《列子》Vol. 5

King Tang of Shang, the founding ruler of the Shang dynasty, asked Xia Ge, an ancient sage: “Did all things exist at the very beginning of antiquity?”

Xia Ge replied: “If nothing existed at the very beginning of antiquity, how can all things exist now? By that reasoning, would it make sense for people in the future to say that nothing exists in our present?”

King Tang pressed him: “Then do things have no order of beginning and end?”

Xia Ge explained: “The beginnings and endings of all things have no ultimate boundary. One beginning may be another thing’s ending, and one ending may be a new beginning. Who can make sense of the pattern in all this? Still, I know nothing of what lies beyond the material world, or of what happened before events began.”

King Tang continued: “Then do the eight directions of Heaven and Earth have boundaries or ends?”

Xia Ge answered calmly: “I don’t know that either.” Seeing that King Tang persisted, he added: “If something is void, it has no limit; if it is solid, it has an end—but how could I know the truth? Beyond the limitless, there can be nothing even more supremely limitless; within the boundless, there can be nothing more deeply boundless. So I know that states of infinite boundlessness exist, but I cannot confirm whether there are concrete boundaries or ends.”

Later, King Tang asked again: “What lies beyond the Four Seas?” Xia Ge replied: “It is much like the Central Plains.” King Tang pressed him: “How can you prove it?” Xia Ge answered: “I once traveled east as far as Yingzhou, a place said in antiquity to lie at the farthest reaches of the east...”

This passage from the Liezi depicts ancient people's understanding of the cosmos and the world. Through observation, the author realized that whether traveling east to the region of Ying or west to the land of Bin, the people and customs encountered were essentially similar. From this, he grasped a profound truth: the worlds beyond the "Four Seas" (the known world), the "Four Wastes" (distant borderlands), and the "Four Extremes" (the farthest reaches) were fundamentally no different.

All things in the universe are mutually encompassing, without end. The space that contains all things is as vast as that which holds Heaven and Earth. Precisely because it encompasses all things, it is inexhaustible; because it contains Heaven and Earth, it is limitless. This leads to the thought: Perhaps beyond Heaven and Earth, there exists an even greater Heaven and Earth? This already surpasses the limits of our understanding.

The text then proposes that Heaven and Earth themselves are composed of matter. Since matter is inherently imperfect, the ancient goddess Nüwa mended the heavens with five-colored stones and severed the legs of a giant turtle to prop up the Four Extremes. Later, when Gonggong contended with Zhuanxu for the throne, he angrily struck Mount Buzhou, causing the celestial pillar to break and the earthly tethers to snap. As a result, Heaven tilted northwest (hence the movement of the sun, moon, and stars), while the southeast became sunken (leading rivers to converge there).

Finally, the dialogue between Tang of Shang and Xiage explores the nature of differences among things: East of the Bohai Sea, billions of miles away, lies an unfathomable abyss called the "Returning Depths" (Guixu). The waters of the Eight Directions and Nine Regions, as well as the Heavenly River, all flow into it, yet its level neither rises nor falls. This demonstrates that while all things in the world vary in size, length, and form, they are governed by a certain principle of balance.

In the vast East Sea stand five sacred mountains: the first called Daiyu, the second Yuanjiao, the third Fanghu, the fourth Yingzhou, and the fifth Penglai. Each mountain spans thirty thousand li in circumference, with flat summits extending nine thousand li wide. The five peaks stand seventy thousand li apart, gazing distantly at one another across the waves.

Their palaces and towers are built of gold and jade, inhabited by snow-white divine creatures of flawless purity. Forests of pearl- and gem-like trees flourish there, bearing miraculous fruits and blossoms that grant immortality to those who consume them. These mountains are home to sages who have attained the Dao (the Way) and become xian (immortals), traveling daily on clouds in numbers beyond counting.

Yet these five sacred mountains lacked foundations, drifting aimlessly with the tides. Troubled by this instability, the immortals petitioned the Celestial Emperor. Fearing the peaks might float to the distant western edge of the world and leave the xian homeless, the emperor commanded the sea god Yuqiang to dispatch fifteen giant sea turtles to support the mountains on their heads. The turtles worked in three shifts, alternating every sixty thousand years, finally stabilizing the sacred peaks.

Later, a giant from the legendary land of Longbo (the Kingdom of Giant Clans) strode across the sea in a few steps. With a single cast of his fishing line, he hauled up six of the divine turtles. Carrying them home, he used their shells for divination. Bereft of their supports, Daiyu and Yuanjiao mountains drifted northward and sank beneath the Arctic waters, displacing countless immortals. Enraged, the Celestial Emperor punished Longbo by shrinking its territories.

In ancient times, the Heavenly Emperor deemed the people of the Land of Longbo (a mythical giant kingdom) too tall and made them shorter. Yet even during the eras of Fuxi and Shennong, the inhabitants of that land still stood several dozen zhang tall.

Forty thousand li east of the Central Plains lay the Land of Jiaoyao (the dwarf kingdom), where people measured only one chi five cun in height. In the far northeast lived creatures called "Zhengren" that stood a mere nine cun tall. South of Jing Mountain grew divine trees called "Mingling" that considered five hundred years as one spring and another five hundred as one autumn. In high antiquity, there were also "Great Chun" trees that measured eight thousand years as a single season.

On damp soil grew fungi called Junzhi (a type of mushroom) that sprouted at dawn only to wither by dusk. During spring and summer, tiny flying insects called Mengrui would emerge with the rain and perish upon seeing sunlight. In the northernmost lands of Zhongbei lay the celestial pond Minghai, home to enormous fish spanning thousands of li in width, their length matching their breadth, known as Kun. There also dwelt Peng birds whose wings resembled clouds hanging from the heavens, their bodies of equally astonishing size. How could ordinary people know such creatures existed? When Yu the Great toured these lands, his minister Bo Yi named them, while the legendary naturalist Yi Jian recorded their descriptions after hearing of them.

Along river wetlands lived minuscule creatures called Jiaoming that gathered in swarms upon mosquito eyelashes without colliding. They flitted about so lightly that mosquitoes remained unaware of their presence.

Li Zhu (a legendary figure with extraordinary eyesight) and Ziyu could strain their eyes and raise their eyebrows in broad daylight, yet fail to perceive the form of that thing; Kuang and Shi Kuang (renowned musicians of antiquity) might prick up their ears and bow their heads to listen at midnight, yet hear no sound of it. Only the Yellow Emperor and his teacher Rong Chengzi, after observing a three-month purification ritual (zhaijiao) on Mount Kongtong, achieved a state where their spirits became utterly still and their physical forms forgotten. Then gradually through spiritual vision (shen) — they suddenly perceived that thing towering like the Songshan valley; slowly through listening with vital energy (qi) — they abruptly heard its thunderous roar shaking their ears.

In the lands of Wu and Chu grew a marvelous tree called "you," with emerald leaves that never withered in winter, bearing bitter red fruit. Drinking its bark's sap could cure fainting spells. The Central Plains treasured it, yet when transplanted north of the Huai River, it degenerated into common trifoliate orange. Mynah birds cannot fly beyond the Ji River, and raccoon dogs crossing the Wen River will die — all manifestations of natural phenomena shaped by local conditions.

Though the forms and energies (qi) of all things differ, their fundamental nature remains identical and immutable. Every living being is complete; each endowment is sufficient. By what measure do we judge size? By what standard gauge longevity? By what criterion distinguish similarity and difference?

The Taihang and Wangwu mountains spanned seven hundred li, towering into the clouds, originally standing south of Jizhou and north of Heyang. An old man called Foolish Gong, nearly ninety, troubled by the mountains blocking his passage, gathered his household and declared: "I shall join you in leveling these two peaks."

I said to all of you: "Let us join our utmost efforts to level these two great mountains, opening a direct path to the southern regions of Yuzhou (modern Henan area), extending all the way to the southern bank of the Han River—what do you say?" Everyone voiced their agreement in unison.

The Foolish Old Man's wife raised doubts: "With your strength, you couldn't even move a small mound like Kuifu—what can you possibly do with the Taihang and Wangwu Mountains? And where will you put all the earth and stones you dig up?" The crowd buzzed with suggestions: "We can dump them by the shores of the Bohai Sea, or north of the legendary land of Yintu (the farthest northern realm)."

So the Foolish Old Man, accompanied by three of his descendants strong enough to carry shoulder poles, began chiseling rocks and digging up clods of earth, transporting the soil and stones in baskets and sieves to the shores of the Bohai Sea. A widow from the neighboring Jingcheng clan had a young son who had just lost his baby teeth, and he came skipping along to help too. From winter through summer, it took them a full season just to complete one round-trip delivery.

An old man called Wise Elder from Hequ (the bend of the Yellow River) laughed and tried to dissuade them: "How unwise you are! With what little strength remains in your aged bones, you can't even pluck a single blade of grass from the mountain—what can you possibly do with all this earth and stone?" The Foolish Old Man of North Mountain sighed deeply and replied: "Your thinking is too rigid, so rigid it lacks penetration—you're not even as open-minded as the widow's little boy. Even if I die, my sons will carry on; my sons will have grandsons, and those grandsons will have sons in turn. This lineage will continue without end, yet the mountains won't grow any taller—why fear they won't be leveled someday?" The Wise Elder was left speechless.

When the mountain god heard of this, he grew afraid that the Foolish Old Man's family would truly never cease their labor, so he hurried to report the matter to the Heavenly Emperor.

Moved by Yu the Fool’s sincerity, the Celestial Emperor sent two sons of the Kui’e clan—mighty figures from myth—to carry away the two mountains. They set one east of Shuofang, in the north, and the other south of Yongzhou, one of the ancient Nine Provinces. From then on, no high mountains stood in the way between the land south of Jizhou, around present-day Hebei, and the area north of the Han River.

Kuafu overestimated his strength and tried to chase the sun’s shadow, following it all the way to Yugu, the legendary place where the sun sets. Thirsty, he tried to drink from the Yellow River and the Wei River, but their waters were not enough. He then set out for the great marsh in the north, but died of thirst before he could reach it. The staff he left behind was soaked in the oil from his body and later grew into a vast peach forest, known as Denglin, stretching for thousands of miles.

Yu the Great said, “Between heaven and earth, within the Four Directions and the Four Seas, the sun and moon shine, the stars move, the seasons turn, and Tai Sui—a notional star used in the ancient calendar—governs the passage of time. All things created by the spirits take different forms. Some die young, while others live long lives. Only sages can understand the principles behind this.”

Xia Ge, an ancient worthy, replied, “Yet there are also things born without relying on the spirits, taking shape without depending on Yin-Yang, shining without the sun or moon, dying young without being slain, living long without being nourished, surviving without eating the five grains, having clothes without wearing silk or cotton, and traveling without using carts or boats. Their movement follows the natural Way completely, and even sages cannot fully understand it.”

While governing the waters and lands, Yu the Great once lost his way and wandered into a kingdom. This kingdom lay near the northern reaches of the North Sea, the ancient name for the far northern ocean…

This place lies countless thousands of miles from the Central Plains. There exists a land called the Kingdom of Ultimate North, whose boundaries cannot be discerned. Here, no natural phenomena like wind, rain, frost, or dew occur, nor do birds, beasts, insects, fish, or plants of any kind grow. The entire country is flat, encircled by towering mountains.

At its center stands a mountain shaped like an overturned earthen jar, named Mount Huling. At its summit is a circular opening called the Nourishing Cavern, from which gushes a spring known as the Divine Fen (a miraculous springwater). This water is more fragrant than orchids and pepper plants, sweeter than fine wine. The spring divides into four branches that flow down the mountain and spread across the entire land.

The climate here is perpetually pleasant, with no plagues or illnesses. The people are gentle and harmonious by nature, neither competitive nor aggressive; their hearts are soft, their bones and joints supple, free from arrogance or envy. Old and young live together without distinctions between ruler and subject; men and women mingle freely, requiring no matchmakers or betrothal gifts. All dwell along the waterways, harvesting abundance without tilling the land. The warm, comfortable climate means they need neither weave nor wear clothes. They live to a hundred years before passing naturally, never suffering premature death or illness. The population thrives, knowing only joy without the pains of aging.

The local custom delights in music—people join hands and take turns singing, their voices continuing unbroken throughout the day. When hungry or tired, they drink from the Divine Fen spring, instantly regaining vitality and serenity. Drinking too much induces a pleasant intoxication that lasts ten days before sobering. Bathing in these waters makes the skin exquisitely smooth, leaving a lingering fragrance that persists for over ten days.

King Mu of Zhou (the fifth ruler of the Western Zhou dynasty) once traveled northward and passed through a wondrous kingdom where he resided for three years, completely forgetting to return. When he finally came back to his royal palace, he remained preoccupied with memories of that land, appearing absent-minded as if he had lost something vital. He could neither enjoy wine nor meat, nor summon his concubines, and it took several months before he gradually returned to his normal state.

Later, Guan Zhong (the renowned chancellor of Qi) sought to take Duke Huan of Qi (the foremost of the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period) on an excursion to the Liaodong estuary, intending to visit that mystical kingdom. The journey was nearly underway when Xi Peng (a minister of Qi) admonished him, saying:

"My lord, you possess the vast territory of Qi, its multitudes of subjects, majestic mountains and rivers, abundant resources, flourishing rites and music, and splendid attire. Your palace is filled with beautiful consorts, and your court teems with loyal ministers and capable generals. At your command, a million-strong army stands ready; with a single glance, you make the feudal lords submit. Why should you envy that barbaric land and abandon the state of Qi to follow the customs of the Rong and Di tribes? Clearly, Guan Zhong has grown senile—why should you heed him?"

Duke Huan of Qi then abandoned the plan and relayed Xi Peng's words to Guan Zhong. Guan Zhong responded:

"This is simply something Xi Peng cannot comprehend. What concerns me is that this kingdom holds mysteries beyond our understanding. What is there to cherish in Qi’s wealth? And why should Xi Peng’s words be taken seriously?"

(He then illustrated with a metaphor about regional customs) The people of the south wear their hair loose and go bare-skinned, those of the north wrap their heads in cloth and don fur coats, while the Central Plains people wear caps and long robes. The produce of the Nine Provinces sustains people of diverse lifestyles—some farm, others trade, some hunt, and some fish—just as naturally as wearing furs in winter and light hemp in summer.

Boats are for water travel, carts for land journeys—this is the natural order of things. In stillness one comprehends the Dao (the Way), and by following innate nature, all things are accomplished.

East of Yue lies the land of Zhemu, where they practice a peculiar custom: when the firstborn son arrives, they prepare the infant as fresh meat for consumption, believing this ensures the welfare of younger siblings. When a grandfather dies, they carry the grandmother into the wilderness to abandon her, saying: "The wife of the dead cannot dwell with the living."

South of Chu resides the kingdom of Yanren, where mourners strip the flesh from their deceased kin and discard it before burying the bones, considering this true filial piety. Further west in Yiqu of Qin, they build pyres to cremate their dead. Watching the smoke ascend, they call it "ascending to immortality" (Dengxia), viewing this as the ultimate act of filial devotion. To rulers, these are matters of governance; to commoners, they are mere customs—yet in truth, none are inherently strange.

When Confucius traveled through the eastern states, he encountered two children debating. Asked their dispute, one child declared: "At sunrise the sun is nearest, at noon farthest." The other countered: "At sunrise it's farthest, at noon nearest." The first argued: "Dawn's sun is vast as a carriage canopy, yet by midday shrinks to a dish's size—doesn't distance shrink large things?" The second retorted: "At dawn the sun brings coolness, but by noon burns like dipping into hot water—isn't heat the mark of proximity?"

Even Confucius could not determine who was right or wrong. The two children laughed and said, "Who says your knowledge is vast?"

Equilibrium is the most fundamental principle of the universe, and this holds true even for concrete matters. If you suspend a heavy object with a strand of hair, the hair won't snap as long as the weight is evenly distributed; but if the distribution is uneven, the hair will break. In a state of true equilibrium, even when it seems on the verge of breaking, it will not actually snap. Ordinary people may not grasp this principle, but there are always those who comprehend its profundity.

Zhan He used a single silk thread as his fishing line, a slender needle as his hook, and a thin bamboo rod as his pole. Splitting a grain of rice for bait, he could catch a fish large enough to fill an entire cart from the raging currents of a hundred-fathom-deep abyss. His line never snapped, his hook never straightened, and his pole never bent. When King Chu heard of this, he was astonished and summoned Zhan He to inquire about his method.

Zhan He replied, "I once heard my late father say that when Pu Ju Zi shot arrows, he used a soft bow and a thin string, harnessing the wind's force to release his shot, enabling him to strike two geese simultaneously high in the clouds. The key lay in focused concentration and even application of force. I emulated this method and turned it to the art of fishing. It took me five years to fully master its essence. When I stand by the riverbank holding my pole, my mind is utterly free of distractions, focused solely on the fish. As I cast my line, the force in my hand is perfectly balanced—neither too much nor too little—so that nothing external can disturb it. When the fish see my bait, they perceive it as naturally as drifting dust or bubbles in the water, swallowing it without the slightest suspicion."

5.9.5 This passage expounds the principle of using softness to overcome hardness. Gentleness can subdue the strong, and lightness can master the heavy. If a ruler governs the state by this principle, managing the world would be as effortless as turning something in the palm of one's hand—why expend unnecessary effort? The King of Chu expressed agreement upon hearing this.

5.10.1-4 recounts a remarkable tale: Gonghu from the state of Lu and Qiying from Zhao both fell ill and sought treatment from the legendary physician Bian Que. After curing their external ailments, Bian Que said: "You both suffer from congenital illnesses that have grown with your bodies. Now I shall treat the root cause—are you willing?" They requested to hear the diagnosis first.

Bian Que analyzed: Gonghu possesses strong willpower but weak Qi (vital energy) and blood, making him adept at strategizing but indecisive; Qiying has weak willpower but abundant Qi and blood, causing him to act decisively yet lack deep contemplation. By exchanging your hearts, you could complement each other's strengths. Bian Que then administered an anesthetic wine that left them unconscious for three days while he performed the heart transplant, afterward reviving them with medicine.

Upon recovery, when returning home, Gonghu went to Qiying's household, claiming Qiying's wife and children as his own family—who failed to recognize him. This allegorical story, through hyperbolic means, illustrates the connection between personality and bodily organs, while showcasing ancient imagination about "changing one's heart to alter destiny."

The Liezi records two remarkable stories:

The first recounts the miraculous healing case of Bian Que. Gong Hu and Qi Ying had their hearts exchanged (ancient Chinese believed the heart was the seat of thought). Consequently, Gong Hu returned to Qi Ying's home and recognized Qi Ying's wife and children as his own family, while Qi Ying went to Gong Hu's residence claiming his wife and offspring. The two families took the dispute to court, summoning the divine physician Bian Que to adjudicate. Only after Bian Que explained the extraordinary circumstances was this bizarre lawsuit resolved.

The second story tells of the musician Shi Wen's artistic cultivation. In ancient times, the zither master Pao Ba could make birds dance and fish leap from water when he played. Hearing of this, Shi Wen of Zheng State left home to study under the great master Shi Xiang. Yet after three years, he still couldn't master even basic tones and rhythms. When Shi Xiang dismissed him, Shi Wen set down his instrument and sighed: "It's not that I can't tune the strings or understand musical forms. What I seek isn't mere technical skill, but a higher realm. Until my heart comprehends, my fingers cannot respond to the instrument—that's why I dare not pluck the strings lightly. Please grant me more time for observation."

After some time, Shi Wen returned to demonstrate astonishing artistry: plucking the Shang string (one of the five notes) in spring to summon the Nanlü pitch (one of twelve temperaments), he conjured cool breezes making plants bear fruit; touching the Jue string in autumn to evoke the Jiazhong pitch brought warm winds causing blossoms to bloom; drawing the Yu string in summer while invoking the Huangzhong pitch miraculously summoned frost and snow. Though exaggerated, these descriptions vividly illustrate the Daoist artistic ideal of "unity of mind and matter."

Rivers and ponds suddenly froze over. In winter, when someone plucked the zhi-tuned string to evoke the ruibin mode (one of the ancient pentatonic scales), the sunlight grew intensely hot, and the solid ice immediately melted away.

When life approaches its end, playing the gong tone while harmonizing the other four strings summons gentle winds to soar, auspicious clouds to appear, sweet dew to descend, and sweet springs to well up. Master musician Shi Xiang pressed his hand to his chest and exclaimed: "How profoundly marvelous! Your zither artistry! Even Shi Kuang's 'Clear Horn' melody or Zou Yan's pitch-pipe techniques could not surpass this. They would have to follow behind you carrying their instruments to learn."

Xue Tan studied singing with Qin Qing but, before mastering all his teacher's skills, presumed he had completed his training and requested to return home. Qin Qing didn't detain him. At the farewell banquet by the country road, the master beat time and sang a mournful song that shook the forest trees and echoed through the clouds. Only then did Xue Tan apologize and beg to continue his studies, never again daring to speak of returning home.

Qin Qing once told a friend: "Long ago, when Han E traveled east to Qi and exhausted her provisions, she passed through Yongmen singing for food. After her departure, the lingering tones circled the roof beams for three days without fading, and locals thought she hadn't left. Later at an inn, when the keeper insulted her, Han E wailed with prolonged grief. The entire neighborhood—old and young—became so sorrowful they wept facing each other for three days without eating. People hurried to recall her. When Han E returned and sang joyful melodies, all the townsfolk danced with irrepressible delight."

These passages from the Liezi recount stories of extraordinary individuals from antiquity, demonstrating the Daoist ideal of "spiritual resonance" (zhiyin) and sublime artistry.

To this day, the people of Yongmen retain their skill in expressing sorrow through song, preserving the ancient melodies of Ehuang and Nüying (consorts of Emperor Shun). This illustrates the enduring power of musical transmission—how melancholic tunes can traverse time and space to move human hearts.

Bo Ya excelled at playing the zither, while Zhong Ziqi possessed remarkable discernment in listening. When Bo Ya played melodies evoking towering mountains, Zhong Ziqi would exclaim: "Magnificent! Lofty and majestic like Mount Tai!" When the music shifted to flowing water, he would sigh: "Sublime! Vast and mighty like the Yangtze!" Whatever conception occupied Bo Ya's mind, Zhong Ziqi grasped it perfectly. This "High Mountains Flowing Waters" anecdote became the classic exemplar of spiritual resonance between kindred souls.

Later, when Bo Ya encountered a torrential storm at the northern foothills of Mount Tai, he took shelter beneath a cliff and played his zither to dispel melancholy. He first composed melodies depicting relentless rain, then created music portraying collapsing mountains and splitting earth. With each performance, Zhong Ziqi comprehended the profound meaning completely. Bo Ya set aside his instrument and marveled: "Your discernment in listening is truly extraordinary! Your mind resonates perfectly with mine—before you, my music cannot conceal anything!"

When King Mu of Zhou traveled westward beyond the Kunlun Mountains to Mount Yan, he encountered the artisan Yanshi on his return journey. The king summoned him and inquired: "What exceptional abilities do you possess?" Yanshi replied: "Your Majesty may test me as you wish." This introduction sets the stage for the subsequent tale of Yanshi's marvelous mechanical creations.

The text comes from the "Tang Wen" chapter of Liezi, recording the story of the ingenious craftsman Yanshi creating a humanoid automaton during King Mu of Zhou's reign.

Yanshi said to King Mu of Zhou, "I have completed something and hope Your Majesty will take a look first." King Mu replied, "Bring it with you another day, and I will view it together with you."

The next day, Yanshi arrived with his creation. King Mu looked at the figure accompanying him and asked, "Who is this with you?" Yanshi answered, "This is an artificial person I have made, capable of singing and dancing." King Mu was astonished to see that the automaton walked, sat, and moved exactly like a real human.

The craftsmanship was truly marvelous—when its chin was pressed, it sang in perfect rhythm; when its arms were raised, it danced to the music, its movements changing endlessly at will. King Mu, believing it to be a real person, even summoned his favorite concubine Sheng Ji and the palace maidens to watch the performance.

Near the end of the show, the automaton suddenly winked flirtatiously at the king’s attendants. Enraged, King Mu ordered Yanshi executed on the spot. Terrified, Yanshi immediately dismantled the automaton to show the king—it turned out to be assembled entirely from leather, wood, glue, lacquer, and pigments. King Mu examined it closely and found that inside, it had artificial organs mimicking the heart, liver, and kidneys, while externally, it had simulated muscles, bones, and hair—everything was present in perfect imitation.

Once reassembled, the automaton returned to its original state. King Mu experimented by removing its "heart," and its mouth could no longer speak; when he took out its "liver," its eyes could no longer see; and when he removed its "kidneys," its legs could no longer walk. Only then did King Mu’s anger turn to delight, and he marveled, "Human ingenuity can truly rival the Creator’s work!"

(This story demonstrates the astonishing skill of ancient craftsmen while subtly embodying the Daoist concept of "the unity of Heaven and humanity," illustrating that artificial creations can emulate the workings of nature.)

The ruler of Lu sent two carriages to bring Yanshi and his wooden automaton to the palace.

Lu Ban (the legendary craftsman) invented the cloud ladder, and Mozi (founder of Mohism) crafted the wooden kite—both believed they had reached the pinnacle of skill. But when their disciples, Dongmen Gu and Qin Guli, heard of Yanshi’s (a fabled master artisan) exquisite craftsmanship and told their masters, the two great craftsmen never again boasted of their abilities for the rest of their lives, silently continuing their studies with compass and square in hand.

In ancient times, there was a divine archer named Gan Ying, whose mere drawing of the bow would cause beasts to fall and birds to drop from the sky. His disciple, Fei Wei, surpassed even his master in archery. Later, a man named Ji Chang came to study under Fei Wei. Fei Wei said, "First, you must learn not to blink—only then can we speak of archery."

Ji Chang returned home and lay beneath his wife’s loom, practicing by staring at the shuttle moving back and forth. After two years, even the point of an awl near his eye could not make him blink. When he reported this to Fei Wei, his master said, "Not enough. You must train your vision—learn to see the small as large, the faint as clear. Only then return to me."

So Ji Chang tied a louse to a window with an ox hair and faced south, staring at it daily. After ten days, the louse gradually appeared larger; after three years, it seemed as big as a cartwheel. When he looked at other things, they appeared like towering mountains. Then, using a bow made of Yan’s ox horn and arrows of northern reeds, he shot at the louse—the arrow pierced its center without breaking the ox hair. When Fei Wei heard this, he leaped for joy, pounding his chest and exclaiming, "Now you have truly grasped the essence of archery!"

Ji Chang had completely mastered the archery skills taught by Fei Wei (an ancient legendary archer). Considering himself peerless in the world except for Fei Wei alone, he conceived a murderous intent. When they met in the wilderness, they engaged in an archery duel. Their arrows collided midair and fell to the ground without even stirring dust.

Fei Wei exhausted his arrows first. When Ji Chang shot his final arrow, Fei Wei deftly deflected it using a thorn's sharp tip. Witnessing this, both men cast aside their bows and embraced tearfully by the roadside, swearing a father-son bond. They cut their arms to seal an oath, vowing never to transmit these peerless skills to outsiders.

Zao Fu (renowned ancient charioteer) studied under Master Tai Dou. During his initial apprenticeship, Zao Fu maintained utmost humility, yet Tai Dou withheld true instruction for three years. Only when Zao Fu demonstrated deeper reverence did the master say: "An ancient verse states: 'The bowmaker's son must first learn basket-weaving; the blacksmith's heir must begin with leather-stitching.' Observe my footwork—only when your steps match my stability can you handle six reins to command six steeds."

Zao Fu assented respectfully. Tai Dou then erected wooden stakes to form a narrow footpath barely accommodating one foot. Calculating each precise stride, he traversed effortlessly, dashing back and forth without misstep. Zao Fu mastered this technique completely within three days.

The master charioteer Taidou marveled: "How swiftly you've learned! You've grasped the essence with remarkable speed. Truly, the principles of charioteering mirror what you just demonstrated in walking."

He continued his instruction: "The art of charioteering lies in this: the reins and bit must work in perfect harmony, with the rhythm controlled through subtle lip commands. Your mind must judge with precision while your hands maintain perfect measure. When the inner Dao of charioteering is realized, your external movements will naturally align with the horses' nature."

"Thus when driving, your forward and backward movements will be straight as an inked line, your turns precise as a compass-drawn circle. No distance will feel arduous - this is true mastery of the charioteer's art."

"The essential method is this: sensations from the bit must translate to the reins, the reins' tension must flow to your hands, and your hands must obey your mind's command. Having attained this state, you need neither constant visual confirmation nor frequent whip use. With serene mind and upright posture, the six reins will be perfectly ordered, the twenty-four hooves (of six horses) striking with flawless coordination. Every turn, advance or retreat will be executed with perfect timing."

"At this level, your wheels will leave no extraneous tracks beyond their path, and your horses' hooves will occupy no unnecessary space. You'll no longer perceive the steepness of mountains nor the flatness of plains - all terrain becomes equal before your vision. I've now transmitted the complete charioteering art to you - guard this knowledge well!"

In the state of Wei, there lived a man named Hei Luan who had murdered Qiu Bingzhang over a personal grudge. Qiu's son, Lai Dan, was determined to avenge his father. Though burning with rage, Lai Dan was frail and undernourished—so weak he could barely eat and had to walk with the wind at his back. His fury outstripped his physical strength; he couldn't even lift weapons to exact vengeance. Ashamed to rely on others' help, he vowed to slay Hei Luan with his own sword.

Hei Luan, however, was a warrior of extraordinary might—his strength equal to a hundred men. His sinews, bones, and flesh were supernaturally tough: he could stretch out his neck for decapitation or bare his chest to arrows, yet the blades would chip and shatter without leaving a scratch. Confident in these abilities, he scorned Lai Dan as no more threatening than a hatchling fresh from its egg.

Lai Dan's friend Shen Ta, distressed by this injustice, confronted him: "Your hatred for Hei Luan runs deep, yet he treats you with utter contempt. What do you intend to do?" Weeping, Lai Dan replied, "I beg you to advise me." Shen Ta said, "I've heard that Kong Zhou of Wei possesses ancestral swords from the Shang dynasty—legend says even a child wielding them could rout armies. Why not seek his aid?"

Lai Dan journeyed to Wei and prostrated himself before Kong Zhou. After offering his wife and children as bond of sincerity, he stated his purpose. Kong Zhou responded, "I have three swords for your choosing. But know this first: none can kill men. Let me describe their natures."

The Liezi records three extraordinary swords. The first is named "Han Guang" (Contained Radiance). When observed, its form remains invisible; when wielded, its presence cannot be felt. Upon contact with objects, it seems to merge seamlessly into them, passing through without detection.

The second sword is called "Cheng Ying" (Bearing Shadows). At dawn or dusk, when facing north and gazing intently, one may faintly discern its ethereal silhouette, though its precise shape remains indistinct. When this blade touches an object, it emits a subtle sound, yet the struck object remains unharmed.

The third sword, "Xiao Lian" (Night Forge), appears as a mere shadow by day, its body unseen, while at night it glows with light yet reveals no tangible form. When it slices through an object, the wound heals instantly—though pain is felt, no blood is shed. These three swords have been passed down for thirteen generations but have never been truly used, remaining sealed in their scabbards.

Later, a man named Lai Dan insisted on borrowing the least extraordinary of the three. The sword's owner, Kong Zhou, instructed him to observe seven days of purification (Zhaijiao) before kneeling to receive the blade on an overcast day. Armed with the sword, Lai Dan sought to slay his enemy, Hei Luan. Seizing the moment when Hei Luan was drunk, he struck three blows—from neck to waist—yet Hei Luan showed no reaction. Believing his foe dead, Lai Dan fled in haste but encountered Hei Luan's son. He struck three more times, each blow landing as if through empty air.

Hei Luan's son merely laughed and said, "Why are you waving at me so foolishly?" Only then did Lai Dan realize these swords could not kill. With a sigh, he returned home.

When Black Egg awoke from his drunken stupor, he flew into a rage and scolded his wife: "While I was drunk, you left me to sleep outside—now my throat aches and my back is stiff as a board!" His son chimed in: "A few days ago, Lai Dan passed by our gate and waved at me three times in a row. Since then, my whole body has felt sore and my limbs rigid. Are the two of them cursing us?"

During King Mu of Zhou's large-scale campaign against the Western Rong tribes, the Rong people presented two treasures as tribute: a sword named Kunwu and a fire-washed cloth. The Kunwu sword measured about one foot and eight inches in length, forged from refined steel with a blade so sharp and crimson that it could slice through jade as easily as cutting mud. The fire-washed cloth had to be cleaned by tossing it into flames—the fabric would turn the color of fire while the stains reverted to the cloth's original hue. Once removed and shaken out, it became so dazzlingly white that one might mistake it for snow.

A royal prince, however, insisted that such treasures could not possibly exist in the world, dismissing those who spread such tales as fabricators of nonsense. Xiao Shu retorted: "Your Highness, your arrogance has led you to distort the truth!"