《列子》Vol. 8

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure), when studying under his teacher Huqiu Zilin, was told: "If you understand the principle of maintaining humility and yielding, then we may discuss the Dao of self-cultivation." When Liezi inquired about the meaning of "chihou" (maintaining humble retreat), his teacher had him observe his own shadow.

Liezi noticed that when his body bent, the shadow became crooked; when he stood upright, the shadow straightened. This demonstrated that the shadow's form depended entirely on the body's posture, just as life's fortunes stem from one's own actions rather than external forces. This embodies the wisdom of "appearing to yield while actually taking the initiative" — what seems like retreat is in fact maintaining control.

Guan Yin (a disciple of Laozi) further explained to Liezi: "Beautiful words produce pleasant echoes, harsh words create grating echoes; a tall figure casts a long shadow, a short figure casts a short one. Reputation is like an echo, conduct like a shadow. Therefore, speak with care and responses will naturally harmonize; act with prudence and followers will naturally gather." The sages could perceive inner essence through outward manifestations and foresee the future by examining the past — this explains their capacity for prescience.

While personal conduct originates within oneself, its validation lies in others' responses. When people treat me kindly, I naturally reciprocate with goodwill; when others show hostility, I inevitably respond in kind. Emperor Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou ruled as sage kings because they cherished their people, while Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang fell because they oppressed them — history provides the clearest testimony to this truth.

These passages from the Liezi expound fundamental principles for human conduct. The first section observes that acting contrary to the Dao is like trying to enter a house without using the door or walking without following a path—how can one expect to attain benefit this way?

The text then draws from historical wisdom: examining the virtuous conduct (De) of the Divine Farmer Emperor (Shennong) and the Flame Emperor (Yandi), studying the classical texts of Yu, Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, and evaluating the teachings of sages throughout history—in all cases, no nation that disregarded the Dao ever achieved prosperity or avoided destruction.

A man named Yan Hui once questioned: "Don't people seek the Dao just to attain wealth and status? If I can acquire riches through jewels, why would I need the Dao?" Liezi replied: "The tyrants Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang valued profit above righteousness—that's why they met their downfall. Frankly, it's fortunate I haven't lectured you more about the Dao."

The third passage criticizes those who abandon moral principles for mere physical gratification, comparing them to chickens and dogs. If might makes right and the strongest rules, how are we different from beasts? Yet such beast-like individuals still expect others' respect—an impossible demand. Without genuine respect, calamity and disgrace inevitably follow.

The final anecdote recounts Liezi's archery training. After hitting the bullseye, he sought guidance from Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure), who asked whether he understood why he succeeded. When Liezi admitted ignorance, Master Guan declared his skill insufficient. Only after three more years of dedicated practice did Liezi return to report his progress. This illustrates that true cultivation requires understanding the underlying principles, not just superficial technique.

Guan Yinzi (a Daoist figure) asked Liezi: "Do you know why you can hit the target?" Liezi replied: "I know." Guan Yinzi said: "Excellent. Preserve this principle and never lose it. This truth applies not only to archery, but also to governing a state and cultivating one's character. Therefore, the sage does not obsess over observing the superficial appearances of existence and demise, but investigates their fundamental laws."

Liezi continued: "Those brimming with vitality (Qi) tend to be arrogant; those with great strength tend to be domineering. Such people cannot yet comprehend the great Dao (the Way). Thus, those whose hair hasn't turned white while discussing the Dao—how much less can they practice it? Those who persist in domineering behavior will find no one to warn them. Without warnings, they'll be left isolated and unsupported."

The truly wise excel at employing people's talents. Therefore, they neither decline with age nor become confused when their intellect wanes. The greatest challenge in governing a state lies not in one's own wisdom, but in recognizing truly capable individuals.

In the Song state, an artisan spent three years carving a lifelike mulberry leaf from jade, with such intricate vein patterns that it became indistinguishable when placed among real leaves. He made his living in Song through this craft. Hearing this, Liezi remarked: "If Heaven and Earth took three years to produce a single leaf during creation, there would be very few leafy plants. Therefore, the sage relies on the natural Dao (the Way) to transform and nurture all things, rather than depending on clever techniques."

(Supplementary note: Through examples like archery, statecraft, and jade carving, this passage illustrates core Daoist principles of "following nature's course" and "governing through Wuwei (non-action)," emphasizing that grasping fundamental laws matters more than superficial skill.)

Liezi, a prominent Daoist figure, lived in poverty with a gaunt, hunger-stricken appearance. A visitor remarked to Ziyang, the prime minister of Zheng: "Lie Yukou (Liezi's given name) is a man who has attained the Dao. That such a worthy sage dwells in your state in such destitution might suggest you don't value men of virtue." Upon hearing this, Ziyang immediately sent an official to deliver grain to Liezi.

When Liezi met the messenger at his gate, he bowed respectfully but declined the gift. After the envoy departed, Liezi returned inside where his wife beat her chest in lament: "I've heard the families of Dao-realized men live in comfort. Here we endure hunger, yet when the prime minister sends provisions, my husband refuses them. Is this our fate?"

Liezi smiled and explained: "Ziyang doesn't truly know me. He sends grain because of another's words; tomorrow he might condemn me because of slander. That's why I couldn't accept." Later, when rebellion erupted in Zheng, Ziyang was indeed executed.

The Shi family of Lu had two sons—one devoted to scholarship, the other to military strategy. The scholar used his learning to advise the Marquis of Qi and was appointed tutor to the noble heirs; the strategist went to Chu where his military counsel pleased the king, who made him Army Rectifier (military judge). Both brought honor to their family, and their parents shared in their glory.

The Shi family had a neighbor named Meng. Both families had two sons who had learned the same skills, yet the Mengs were so poor they could barely put food on the table. Envious of the Shis' wealth, the Mengs went to ask for the secret of their success. The Shi brothers honestly shared their own story of how they rose to prosperity.

The elder Meng son went to the state of Qin, advocating benevolent governance to the king. But the king replied, "These days, all states compete through military might. What matters most are soldiers, horses, and provisions. For you to advise me to rule with benevolence would be courting destruction." He had the young man castrated and expelled.

The younger Meng son went to the state of Wei, promoting legalist policies to strengthen the state. But the Marquis of Wei said, "Our Wei is small, wedged between greater powers. To survive, we must submit to the strong and pacify the weak—that is how we maintain peace. If we pursued military dominance and stratagems, our downfall would be imminent. If I let you leave unharmed to serve another state, wouldn't that bring trouble to my doorstep?" So he had the boy's feet cut off and sent him back to Lu.

When the two crippled brothers returned home, the Meng family beat their chests in anguish, blaming the Shis for deceiving them. The Shis explained, "Seize the right moment, and you thrive; miss it, and you suffer. What you learned was the same as us, yet the results were worlds apart—not because the methods were wrong, but because the timing wasn’t right."

No principle in this world is eternally correct, nor is any approach forever wrong. What worked yesterday may be obsolete today; what’s discarded now may prove useful again in the future. Success depends entirely on whether it aligns with the needs of the time.

What is discarded today may prove useful tomorrow. The value of usefulness or uselessness has no fixed standard.

Seizing the opportune moment and adapting to circumstances, handling affairs without rigid adherence to fixed methods—this is true wisdom. Without such wisdom, even with Confucius' erudition or Jiang Ziya's strategic brilliance, one would meet obstacles everywhere. Hearing this, the Meng father and son suddenly saw the light, their anger dissipated, saying: "We understand now—no need to explain further."

When Duke Wen of Jin prepared to ally with feudal lords to attack Wei, his son Chu looked up and laughed heartily. Asked why, Chu replied: "I laughed at my neighbor who escorted his wife back to her parents' home. On the way, he flirted with a mulberry-picking maiden, only to turn and find another man seducing his own wife. The irony amused me." The Duke grasped the implied warning and halted the expedition. Before his troops could return, Jin's northern borders were already under attack.

Banditry plagued Jin. A man named Xi Yong could identify thieves by observing their facial expressions, particularly the look in their eyes. When the Marquis of Jin employed him to capture thieves, not one escaped. Delighted, the Marquis told Zhao Wenzi: "With this single man, I can rid the entire state of bandits—why employ multitudes?"

This passage contains three stories, which I will explain separately:

The first story tells how the ruler of Jin relied on Xi Yong's investigative skills to catch thieves, yet the thieves kept multiplying. Wenzi predicted Xi Yong would meet a bad end, and sure enough, the thieves banded together to kill him. When the Jin ruler asked Wenzi what to do, Wenzi quoted a Zhou dynasty proverb: "Seeing fish in deep waters brings misfortune; discerning others' secrets invites calamity." He advised the ruler to employ virtuous officials to promote moral education, making people understand shame - then thieves would naturally disappear. After appointing the worthy minister Sui Hui as advised, all the thieves fled to Qin.

The second story describes Confucius returning from Wei to Lu, where he saw a 30-ren (about 54m) waterfall creating a 90-li whirlpool so treacherous even fish, turtles, and crocodiles couldn't survive. Yet a man prepared to cross. Confucius sent someone to warn him of the danger, but the man disregarded this and successfully crossed. Confucius then asked: "Did you accomplish this through skill or through Daoist cultivation (special spiritual methods)?"

These stories collectively illustrate that forceful measures prove inferior to moral transformation, while true masters often possess cultivation methods beyond ordinary comprehension.

This dialogue conveys principles for navigating human relationships. A skilled swimmer explains to Confucius the secret of moving effortlessly through turbulent waters: when entering the water, he maintains zhongxin (loyalty and sincerity), and when exiting, he preserves the same integrity. This complete devotion allows his body to flow with the currents, free from selfish thoughts, ensuring safe passage both ways.

Confucius uses this lesson to instruct his disciples: if even water responds to sincere devotion, how much more should we apply this principle in human interactions? This illustrates that authenticity is the foundation of virtuous conduct.

Later, Duke Bai (a minister of Chu) asks Confucius: "Can one share secret words with others?" Confucius remains silent. The Duke presses further with metaphors: What if one throws a stone into water? Confucius replies that expert divers from Wu could retrieve it. What if one pours water into water? Even if mixing the distinct flavors of the Zi and Sheng rivers, the master chef Yi Ya could discern the difference.

The Duke persists: Is it truly impossible to confide in others? Confucius responds: It's not impossible, but one must find those who truly understand. Those who genuinely comprehend need no verbal explanations—just as fishermen accept wet clothes and hunters must run swiftly, not because they enjoy it but because it's necessary. Thus, the highest form of speech transcends words, and the most effective action follows natural flow. Those with shallow understanding quarrel over trivialities. Ultimately, Duke Bai fails to grasp this wisdom and later meets misfortune in his bathhouse.

Through metaphors of swimming and culinary arts, the text teaches that authenticity and naturalness are essential in human conduct. True communication lies not in superficial words but in mutual understanding. Those fixated on surface-level disputes often miss what truly matters.

When Lord Xiang of Zhao dispatched Xinzhi Muzi to attack the State of Di, achieving victory by capturing the two cities of Zuoren and Zhongren, his attendants found him frowning during a meal as the battlefield report arrived. Puzzled, they asked: "Taking two cities in a single day is cause for celebration—why does my lord appear troubled instead?"

Lord Xiang explained: "Even the greatest river flood recedes within three days; violent storms never last a full day, nor does the midday sun linger at its zenith. Our Zhao clan's accumulated De (Virtue/Power) remains shallow, yet we've suddenly seized two cities in one day—this surely heralds impending calamity." When Confucius heard of this incident, he remarked: "The Zhao lineage shall prosper indeed! For understanding anxiety is the seed of flourishing, while mindless joy signals the omen of decline."

Confucius elaborated further: "Achieving victory isn't difficult—preserving it is the true challenge. A wise ruler maintains triumph through vigilant apprehension, thereby extending blessings to future generations. Though the states of Qi, Chu, Wu and Yue all tasted victory, their eventual destruction came from not knowing how to sustain it. Only sovereigns thoroughly versed in the Dao of governance can truly safeguard their triumphs."

The text cites two illustrative examples: Confucius possessed strength sufficient to lift a city gate's massive bar, yet never became renowned for martial prowess; Mozi mastered defensive tactics so thoroughly that even the legendary craftsman Gongshu Ban admired him, yet he never boasted of military skill. This demonstrates that those truly adept at preserving victory invariably manifest their strength through apparent softness.

In the state of Song, there was a family renowned for generations of virtuous conduct, upholding benevolence and righteousness for three consecutive generations. One day, their black ox unexpectedly gave birth to a white calf, which the family found peculiar. They sought counsel from Confucius, who said, "This is an auspicious sign. You may use it to make an offering to Heaven."

A year later, the head of the household suddenly and inexplicably lost his sight. Soon after, the black ox bore another white calf. The father again sent his son to consult Confucius. Hesitant, the son said, "After we consulted him last time, you lost your sight. Why ask again?" The father replied, "The words of sages often appear inauspicious at first but later prove fortunate. The matter is not yet concluded—we should still seek his guidance."

Once more, Confucius affirmed, "This is an auspicious sign," and repeated his advice to use the calf for sacrifice. The son relayed this to his father, who said, "Let us follow Confucius’ counsel." Another year passed, and the son, too, lost his sight without cause.

Later, when the state of Chu attacked Song and laid siege to its capital, the city’s inhabitants were reduced to such desperation that they exchanged children for food and used human bones as fuel. All able-bodied men were conscripted to defend the walls, and most perished. Only this family, with both father and son blind, was spared from conscription and the horrors of war. When the siege was finally lifted, miraculously, both men regained their sight.

(Another tale) In Song, there was a street performer named Lanzi, who sought an audience with Lord Yuan of Song to showcase his skills. His act involved walking on stilts twice his height while simultaneously juggling seven swords.

The Liezi records several intriguing anecdotes:

There was once an acrobat who could juggle seven swords by clamping them between his legs while keeping five perpetually suspended in midair. When Lord Yuan of Song witnessed this feat, he was utterly astonished and immediately rewarded the performer with gold, silver, and fine silks. Later, another entertainer who specialized in juggling heard about this incident and likewise went to demonstrate his skills before Lord Yuan. Unexpectedly, the ruler became furious, declaring: "The previous performer merely caught me in a generous mood—you've clearly come seeking rewards after hearing about this!" He had the man arrested and sentenced to death, though he was released after a month's imprisonment.

Another story tells how Duke Mu of Qin asked the horse expert Bole: "You're growing old—does your family still possess anyone capable of judging horses?" Bole replied: "Good horses can be identified by their physical form and bone structure, but recognizing a peerless thousand-mile steed requires superior discernment—such horses run so swiftly that not even dust can keep pace with them. My sons have mediocre talent and can only identify ordinary fine horses. However, I have a firewood-gathering companion named Jiufang Gao whose skill in judging horses equals my own." Duke Mu thereupon summoned Jiufang Gao and dispatched him to find such a horse. Three months later, Jiufang Gao returned to report he'd found a yellow mare at Shaqiu.

Duke Mu of Qin sent someone to fetch a horse, but the man returned with a black stallion. Duke Mu was displeased. He summoned Bo Le, the expert judge of horses, and said, “This is hopeless! The person you sent to find a horse cannot even tell its color or whether it is male or female. How can he claim any skill at judging horses?”

Bo Le sighed deeply and said, “So it has reached this level! This is precisely where he surpasses me by countless times. When Jiu Fang Gao, my disciple, judges a horse, he looks to the workings of Heaven—that is, to the thing’s true nature. He grasps its essence and overlooks its outward appearance; he focuses on what is within and forgets its shape. He sees only what matters and disregards what is irrelevant. The art of judging horses that Jiu Fang Gao possesses is more precious than the skill of judging horses itself.” When the horse was brought to Duke Mu, it proved to be a rare steed capable of traveling a thousand li in a day.

King Zhuang of Chu asked Zhan He, a Daoist hermit, “How should I govern the state?” Zhan He replied, “I know only how to cultivate myself and nurture my nature; I do not know the art of governing a state.” The king said, “I inherited the legacy of my ancestors and want to learn how to protect the realm.” Zhan He answered, “I have never heard of a ruler who cultivated himself and kept his mind clear while the state was in disorder. Nor have I seen a ruler whose mind and body were in turmoil while the state enjoyed peace. The root lies in self-cultivation, so I dare not answer you with minor details.” The king said, “Well said.”

An elder from Huqiu (a place name) once said to Sunshu Ao, the renowned chancellor of Chu: "There are three situations that incur people's resentment—do you know them?" Sunshu Ao asked for clarification, and the elder explained: "Excessively high nobility invites jealousy, overly great office arouses the ruler's suspicion, and too generous emoluments provoke widespread resentment."

Sunshu Ao replied: "My approach is this: the higher my rank, the more humble my bearing; the greater my office, the more cautious my conduct; the richer my stipend, the broader my generosity. By these means to avert the three resentments—would this suffice?"

Later, when Sunshu Ao lay gravely ill and near death, he specifically warned his son: "The King of Chu has repeatedly tried to bestow honors upon me, which I always declined. After my death, the king will surely confer favors upon you. Remember—never accept fertile lands! At the border between Chu and Yue there's a place called Qinqiu (literally 'Corpse-Resting Hill'), with barren soil and an inauspicious name. The people of Chu believe in ghosts and spirits, while those of Yue practice divination—both consider this place taboo. Only such undesirable territory can be preserved across generations."

After Sunshu Ao's death, the King of Chu indeed attempted to grant his son rich lands. Following his father's final instructions, the son steadfastly declined fertile fiefs and instead requested the poor lands of Qinqiu. Consequently, this territory remained in their family for generations, never reclaimed by the state.

Another tale tells of Niu Que, a celebrated Confucian scholar from Shangdi region. While traveling to Handan, he encountered bandits at Ousha who robbed him of all possessions—clothes, carriage and horses. Yet Niu Que walked away unperturbed, showing no concern.

This man appeared exceedingly joyful, his face completely devoid of any trace of sorrow or fear. The bandits found this most peculiar and pursued him to ask the reason.

He replied, "A true gentleman would never harm his intrinsic nature for the sake of external possessions." Hearing this, the bandits sighed in admiration, exclaiming, "Ah! This man's spiritual attainment is truly lofty!" However, after discussing among themselves, they said, "A man of such wisdom, if he were to meet the ruler of Zhao and reveal our deeds, would surely bring us great trouble. It would be better to kill him." So they chased him down and slew him.

When the people of Yan heard of this incident, the entire clan warned one another, saying, "If you encounter bandits, never behave like that man from Shangdi named Niu Que!" Everyone took this lesson to heart. Not long after, Niu Que’s younger brother traveled to Qin and, upon reaching the city gates, encountered bandits. Remembering his brother’s fate, he desperately resisted them. When he found himself overpowered, he then chased after them, pleading humbly for the return of his belongings.

Furious, the bandits said, "We spared your life out of mercy, yet you persist in pursuit—this will expose our whereabouts. Since we are bandits, why should we care for benevolence and virtue?" So they killed him, along with four or five of his companions.

There was also a wealthy man of the Yu family, a great magnate of Liang, whose home overflowed with gold and silver, his wealth beyond reckoning. He often ascended his high tower with his attendants, feasting and drinking by the street-side, amusing himself with games of Liubo. Groups of wandering swordsmen frequently passed beneath the tower. One day, as the players above cast their dice and won the game, they flipped over two fish-shaped tokens and laughed triumphantly.

(Note: These three stories illustrate the Daoist principle of "not harming one's intrinsic nature for external things." In the first, Niu Que is killed for his transcendent demeanor; in the second, his brother is slain for both resistance and supplication; and the third introduces the Yu family’s ostentatious wealth, foreshadowing calamity—together demonstrating how excessive attachment to material things or deliberate displays inevitably invite misfortune.)

A putrid rat dropped by a flying eagle happened to hit a wandering swordsman. The group of swordsmen discussed among themselves: "The Yu family (local wealthy clan) has long lived in luxury and pleasure, yet always looked down upon others. Though we never provoked them, they insult us with this rotten rat. If we don't retaliate, how can we maintain our standing in the martial world? Let's unite and gather our forces to exterminate the entire Yu household." All agreed.

On the appointed night, the swordsmen assembled their forces and attacked the Yu residence with weapons, slaughtering every last member of the family.

In the eastern regions lived a man named Yuan Jingmu who collapsed from hunger by the roadside during his travels. A bandit named Qiu from Hufu saw him and offered food from his own provisions. After swallowing three mouthfuls, Yuan regained enough strength to open his eyes and asked, "What do you do for living?" The man replied, "I am Qiu of Hufu." Yuan suddenly exclaimed, "Ah! Aren't you that notorious bandit? Why are you feeding me? I adhere to moral principles and would never accept food from a thief!" He tried to vomit by pressing his hands against the ground, but couldn't expel the food. Eventually, he coughed up blood and died on the spot.

The commentator observes: While Qiu of Hufu was indeed a bandit, the food he offered wasn't stolen property. To reject sustenance simply because the giver was a thief represents a confusion between reputation and substance.

(Note: These two contrasting stories illustrate extreme behavioral patterns. The first shows brutality in exterminating a family over a trivial matter, while the second demonstrates rigid adherence to principle leading to starvation. Both serve as warnings about the importance of balanced judgment in human affairs.)

Zhu Lishu (an ancient recluse) originally served under Lord Ao of Ju, but feeling unrecognized, he left to live in seclusion by the sea. In summer, he sustained himself on water chestnuts, and in winter, he survived on acorns. Later, when Lord Ao of Ju faced peril, Zhu Lishu bid farewell to his friends and went to die for him.

His friends tried to dissuade him: "You left because you felt the ruler didn’t understand you, yet now you go to die for him—isn’t this contradictory?" Zhu Lishu replied, "Not at all. I left because he failed to recognize my worth, and now my death will prove precisely that. I will use my life to warn future rulers who fail to understand their subjects."

(This story illustrates that a truly upright person does not alter their principles based on whether a ruler recognizes their worth. Zhu Lishu employs an extreme act to express his unwavering commitment to the ideal of "reciprocity for recognition," using death to critique the ruler’s lack of discernment.)

Yang Zhu (a Warring States philosopher) said, "To benefit others invites gratitude, while to harm them invites retribution. Actions inevitably bring consequences—thus, the wise are cautious in speech and conduct."

Once, Yang Zhu’s neighbor lost a sheep and mobilized not only his entire household but also Yang Zhu’s servants to search for it. Yang Zhu found this odd: "Why such a large effort for one lost sheep?" The neighbor explained, "Because the paths branch too widely." When the searchers returned, Yang Zhu asked, "Did you find the sheep?"

(This parable conveys two lessons: ① the principle of cause and effect, and ② the importance of focusing on what truly matters—just as searching for a sheep across countless branching paths proves futile without the right approach. Yang Zhu uses this to expound his philosophy of "valuing the self," advocating for actions that yield practical results.)

A man said, "I have already lost my way."

Someone asked him, "How did you get lost?"

He replied, "There were forks within forks in the road—I simply couldn't tell which path to take, so I had to turn back the way I came."

When Yang Zhu (a Warring States period philosopher) heard this, his face darkened with sorrow. For a long time he remained silent, and throughout the entire day he wore no smile. His disciples found this strange and asked, "Sheep are but lowly livestock, and these weren't even yours, Master. Why should they affect your mood so?" Yang Zhu gave no reply.

The disciples couldn't fathom their teacher's meaning. One disciple named Meng Sunyang later recounted the incident to Xinduzi. Several days afterwards, Xinduzi and Meng Sunyang went together to see Yang Zhu and asked: "Long ago there were three brothers who traveled to study in the lands of Qi and Lu, learning the Dao of humaneness and righteousness from the same teacher. When they returned home after completing their studies, their father asked them: 'What exactly is this Dao of humaneness and righteousness?'"

"The eldest son said: 'Humaneness and righteousness have taught me to cherish life, placing reputation second.' The middle son said: 'Humaneness and righteousness enable me to sacrifice my life to achieve fame.' The youngest son said: 'Humaneness and righteousness allow me to both preserve my life and gain reputation.' These three statements completely contradict each other, yet all derive from Confucian teachings. Which one is correct?"

Yang Zhu replied: "This is like people who live by a river—they understand water's nature and are skilled swimmers, making their living by operating ferry boats, with earnings sufficient to support a hundred mouths.

The Liezi records several thought-provoking stories:

In one place, many people carried provisions to learn swimming, yet nearly half of them drowned. They had gone to learn swimming, not drowning, but the outcome was so different. This makes one ponder: which approach was truly correct? Xinduzi (a person's name) listened in silence and then left. Mengsunyang (another person's name) reproached him, saying, "Your question was too pedantic, and the teacher's answer was too biased—now I'm even more confused."

Later, Xinduzi explained: "A broad road with many forks makes it easy to lose sheep; seekers of knowledge, faced with too many methods, end up losing their way in life. The root of learning is neither different nor inconsistent, yet the specific methods vary so greatly. Only by returning to the root and unifying the principles can one avoid going astray. You've studied with the master for years, yet failed to grasp the true meaning of his analogy—how lamentable!"

Another story tells of Yang Zhu (a representative Daoist figure) and his younger brother Yang Bu. Yang Bu went out wearing white clothes but encountered rain, so he returned home in black. His dog didn't recognize him and barked furiously. Yang Bu grew angry and was about to beat the dog, but Yang Zhu advised him: "Don't strike it—you'd do the same. If your dog had gone out white and come back black, wouldn't you find it strange?"

Yang Zhu also said: "Doing good isn't for fame, yet fame naturally follows; fame isn't tied to profit, yet profit naturally gathers; profit doesn't invite conflict, yet conflict naturally arises. Thus, when a noble person does good, they must be cautious." These stories all remind us: act according to the root, don't be misled by appearances; when changing outward forms, consider others' perceptions; and do good sincerely, not for the sake of reward.

There was once a man who claimed to know the method of immortality, so the ruler of Yan sent an envoy to learn it. Before the technique could be mastered, the self-proclaimed immortal himself died. The furious Yan ruler prepared to execute the envoy.

A favored minister advised: "What people fear most is death, and what they value most is life. Since this man who claimed to know immortality couldn't even preserve his own life, how could he make you deathless?" The ruler then spared the envoy.

A man named Qi Zi also sought the art of immortality. When he heard the teacher had died, he beat his chest in frustration. Hearing this, Fu Zi laughed at him: "You wanted to learn immortality, yet the teacher himself died—why lament when you don't understand the essence of learning?"

But Hu Zi disagreed: "Fu Zi is mistaken. In this world, some know methods but can't practice them, while others can practice without understanding. In Wei, there was a master calculator who revealed his secrets to his son on his deathbed. The son memorized the words but couldn't apply them. When others inquired, the son repeated his father's teachings, and those who practiced accordingly achieved the same results. So why couldn't a deceased person transmit immortality techniques?"

On New Year's Day, the people of Handan presented turtledoves to Jian Zi, who rewarded them generously. When asked why, Jian Zi explained: "Releasing life on the first day of the year demonstrates benevolence and virtue."

A guest said to Lord Jian: "When the people learned of your intention to release captured animals, they competed to hunt them in order to gain your favor—resulting in even more creatures being killed. If you truly wish to protect living beings, it would be better to simply forbid hunting. This practice of capturing first and releasing later causes far greater harm than any perceived virtue." Lord Jian acknowledged the wisdom in these words.

The Tian clan, nobles of Qi, held a grand ancestral feast in their courtyard attended by thousands of guests. When fish and wild geese were presented as offerings, Lord Tian gazed at the sacrifices and sighed: "How generously Heaven treats humankind! It grows the Five Grains and nurtures fish and fowl—all for our enjoyment." The assembled guests echoed his sentiment like reverberating voices.

Then a twelve-year-old boy from the Bao family, seated at the humblest place, rose and said: "You speak wrongly. All beings between Heaven and Earth share equal life with humans—none are intrinsically noble or base. The food chain exists only because creatures restrain one another through differences in size and wisdom—not because Heaven specially created these as human provisions. Consider how humans eat what is edible—does that mean these things were born to serve us? By that logic, when mosquitoes bite people or tigers devour flesh, could we claim humans were made for mosquitoes or meat created for tigers?"

In Qi there lived a poor man who often begged in the city. The townspeople, annoyed by his frequent visits, gradually stopped giving alms. Eventually he had to seek work at the Tian family's stables, tending horses for the veterinarian in exchange for food.

Someone in the city mocked a beggar, saying: "You follow the horse doctor (veterinarian) for meals—aren't you ashamed?" The beggar replied: "The most shameful thing under heaven is begging. If I feel no shame in begging, what disgrace is there in eating with a horse doctor?"

In the state of Song, a man idling on the road picked up a lost contract (IOU) someone had dropped. He took it home and secretly hid it, carefully counting the notches on the document. Proudly, he told his neighbor: "My days of wealth are not far off."

A family had a withered phoenix tree in their yard. An old neighbor remarked that dead phoenix trees bring bad luck, so the family hastily chopped it down. Later, when the old neighbor came asking for firewood, the homeowner suddenly realized: "So this old man tricked me into cutting the tree just to get firewood! For a neighbor to be so deceitful—how can this be tolerated?"

A man lost his axe and suspected his neighbor's son had stolen it. To his eyes, the boy walked like a thief, looked like a thief, spoke like a thief—every movement seemed guilty. Later, when he found the axe in a valley, he looked at the neighbor's son again and saw nothing resembling a thief.

Bai Gong Sheng (a noble of Chu) spent his days plotting rebellion. Once, after court, he stood blankly, holding his cane upside-down until its tip pierced his own chin. Blood flowed to the ground unnoticed. When people of Zheng heard this, they remarked: "If he forgets even his own chin, what wouldn't he forget?" When one becomes excessively fixated, they may trip over tree stumps or bump their head against trunks without realizing it.

In the state of Qi, there was a man utterly obsessed with gold. One morning, he dressed formally in his hat and robes and went to the marketplace. Spotting a gold vendor, he immediately grabbed some gold and fled. When the constables caught him, they demanded: "With so many people present, how dare you openly steal gold?" The man replied: "When I took the gold, my eyes saw no people—only gold."

(This parable employs hyperbole to satirize those blinded by greed. Like the modern saying "profit confounds wisdom," when people become excessively fixated on something, they lose rational judgment and even fail to perceive obvious dangers. The "gold" in the story symbolizes all external attachments that consume one's awareness—precisely the kind of grasping mind Daoist cultivation teaches practitioners to transcend.)