciple replied: "To utterly eliminate mental cunning—I haven't attained this yet, though I can attempt to explain the principle."

Finally, the commentator Lu adds: Previous chapters discussed moving freely through water, while this chapter emphasizes fearlessness toward fire and stone pressure. Since more people understand water's nature than fire's, and to prevent one-sided fixation, it specially clarifies the principle of fire and stone causing no harm. The essential point lies in completely forgetting one's physical form.

This passage explores the relationship between "knowing" and "doing" through a dialogue between Marquis Wen of Wei and Zixia, ultimately revealing the supreme state of Daoist cultivation.

Marquis Wen couldn't understand why people who knew fire burns and stones trip still wouldn't avoid them. Zixia explained: It's easy for me to know these principles and speak them, but actually practicing and verifying them personally is another matter. The Marquis pressed: Then why didn't Confucius do this? Zixia replied: The Master was someone who could do but chose not to.

The text distinguishes four types of people: those who can act but consciously refrain; those who can act but don't; those who can't but force themselves; and those who achieve naturally without deliberate effort. The sages (referring to Daoist adepts) transcend such distinctions—for them, there's no deliberate action or non-action, no ability or inability, only complete alignment with nature. They move with worldly currents, rise and fall with external circumstances, never intentionally displaying special powers.

When cultivators align with life's fundamental truth, unbound by emotions like joy or anger, and single-mindedly maintain a gentle state, they attain marvelous abilities: walking through water without drowning, through fire without burning, traversing wood and stone unimpeded, touching blades unharmed, treading dangerous paths without falling. Nothing can harm them, beasts don't startle them, their spirit roams freely, their body ascends lightly, their hearing penetrates barriers, their vision pierces darkness.

Though these claims seem extraordinary, they contain profound truth. Yin and Yang alternate in transformation, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) interact through mutual generation and restraint—just as metal and earth relate like mother and child, water and fire balance through dryness and moisture. Human temperaments vary by stillness or agitation, states differ by capability: hence birds soar through clouds, fish dive deep, mice move through fire, insects dwell in wood—all things find their place according to hardness, softness, heat and cold.

The Dao-realized person's nature secretly harmonizes with cosmic Qi (the primordial energy constituting all things), their body silently aligns with Yin-Yang principles, unlimited by square or round shapes, unaffected by temperature extremes. Their spirit rests peacefully, their breath flows smoothly—wherever they go, all moves effortlessly. The Five Phases cannot harm them, heat and cold cannot invade. This is the state of profound De (Virtue) and perfect harmony, naturally avoiding danger without needing conscious evasion. For them, traversing fire and water, riding clouds, walking cliffs, or entering battlefields are nothing extraordinary.

Lu Chongxuan explains that Confucius possessed extraordinary abilities yet chose Wuwei (non-action), because he sought to revive declining social customs through benevolence, righteousness, rituals, and the proper relationships between rulers and subjects—rather than merely cultivating his own virtue while living reclusively among birds and beasts.

The Zhenghe era commentary states: When the mind merges completely with the Dao (the Way), all distinctions between self and other dissolve. When the physical form follows external transformations, the myriad things maintain their individual differences. The moment subject and object become opposed, dualistic distinctions arise. If one can harmonize through natural boundaries, why deliberately pursue being extraordinary? Recognizing that all things share the same origin—with no opposition between emptiness and substance—how could stone walls obstruct passage? Without conflict between benefit and harm, how could fire and smoke cause injury? Thus, those who achieve perfect harmony with all things remain unharmed and unobstructed—they can walk through metal and stone, tread upon fire and water without suffering harm.

Zixia (Confucius's disciple) understood this principle but couldn't embody it, while Confucius could manifest it yet chose Wuwei (non-action). The Dao cannot be attained through forced striving, nor approached through mere absence of intent. Therefore, when Zixia spoke of emptying the mind and abandoning cleverness, he still hadn't reached the sage's attainment. The sage follows nature without self-display—Confucius's ability to act yet refrain from doing so represents true mastery of the Dao. Those who deliberately demonstrate supernatural feats like walking through metal are actually using Daoist techniques to oppose worldly conventions, thereby revealing their artifice. This is why Liezi, when surveying various schools of thought, particularly honored Confucius as the synthesizing culmination.

Fan Yingyuan elaborates: Stone is inherently solid and obstructive; fire is inherently scorching and consuming. Those who pass through stone without obstruction don't perceive it as stone even when traversing solid walls; those who tread fire without burning don't perceive it as fire even when walking through flames. To reach this state requires complete fusion with all things. The genuine state of Great Harmony transcends artificial distinctions and regards all phenomena with perfect equality—thus making one capable of unimpeded passage through metal and fire. Zixia sought to empty his mind but hadn't achieved true stillness; sought to abandon cleverness but hadn't attained complete penetration—hence he could discuss the principles but not embody them. Confucius's ability to manifest these powers yet choose Wuwei (non-action) demonstrates true embodiment of the Dao through mindful cultivation.

The subsequent passage describes a spirit-medium named Ji Xian who came from Qi to Zheng, capable of foretelling people's life-and-death fortunes with precise dates down to the day. The people of Zheng fled at his sight. Xiang Xiu's commentary explains this was because no one wishes to know their death date in advance.

When Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) met the renowned diviner Jixian of Zheng, he was utterly awestruck. Xiang Xiu (a Wei-Jin period Neo-Daoist scholar) explained this occurred because Liezi became enchanted by the other's Daoist arts. Returning to his master Huzi, Liezi confessed: "I once believed your Dao methods represented the pinnacle of attainment, never imagining higher mastery existed."

Guo Xiang (another Neo-Daoist commentator) added that Liezi considered Jixian's cultivation to surpass even Huzi's. The master responded: "What I've taught you remains superficial—we haven't touched the essential core. How can you claim genuine understanding of Dao? Without the rooster's yang to complement the hen's yin, how could eggs be produced?" Xiang Xiu elaborated: Dao's principles manifest through concrete phenomena, just as reproduction requires both genders. Though our cultivation differs in depth, we're both still practicing forms without theoretical realization—hence your incomplete comprehension. This shows perfected beings (zhenren) must await karmic readiness before their teachings resonate.

Lu Zhongxuan (Tang dynasty Daoist) noted Liezi was dazzled by the diviner's ability to foresee life events, mistaking this for Dao's ultimate expression. Huzi exposed this: "We haven't even penetrated surface-level practice, let alone essential truths. Your static cultivation resembles having only the feminine principle—true Dao unites movement and stillness. Seeking results through quietism alone is like expecting eggs without a rooster." Precisely because Liezi measured supreme Dao against vulgar shamanism through attachment, his mind became transparent to spirits.

Fan Yingyuan (Song dynasty Daoist) analyzed deeper: What we call "divine" (shen) originally denotes penetrating cosmic mysteries, yet these shamans counterfeit spiritual authority to predict human affairs. Though foreseeing fortunes seems miraculous, it's not authentic Dao. Diviners like Jixian merely divine through external correlations—these omens stem from subjective cognition that presumes to interpret celestial mechanisms. By arbitrarily defining life's vicissitudes and spreading deluded interpretations, they trap those obsessed with appearances in dual illusions—misperceiving both phenomena and truth.

This passage recounts an encounter between Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) and his teacher Huzi (Master Huqiu), illustrating the realm of the "perfected person" (zhiren) in Daoism.

At that time, there was a remarkably accurate physiognomist named Jixian whom Liezi greatly admired. Huzi instructed Liezi to bring Jixian to read his features. After their first meeting, Jixian told Liezi: "Your master is dying—he won't live more than ten days. I saw him looking like drenched ashes, completely lifeless." A tearful Liezi reported this to Huzi, who explained: "I was manifesting the 'Earth Pattern' state—as still and silent as the earth itself, motionless like clay or stone. This is the perfected person's state of non-reaction and non-perception."

Xiang Xiu (a commentator) elaborated: The perfected person's movements and stillness follow nature's rhythms like heaven and earth—flowing like water when active, profound as an abyss when still. Jixian only saw Huzi sitting corpse-like in stillness and mistook it for impending death; had he seen spiritual activity, he would have predicted life instead. In truth, the perfected person follows natural transformations without conscious response, making them utterly incomprehensible to diviners.

Huzi remarked that Jixian only perceived his "blocked De (virtue/power) mechanism"—what Xiang Xiu explained as deliberately concealing vital signs. Another commentator, Lu Zhongxuan, added: Spirits can only detect fluctuations when the human mind clings to something, whereas Huzi's heart-mind was like damp ashes—his consciousness settled like undisturbed soil, completely free of thought, rendering him opaque to the physiognomist.

The passage concludes: Ordinary people's limitations make them startled by unusual phenomena—seeing wet ashes, they assume they cannot reignite. Ancient perfected persons followed nature's transformations, united with the Dao (the Way), hence their outward manifestations appeared endlessly mutable and utterly unfathomable to conventional perception.

This scripture elucidates how practitioners of the Dao attain unity with the Dao through inner cultivation.

"Turning the pivot of the Dao (Dao) endlessly" means the cultivator must grasp the essential mechanism of the Dao to enter the boundless realm. In doing so, one transcends dualistic oppositions ("neither this nor that finds its counterpart"), no longer clinging to discriminating thoughts. When a person conceals their Virtue (De) without revealing it ("blocking Virtue, showing no trace"), they appear vacant, as if having lost their counterpart ("dull and blank, as though having lost the pair").

The text mentions the "patterns of earth" (the principles governing the earth's movement), stating that the earth harmonizes with the hidden Virtue (De) of Yin—remaining silent yet manifesting its function. The cultivator should emulate the earth: neither agitated ("not shaking") nor stagnant ("not halting").

The Fan commentary explains that all physical forms originate from Earth (one of the Five Phases), and only a discriminating mind finds this strange. The ancient masters of the Dao had hearts like dead ashes (describing profound inner stillness), deeply concealed. When Ji Xian (a practitioner) observed Master Huizi (another adept) manifesting the state of "blocked Virtue without trace," he mistook it for impending death, unaware this was actually the concealment of Virtue (De) in cultivation.

Later, Huizi revealed to Ji Xian the "workings of heaven and earth" (the principles of cosmic movement), demonstrating that fame and gain are mere external ornaments ("name and substance do not enter"). True vitality arises from the heels ("the pivot springs from the heel"), which is the manifestation of inner Virtue ("blocked potential"). The Lu commentary clarifies that possessing power yet refraining from using it constitutes "blocked potential"—like heaven sheltering all things without claiming merit.

Finally, the text speaks of "dead ashes containing life," referring to the latent vitality within seemingly inert states. Initially, Ji Xian saw only "damp ashes" (extinguished vitality), but later understood the living potential within. All this illustrates the cultivator's state of concealing Virtue (De) and awaiting the proper moment in stillness.

This passage elucidates the Daoist cultivation principles concerning the "breath of authentic beings" (zhenren zhi xi, the breathing methods of practitioners) and the manifestation of spiritual states.

The text recounts how a physiognomist named Ji Xian first met the cultivator Huizi and perceived him as lifeless as damp ashes, mistaking him for a dead man. Later, he discovered that Huizi actually concealed vibrant vitality within, realizing that the earlier death-like stillness was merely a state of "restrained expediency" (Duquan, a provisional method of concealing one's cultivation), not true lifelessness. This exemplifies the "subtle signs of vitality" (shan zhe ji) displayed by advanced practitioners.

Huizi demonstrated three distinct states to Ji Xian: first, he manifested "the Supreme Void without trace" (Tai Chong Mo Zhen, a state of perfect equilibrium and utter imperceptibility); next, he revealed "the balanced breath of subtlety" (Heng Qi Ji, a state of harmonized vital energy). The text employs the metaphor of nine different water currents forming distinct abysses—though all are fundamentally water, their characteristics vary according to terrain. Similarly, while the essence of a cultivator's mind remains unchanged, different external conditions cause it to manifest in diverse states.

Xiang Xiu's commentary clarifies that practitioners who attain the "ultimate state of Supreme Equilibrium" (Tai Chong Zhi Ji) possess a vast and serene mind, mysteriously interfused with all things yet leaving no trace. Those who observe with "peering at the sky through a tube" (limited vision) cannot perceive the boundless dimensions of such a state.

This passage discusses the Daoist philosophical concepts of movement and stillness, and the balance of Yin-Yang. The flowing water and stillness, the swimming fish and leaping dragon may appear ever-changing, yet fundamentally maintain an inherent state of tranquility. Those who have attained supreme De (Virtue) – individuals who have reached the highest level of cultivation – can remain at ease in any circumstance, following nature's course. Even amidst external chaos and transformation, their inner being remains detached and abides in Wuwei (non-action).

The text mentions "Taichong Zhi Qi" (the primordial energy of perfect harmony where Yin-Yang are balanced and undifferentiated), where thoughts move without leaving traces, just as water maintains its clear essence despite countless transformations. Diwen (earthly patterns) represents Yin prevailing over Yang, Tianrang (heavenly expanse) symbolizes Yang prevailing over Yin, while Taichong signifies the state where Yin-Yang intermingle yet transcend dualistic opposition. This subtle equilibrium is called "Hengqi Ji" (the mysterious state of balanced energy).

The nine whirlpools of water (Jiu Yuan) serve as metaphors for the cultivator's process of returning to the origin: Pan water (whirling backflow) maintains perfect unity, just as practitioners must preserve their fundamental mind amid endless transformations. Three primary states are emphasized: Ni Xuan Zhi Pan (fish-swirling whirlpool) symbolizes maintaining unity in extreme movement, Zhi Shui Zhi Pan represents preserving unity in stillness, while flowing water illustrates the need to avoid excess when engaging with external phenomena.

Ultimately, Diwen belongs to Yin, Tianrang to Yang, and Taichong represents the balanced state between them. All phenomena are fundamentally equal – it is merely human perspective that creates distinctions. Laozi said "the heart-mind should be good like an abyss," meaning the spirit should remain profoundly serene like deep waters, undisturbed by external things. Though water manifests in countless forms, its clear nature remains unchanged – this mirrors the original mind that cultivators should preserve.

This passage recounts the story between Huizi (teacher of Liezi/Lie Yukou) and the divine diviner Jixian, demonstrating the profound state of Daoist "perfected persons" (those who have attained the Dao) in responding to worldly changes.

Huizi displayed three distinct states to Jixian: First, he manifested "earthly composure" (a state as serene as the earth), leading Jixian to deem him lifeless. Next, he revealed "heaven-earth harmony" (a vibrant state of cosmic vitality), making Jixian rejoice at his apparent revival. Finally, he embodied "the supremely balanced void" (a state of perfect Yin-Yang equilibrium), leaving Jixian utterly unable to discern any signs, ultimately fleeing in panic.

The text explains that true perfected persons maintain inner emptiness and stillness—like grass bending with wind or water flowing with currents—leaving no fixed traces to follow. In stillness, they unite with the virtue of Yin (internal contraction); in movement, they harmonize with the waves of Yang (external adaptation). When reaching this "supremely balanced" state of Yin-Yang equilibrium, even divine diviners cannot fathom them. This resembles how blades of grass sway naturally or waves flow effortlessly—seemingly passive yet actually representing the supreme state of unity with the Dao.

Xiang Xiu (a Wei-Jin period metaphysical philosopher) particularly notes in his commentary: Although perfected persons live among ordinary people, their inner selves remain deeply rooted and profoundly tranquil like firmly anchored tree roots. With minds of emptiness, they follow transformations without clinging to any fixed forms. Thus, they confound even skilled physiognomists like Jixian, who ultimately flee in defeat. This realm transcends superficial appearances of life and death, remaining completely incomprehensible even to diviners versed in esoteric arts.

This passage describes how Master Hu taught Liezi to comprehend the ever-changing states of the Dao. When a cultivator displays subtle movements and stillness, outsiders may still perceive glimpses; but when one fully maintains the original source of the Dao ("my foundation") without revealing it, even what is manifested remains concealed, utterly incomprehensible to observers. This explains why those attempting to spy ultimately flee in confusion, unable to comprehend.

Master Hu demonstrated several distinct states to Liezi: first concealing the signs of Virtue (Du De ji), then revealing the signs of goodness (Shanzhe ji), and finally displaying the state of balanced Qi (Hengqi ji). These expressions of "I" all served to establish the existence of self. But at the highest state, Master Hu became completely merged with the Great Dao (Xu er weiyi), forgetting even himself. At this stage, who is it that manifests the state? And who observes it? In stillness, he resembled reeds bending with the wind; in movement, like waves flowing naturally—in neither could any trace of "I" be found, leaving the spies no choice but to flee.

Only then did Liezi realize he hadn't truly entered the gate of understanding. He returned home and devoted himself to practice for three years. He personally tended the cooking fire for his wife (Xiang Xiu's note: this signifies relinquishing status and shame), fed pigs as if serving honored guests (Xiang Xiu's note: forgetting distinctions between noble and base), and maintained transcendent detachment toward worldly affairs (Xiang Xiu's note: neither deliberately approaching nor avoiding). Shedding all ornamentation, he returned to original simplicity (Xiang Xiu's note: removing external adornments to recover innate authenticity), remaining like an unformed clod of earth in his fundamental state (Xiang Xiu's note: his true nature no longer scattered), practicing with unwavering consistency until the end (Xiang Xiu's note: ultimately attaining the Dao).

Lu Zhongxuan summarized: One must forget distinctions of right/wrong, equalize noble/base, unify self and things, cease external distractions, not cling to self-concepts, and cultivate with single-minded dedication to ultimately merge with the true Dao. The Zhenghe era commentary explains "never departing from my foundation" means sages take the Heavenly Dao as their root, maintaining constant harmony with it. Fan Yingyuan observed: At this point Liezi realized his learning remained incomplete, hence his return home for renewed practice. Through three years of daily labor, he achieved self-forgetfulness—handling affairs with perfect emptiness and stillness, like uncarved wood restored after polishing. Seemingly detached from the world, he nonetheless attained unity with the Dao.

This passage describes the state of a cultivator who has attained the realm of "transcending worldly attachments and standing in spiritual independence" (liren lidu). "Transcending worldly attachments" refers to rising above mundane entanglements, while "standing in spiritual independence" signifies an autonomous state of being.

When practitioners reach this realm, though external disturbances may be countless ("myriad entanglements swirling chaotically") and thoughts may arise incessantly ("ten thousand threads of distraction"), their inner core remains perpetually tranquil ("though disturbed, yet serene"). This serenity is fundamental ("unified in this constancy") and remains unaltered regardless of external changes ("no transformation can affect it").

The Chongxu Zhide Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Virtue and Empty Ultimacy) is an important Daoist scripture, with its "four interpretations" referring to four exegetical approaches to the text. This passage emphasizes that Dao cultivators should transcend worldly disturbances and maintain constant inner stillness. As the Qingjing Jing (Scripture on Clarity and Stillness) states: "When humans can maintain constant clarity and stillness, heaven and earth will return to them in fullness." This state of transcendental detachment represents the ultimate goal of Daoist cultivation.