《列子》Vol. 8

When Liezi sought teachings from Master Huqiu Zilin (a Daoist recluse), the master told him: "If you comprehend the true essence of maintaining the way of humble retreat, you may then discuss self-cultivation." When Liezi inquired about how to "hold back" (maintain humble retreat), Master Huqiu Zilin used the metaphor of a shadow: When you look back at your shadow, it slants when your body bends and straightens when your posture is upright. This demonstrates that the shadow's form depends on the body's posture, not the shadow itself—just as in life one must adapt to external changes while retaining personal agency. This embodies the wisdom of "appearing to yield while actually leading"—by not contending with all things, one naturally assumes the foremost position.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist adept) further explained to Liezi: "Gracious words bring harmonious echoes, just as harsh words provoke discordant ones; a tall figure casts a long shadow, while a short one casts a brief shadow. Reputation is like an echo, and virtue (De) like a shadow." Thus, he said: "Guard your speech, and resonance will follow; mind your actions, and others will emulate." Sages foresee consequences by observing the impact of words and deeds—just as one predicts a shadow's movement by watching the object that casts it. This is the principle behind their foresight.

Personal cultivation is like tailoring a garment to fit, while its efficacy is measured by others' responses—kindness begets kindness, just as aversion invites dislike. Kings Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou ruled through benevolence, while Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang fell through tyranny. These are clear proofs. To understand such principles yet fail to practice them is as absurd as leaving a house without using the door or walking a path without following its course.

This passage illustrates the dangers of pursuing profit without adhering to moral principles through several stories. The virtue (De) of Shennong (the legendary progenitor of agriculture and medicine) and successive sage-kings, along with classical records, all demonstrate one truth: from ancient times to the present, no endeavor that violates the true Dao has ever prospered permanently.

A man named Yan Hui once asked: "Don’t people study the Dao just to become wealthy? Now that I’ve obtained precious pearls and grown rich, why should I bother learning the Dao?" Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) responded: The downfall of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang occurred precisely because they prioritized profit over the Dao. If a person cares only for food, drink, and material gain, how is he any different from chickens, dogs, or beasts? Those who rely on brute force to prevail—like wild animals fighting—may win temporarily but will never earn others’ respect. Without respect, calamity inevitably follows.

The text then uses Liezi’s archery training to emphasize the importance of "knowing the underlying principle." At first, Liezi could hit the bullseye but didn’t understand why. Only after three years of practice did he grasp the true method. Master Guan Yinzi (a Daoist adept) told him: Once you comprehend the principle, you must firmly preserve this foundation. It’s like maintaining inner balance and harmony—when the mind is centered, one naturally perceives the essence of things.

This passage expounds principles of governing a state, cultivating oneself, and conducting one's affairs. It begins with an archery metaphor: Hitting the target without understanding why one succeeded doesn't constitute true mastery of archery. Similarly, living without comprehending the reason for one's existence means failing to grasp the true Way of life. Real wisdom lies in understanding the underlying principles.

The text then observes that those with handsome features tend toward arrogance, while the physically strong often rely on brute force—such individuals struggle to comprehend the Dao (the fundamental laws and truths). By the time one's hair turns gray, the opportunity to learn the Dao has often passed, let alone putting it into practice. Those who are self-righteous find no one willing to advise them, ultimately leaving them isolated. The wise excel at employing others' talents, allowing them to remain clear-minded in old age and avoiding confusion even as their intellect declines. The true challenge in governing lies not in considering oneself virtuous, but in recognizing true worth in others.

The passage then recounts the story of a Song Dynasty artisan who spent three years carving a lifelike mulberry leaf from jade, achieving such perfection that it was indistinguishable from the real thing—earning him great wealth. Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) remarked: "If Heaven and Earth took three years to produce a single leaf, there would be very few leafy plants in the world." This illustrates that sages rely on the transformative power of the Dao (道化) to nurture all things, rather than depending on clever artifice.

Finally, the text mentions Liezi living in poverty, prompting someone to recommend him—a man of the Dao—to Ziyang, the prime minister of Zheng, implying that those who embody the Dao should not be left unrecognized. The entire passage emphasizes grasping the essential laws of existence, rejecting ostentatious skill and obstinate self-reliance, while advocating for governance and conduct that aligns with nature and wisely employs the capable.

When Ziyang, a high minister of Zheng, heard that Liezi was a man of Dao (the Way), he sent him provisions. Liezi came out to meet the messenger, bowed respectfully but declined the gift. After the messenger left, Liezi's wife beat her breast in frustration, saying: "I've heard the families of Dao cultivators live comfortably, yet here we starve. When someone sends provisions, you refuse them—is this fate?" Liezi explained: "Ziyang doesn't truly know me—he acts only on hearsay. Should he later listen to slander against me, he'd condemn me just as casually. That's why I declined." Later, rebellion indeed broke out in Zheng, and Ziyang was executed.

The Shi family of Lu had two sons: one devoted to scholarship, the other to military strategy. The scholar used statecraft to serve the Marquis of Qi, becoming tutor to the nobility; the strategist advised the King of Chu on warfare and was made Commandant. Their household prospered. Their neighbors, the Meng family, also had two sons pursuing the same paths but remained destitute. They asked the Shis for advice. The elder Meng son preached benevolent governance to the King of Qin, who replied: "In this age of rival states, only arms and provisions matter. Governing through virtue invites ruin." He had the man castrated and exiled. The younger Meng son offered military counsel to the Marquis of Wei, who said: "We're a small state between powers. Survival requires serving the strong and pacifying the weak—relying on force hastens destruction. Sending you away would endanger others." He amputated the youth's feet and returned him to Lu.

The Meng family cursed the Shis upon their return. The Shis responded: "Success follows timely opportunities, failure untimely ones. Your methods matched ours, but outcomes differed because you misjudged the moment. No principle remains eternally valid—what worked before may fail now, what's discarded today may prove useful tomorrow. Everything depends on aligning with circumstance."

This passage illustrates through several stories how excessive reliance on cunning intelligence can bring about misfortune.

The first story tells of Duke Wen of Jin preparing to attack the state of Wei when his minister, Chutou, looked up at the sky and burst into laughter. When the duke asked why, Chutou recounted a tale: A man was escorting his wife back to her parents' home when he spotted a woman picking mulberries and went to flirt with her. Turning back, he found someone else attempting to seduce his own wife. Realizing the lesson—that while he plotted against others, others might also plot against him—Duke Wen withdrew his troops. Sure enough, before he even returned, the northern borders of Jin were attacked. This shows that when you scheme against others, others may be scheming against you.

The second story describes rampant banditry in Jin. A man named Xi Yong could identify thieves simply by observing their facial features. The ruler of Jin was delighted, believing Xi Yong could eliminate all thieves. But the minister Zhao Wenzi pointed out: Relying on such clever tricks would only make the thieves craftier, and Xi Yong would surely meet a bad end. Indeed, the bandits conspired and killed Xi Yong. Zhao Wenzi quoted a proverb: "Seeing fish in deep waters is unlucky; uncovering others' secrets invites disaster." He advised the ruler to employ virtuous men to educate the people and cultivate a sense of shame—this was the true solution. Later, when the ruler appointed Sui Hui to govern, the thieves all fled to the state of Qin.

These stories demonstrate that governing solely through petty cleverness and manipulation is like using a torch to illuminate a deep abyss—while it may reveal things momentarily, it ultimately invites calamity. True wisdom lies in promoting moral education so that the people naturally incline toward goodness. Much like how today, some seek to solve problems through surveillance and denunciation, only to achieve the opposite effect.

When Confucius was returning from Wei to Lu, he stopped to rest by a river bridge. There he saw a waterfall thirty ren high (about 54 meters), with swirling currents extending ninety li where even fish and turtles couldn't swim, and crocodiles couldn't dwell. A man was about to ford the river, so Confucius immediately sent someone along the bank to warn him: "This waterfall is thirty ren high with whirlpools spanning ninety li - even aquatic creatures can't pass through it. Crossing would be extremely dangerous!"

The man paid no heed, forded the river safely, and returned. Amazed, Confucius asked: "How remarkable! Do you have some special technique? How can you traverse this so freely?" The man replied: "When entering the water, I hold fast to loyalty and trustworthiness; when emerging, I maintain the same integrity. This sincerity carries my body through the rapids - I dare not harbor any selfish thoughts. This is how I safely come and go." Confucius told his disciples: "Remember this - if even turbulent waters respond to sincere devotion, how much more should this apply in human relations?"

Another story tells how Duke Bai of Chu secretly asked Confucius: "Can one conspire with others about important matters?" Confucius remained silent. Duke Bai pressed: "What if one throws a stone into water?" Confucius said: "Expert divers from Wu could retrieve it." (Implying secrets eventually surface) Duke Bai continued: "What if one pours water into water?" Confucius replied: "Like mixing the Zi and Min rivers (whose waters taste distinct) - only Yi Ya (the legendary chef) could distinguish them." (Suggesting even the most concealed plots can't escape perceptive observers)

Both parables illustrate how one should conduct oneself with openness and establish one's character through integrity. The first uses river crossing as a metaphor for life's perils, emphasizing loyalty and trust as fundamental virtues. The second, through the imagery of conspiracy, reveals how all hidden matters ultimately come to light.

Lord Bai (a senior official of the Chu state during the Spring and Autumn period) once asked Confucius: "Is it truly impossible to discuss subtle truths with ordinary people?" Confucius replied: "Why not? But only those who truly comprehend the essence of words can engage in such discourse." Those who understand the essence of language do not rely on words themselves to convey meaning (for the subtle truth is lost once expressed in language). Just as fishermen inevitably wet their clothes, and hunters must run swiftly in pursuit of game—not because they enjoy doing so, but because such is the natural course of things. Thus the highest form of speech transcends words (the truth becomes self-evident), and the highest form of action follows the principle of Wuwei (non-action, allowing all things to accomplish themselves naturally). What narrow-minded people quarrel over are but trivial details. In the end, Lord Bai failed to grasp the true meaning of Confucius' words and met his demise in the bathhouse.

When Lord Xiang of Zhao dispatched his retainer Xinzhi Muzi to attack the Di tribes (northern ethnic groups), capturing the cities of Zuoren and Zhongren in a single day, the victory report arrived as he was dining. Yet his countenance showed concern. Attendants asked in puzzlement: "Conquering two cities in one day should bring joy—why does my lord appear troubled?" Xiangzi responded: "River floods last no more than three days; fierce storms don't persist beyond dawn; the midday sun cannot linger at its zenith (for the natural law dictates that extremes inevitably revert). Our Zhao house has insufficient accumulation of De (Virtue/Power), yet we achieve successive victories—I fear calamity approaches." When Confucius heard of this, he praised: "The Zhao clan shall surely prosper! Maintaining vigilance in times of success brings prosperity, while complacency invites ruin. Victory itself is not difficult—the true challenge lies in preserving it. A wise ruler who maintains such an attitude toward triumph can extend blessings to future generations." This dialogue equally applies to the cyclical fortunes of states like Qi, Chu, Wu and Yue.

(Supplementary note: The phrases "ultimate speech transcends words" and "ultimate action follows Wuwei" embody the Daoist principles of "teaching without words" and "governing through non-action." Lord Xiang's vigilance resonates with the dialectical thinking in the Daode Jing's teaching that "good fortune rests upon disaster.")

Those who have conquered others ultimately meet their downfall because they do not understand the principle of maintaining victory. Only rulers who truly comprehend the Dao can preserve their triumphs long-term. (Nations that defeat their enemies often become complacent yet fail to sustain their victories, thus inviting calamity.)

Confucius possessed remarkable strength—he could lift the massive crossbar of a city gate (some texts render the character as "zhao," while the Huainanzi writes it as "shao." Xu Shen explains "shao" means "to pull." Ancient city gates were closed by pulling ropes from above, an extremely difficult task). Yet he never became known for his physical power. (Though capable of lifting city gates, Confucius didn't seek fame for this strength because he refused to flaunt such abilities.)

Mozi excelled in defensive strategies, earning the admiration of even Gongshu Ban (pronounced like "Ban"), the master craftsman of siege engines. Yet Mozi never boasted of military prowess. (Gongshu Ban specialized in siege weapons, while Mozi devised defenses that thwarted his attacks, making Gongshu Ban acknowledge his superiority—yet Mozi never glorified these martial skills.) Thus, those truly adept at preserving victory appear mighty yet remain humble. (They understand the principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong.")

In Song State, there was a family that practiced goodness for three consecutive generations. One day, their black ox unexpectedly bore a white calf. They consulted Confucius, who declared: "This is an auspicious sign suitable for offering to Heaven." A year later, the family head suddenly went blind, and the black ox bore another white calf. The father sent his son to consult Confucius again. The son protested: "After last time we asked, you went blind—why ask again?" The father replied: "The sage's words may seem incorrect at first but prove true later. The matter remains unresolved—go inquire again." Confucius again affirmed it was auspicious and instructed continued sacrifices. Upon hearing this, the father said: "Follow Confucius's advice." Another year passed, and the son too went blind without cause. Later, when Chu State attacked Song and besieged the capital—forcing citizens to exchange children for food and burn bones for fuel, with most young men perishing in defense—this family was spared conscription due to their blindness. After the siege lifted, their sight miraculously returned. (This illustrates how misfortune and blessing intertwine.)

In Song State lived a wandering performer named Lanzi ("Lan" in Records of the Grand Historian denotes rootless drifters. Ying Shao explains it implies frivolity. Here "Lanzi" refers to itinerant entertainers. Perhaps "lan" is interchangeable with "lán," indicating persons of obscure origin). He sought audience with the ruler through acrobatic feats...

In the state of Song, there was a man named Yuan who was summoned by Lord Yuan of Song to perform acrobatics. He could stretch his body to twice its length, run swiftly with his legs bound together, and simultaneously juggle seven swords—keeping five suspended in the air without letting them fall. Lord Yuan watched in astonishment and immediately rewarded him with gold, silver, and fine silks.

Later, another performer named Lanzi, skilled in "swallow play" (similar to modern aerial acrobatics), heard of this and sought an audience with Lord Yuan. The lord grew furious and said, "The previous performer came to me when I happened to be in a good mood—that’s why I rewarded him. This man must have come only because he heard of the reward!" He had Lanzi arrested and sentenced to death, though he was released after a month of imprisonment. (This illustrates how the same skill can yield entirely different outcomes depending on timing.)

Duke Mu of Qin once asked the horse expert Bole, "You are getting old—does your family still have anyone skilled in judging horses?" Bole replied, "Ordinary fine horses can be assessed by their physique and bone structure, but the rare thousand-mile steed is elusive—its traits flicker indistinctly, and when it runs, even dust cannot keep up. My sons are of mediocre talent and can only recognize ordinary fine horses. However, I have a former companion from our firewood-gathering days named Jiufang Gao, whose skill in judging horses is no less than mine."

Duke Mu summoned Jiufang Gao and sent him to find a thousand-mile steed. Three months later, Jiufang Gao reported, "I found one in Shaqiu—a yellow mare." But when the horse was brought back, it turned out to be a black stallion. The duke was displeased and said to Bole, "The man you recommended can’t even distinguish a horse’s color or sex—how worthless!"

This passage recounts two stories that both embody the Daoist principle of "self-cultivation as the foundation."

The first story tells of the horse physiognomist Jiufang Gao (a renowned ancient expert in judging horses). Bole (another famous horse judge) marveled that when Jiufang Gao evaluated horses, he paid no attention to their coat color or gender, yet could perceive their essential nature. He observed the horse's inner spiritual resonance (tianji, celestial mechanism), grasping its essence while disregarding external appearances, focusing only on what truly mattered. This method of judging horses transcended mere physical assessment, reaching a more profound level of understanding. The horse eventually found through this approach proved indeed to be an exceptionally rare steed.

The second story describes King Zhuang of Chu inquiring about state governance. The recluse Zhan He replied that he only understood self-cultivation, not statecraft. Yet he had never heard of someone well-cultivated whose state fell into chaos, nor seen anyone personally disordered who could govern well. Therefore, the root lies in self-cultivation, and he dared not answer with trivial details. The king found this reasoning profound.

The passage further mentions the "three grievances" that the hermit Huqiu warned Minister Sunshu Ao about: high rank invites envy, great office arouses royal suspicion, and generous salary breeds resentment. Sunshu Ao's response embodied Daoist wisdom: "The higher the rank, the humbler the heart; the greater the office, the more cautious the mind; the richer the salary, the more generous the giving." This illustrates the Daoist philosophy of "occupying high position while maintaining humility."

When Sunshu Ao was gravely ill and nearing death, he admonished his son, saying: "The King of Chu has repeatedly tried to bestow fiefs upon me, but I have always refused. After my death, the king will surely offer you a fief—you must never accept fertile land. At the border between Chu and Yue, there is a place called Qinqiu, where the land is barren and the name is inauspicious (the people of Chu believe in ghosts and spirits, while the Yue people value auspicious omens). Only such a place can be held securely for generations." After Sunshu Ao's death, the king indeed offered his son rich lands, but the son firmly declined and requested only Qinqiu. This fief remained in the family for generations. (Xiao He of the Han Dynasty similarly advised his descendants not to covet fertile lands to avoid attracting the envy of the powerful.)

There was a great Confucian scholar from Shangdi named Niu Que who encountered bandits at Ousha while traveling to Handan. The robbers took all his belongings, including his clothes, cart, and horses, yet he walked away cheerfully. The bandits, puzzled, chased after him and asked why. He replied, "A nobleman does not let material possessions harm his self-cultivation." The robbers sighed, "What a virtuous man!" But then they thought, "If such a wise man meets the King of Zhao, he will surely urge him to suppress us." So they pursued and killed him. When the people of Yan heard of this, entire clans warned each other: "If you encounter bandits, never imitate Niu Que." Later, his younger brother went to Qin and met robbers at a mountain pass. Remembering his brother’s fate, he resisted them. When he failed, he pleaded humbly for the return of his possessions. Enraged, the bandits said, "Sparing your life is already mercy—how dare you pester us further? Since we are robbers, why should we care about benevolence and righteousness?" They killed him and even slaughtered four or five of his companions. (Niu Que invited disaster by his indifference, while the Yan man suffered for caring too much—showing that fortune and misfortune are unpredictable.)

In the state of Liang, there was a wealthy man named Yu whose riches were beyond measure. He hosted banquets and gambling (the "striking game" refers to a board game similar to Liubo) in a tall pavilion by the main road, with singing, dancing, and drinking in full revelry.

The text describes an ancient board game called "Liubo" and a subsequent tale of knight-errant revenge.

Game rules section: Two players sit facing each other across a board divided into twelve paths, with the central area called "water." They use twelve game pieces (six white and six black) and two fish-shaped counters placed in the water. Players cast dice (called "qiong") to determine moves—the dice measure about 1.5 inches long with markings on four sides. When a piece reaches specific positions, it can perform a "xiaoqi" maneuver to enter the water and capture fish. Capturing one fish earns two tally sticks, while flipping a fish counter yields three. If one player has already taken two fish but hasn't won, the opponent can flip a fish counter to claim six tally sticks for a decisive victory.

The narrative then shifts to a revenge story: A group of knight-errants originally coexisted peacefully until the Yu clan—a long-established family of wealth and privilege—insulted them with spoiled food. The warriors deemed retaliation necessary to uphold their honor. They swore collective action and, leading their followers, assembled on an appointed night to attack the Yu residence, ultimately annihilating the entire clan.

The commentary concludes: Arrogance and extravagance invite calamity. Though the Yu clan hadn't intended deliberate bullying, their habitual lack of humble and yielding virtue (De) ultimately brought about their destruction. The text ends mentioning an unnamed eastern figure (the story remains unfinished).

Yan Jingmu was about to embark on a long journey when he collapsed from hunger along the way. A robber named Qiu from Hufu (a place name) saw him and offered him some congee he was carrying. After being fed three times, Yan Jingmu finally opened his eyes. He asked, "Who are you?" The man replied, "I am Qiu from Hufu." Suddenly, Yan Jingmu exclaimed, "Ah! Aren’t you a robber? Why are you giving me food? I uphold righteousness and will never accept anything from a robber!" With that, he threw himself on the ground, desperately trying to vomit, and eventually starved to death. Though Qiu of Hufu was indeed a robber, the food itself was not at fault. To reject sustenance simply because it came from a robber is a confused act that conflates reputation with reality.

Zhuli Shu served Duke Ao of Ju. Feeling that the duke did not understand him, he left to live in seclusion by the sea, eating water chestnuts in summer and acorns in winter. Later, when Duke Ao of Ju faced calamity, Zhuli Shu deliberately returned to die alongside him. A friend asked, "You left because you felt the duke didn’t understand you—why now return to die? Isn’t this contradictory?" Zhuli Shu replied, "Precisely because I believed he didn’t understand me, my death now will prove he truly didn’t. I want future rulers to see the consequences of failing to understand their ministers." To serve a ruler who understands you and leave one who does not—that is the upright way. Zhuli Shu, however, was someone who let resentment cloud his judgment, forgetting his own safety.

Yang Zhu (a Warring States philosopher) said: Bestowing benefits invites reciprocation, while harboring resentment invites misfortune. This cause and effect is as inevitable as an echo following a sound. Thus, the wise are exceedingly cautious in their words and actions.

Yang Zhu’s neighbor lost a sheep and not only mobilized his entire household to search but also enlisted Yang Zhu’s servant for help. Yang Zhu found it amusing: "Is one lost sheep worth such a fuss?" The neighbor explained, "There are too many branching paths." When they returned empty-handed, Yang Zhu asked, "Where’s the sheep?" The neighbor sighed, "Each fork in the road led to more forks—we had no idea which way to go."

Yang Zhu (a prominent Daoist figure) suddenly grew somber, remaining silent and unsmiling for an entire day. His disciples found this strange and asked, "Sheep are but lowly creatures, and these weren't even yours, Master. Why do you refuse to speak or smile because of them?" Yang Zhu offered no reply.

Disciple Meng Sunyang reported this incident to Xinduzi. Later, Xinduzi accompanied Meng Sunyang to consult Yang Zhu: "Once there were three brothers who traveled to study in the lands of Qi and Lu, learning the Way of Humaneness and Righteousness from the same teacher. When they returned home, their father asked what they had learned. The eldest said, 'Humaneness teaches me to value life above reputation.' The second said, 'Humaneness enables me to sacrifice life for reputation.' The youngest said, 'Humaneness allows me to preserve both life and reputation.' These three contradictory views all stem from Confucianism—which one is correct?"

Yang Zhu responded with a parable: "By the riverside lived an expert swimmer who supported his family by ferrying people. Many came bearing provisions to learn swimming, yet nearly half drowned. They came to master water but lost their lives to it—how would you judge this?" Hearing this, Xinduzi departed in silence.

Meng Sunyang complained, "Your question was convoluted, and the master's answer obscure—now I'm more confused." Xinduzi sighed: "Just as multiple paths make sheep go astray, diverse methods cause seekers to lose their way. All teachings share the same root though their branches differ wildly. Only by returning to the essence can one grasp the truth. Though we study under Master Yang Zhu, we've failed to comprehend his profundity—how lamentable!"

The account concludes with an anecdote about Yang Zhu's younger brother Yang Bu: Yang Bu went out wearing white robes but returned in black after being drenched by rain. His dog, failing to recognize him, barked furiously. When Yang Bu moved to strike the animal, Yang Zhu intervened: "Don't blame the dog. If your white dog left and returned black, wouldn't you be startled too?" This illustrates how personal transformations may invite misunderstanding—when we change, the world's perception of us creates new complications.

Yang Zhu (a Daoist thinker of the Warring States period) said: Performing good deeds is not for the sake of fame, yet fame naturally follows. Fame itself does not seek profit, yet profit naturally attaches to it. Profit does not intend to provoke conflict, yet conflict inevitably arises. Therefore, a noble person must act with caution when doing good. (Because) possessing wisdom invites criticism from others, and possessing strength invites contention—this is the inevitable course of things. Once entangled in the whirlpool of fame and profit, misfortune is sure to follow. As the ancient saying goes, "Do good without approaching fame"—there is profound truth in this!

Long ago, someone claimed to know the method of immortality. The ruler of Yan sent an envoy to learn it, but before the envoy could master it, the man died. Enraged, the ruler ordered the envoy executed, but a favored minister remonstrated: "What people fear most is death, and what they value most is life. If even the man who claimed to know immortality died, how could he possibly make you immortal?" Only then did the ruler relent. A man named Qi Zi also wished to learn the art of immortality, but when he heard the teacher had died, he beat his chest in regret. A wise man named Fu Zi heard of this and commented, "To seek the art of immortality and regret the teacher’s death shows he fundamentally misunderstands the essence of learning." Another wise man, Hu Zi, countered: "Fu Zi is mistaken. In this world, there are those who understand the method but cannot practice it, and those who can practice it but do not understand the method. In the state of Wei, there was a master of calculation who, on his deathbed, taught the secret to his son. The son memorized the formula but could not apply it. When others asked him for the method and followed it, their calculations matched the father’s precision. From this, how can we say the dead cannot transmit the art of immortality?" (Similarly,) some things can be spoken of but not done, while others can be done but not spoken of—this is due to innate differences in endowment.

During the New Year, the people of Handan presented spotted doves to Lord Jian of Zhao, who was delighted and rewarded them generously. A retainer asked the reason, and Lord Jian replied, "Releasing life on New Year’s Day demonstrates benevolence." The retainer said, "If the people know you will release the doves, they will compete to capture them, resulting in even more deaths. If you truly wish to protect life, it would be better to forbid their capture. Catching them only to release them means your kindness cannot offset the harm!" Lord Jian was enlightened. When the Tian family of Qi held a ancestral sacrifice in their courtyard, they hosted a feast for a thousand retainers. During the feast, someone presented fish and wild geese. Tian gazed at them and sighed, "Heaven is truly generous to the people! It grows the five grains and nurtures fish and birds for their sustenance."

A twelve-year-old boy from the Bao family once attended a gathering where he challenged the adults, saying: "Heaven, earth, and all things share the same nature as us—there are no inherent distinctions of nobility or baseness. Such hierarchies are merely human constructs. Creatures interact through differences in size and intelligence, preying upon one another, not because they were destined to exist for each other's sake. Humans eat what is edible, but does that mean these foods were created by heaven specifically for humans? Mosquitoes drink blood; tigers and wolves eat meat—did heaven create humans for mosquitoes or meat for tigers and wolves?"

In the state of Qi, a beggar often sought alms in the marketplace. When the townspeople grew tired of his frequent visits and stopped giving him food, he took up odd jobs assisting a veterinarian in the Tian family's stables in exchange for meals. Someone mocked him, saying, "Aren't you ashamed to eat alongside a veterinarian?" The beggar replied, "The greatest shame in the world is begging. If I feel no shame in begging, why should I feel ashamed eating with a veterinarian?" (This shows that when pushed to extremes, even one's sense of shame can change—how much more so for those who can remain indifferent to gain and loss.)

A man from the state of Song once found a discarded debt tally on the road. Returning home, he secretly counted the notches carved into it (ancient tallies used notches as records) and boasted to his neighbor, "My fortune is about to change!" (This is as absurd as expecting wealth from a worthless tally.) Another family had a withered phoenix tree in their yard. An elderly neighbor warned that dead trees brought bad luck, so the owner hastily chopped it down. When the old man then asked for the wood as firewood, the owner grumbled, "So this old man just wanted firewood all along!" (When someone's motives are suspect, their words lose credibility.)

Another man lost his axe and suspected his neighbor's son of stealing it. From then on, everything the boy did seemed suspicious—his walk, his expression, his speech, every movement resembled a thief's. Later, the man found his axe buried in a grain pile ("抇" being an ancient character for "digging"), and suddenly, the boy no longer seemed like a thief at all.

This passage from the Liezi reveals the absurd manifestations of the human mind when clouded by obsessive thoughts through several vivid stories.

The first story tells of a man who lost his axe and suspected his neighbor’s child of stealing it. Afterward, he observed the child and found every gesture—the way he walked, the tone of his speech—to resemble a thief. Later, when he found the axe buried in his own grain pile, he looked at the child again and suddenly saw nothing suspicious in his behavior. (This illustrates how subjective thoughts distort reality. When the mind fixates on an idea, even basic perceptions like black and white or square and round become confused. As the ancient saying goes: the complexity of the world ultimately stems from the obsessions of the human mind.)

The second story describes Bai Gong Sheng (a nobleman of the Chu state during the Spring and Autumn period) plotting a rebellion. After court, he stood dazed in the courtyard, the tip of his horsewhip piercing his own chin without notice, blood dripping to the ground. (When the people of Zheng heard of this, they remarked: If one can forget even a pierced chin, what else could they not forget?) This demonstrates how excessive focus numbs awareness of external changes.

The third story is even more extreme: A man from Zheng walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, only to trip over a tree stump and smash his head against the trunk. He never noticed the massive obstacle right in front of him, as if it were invisible.

Finally, there is the famous fable of "The Man of Qi Who Snatched Gold": A greedy man from Qi dressed formally and went to the market at dawn, heading straight for a gold vendor, where he grabbed the gold and ran. When caught by the guards, they asked, "How dare you steal gold in broad daylight, with everyone watching?" The man replied, "When I took the gold, I saw only the gold—I didn’t see any people at all." (The author laments: How profoundly can desire disrupt the mind! Like one who focuses on the tip of a hair and fails to see Mount Tai, or a musician tuning strings who doesn’t hear thunder. When the spirit is enslaved by external things, even the most obvious sights and sounds are overlooked. Conversely, if one maintains inner clarity, how could worldly distractions ever sway the mind?)

These stories all convey the same truth: When a person becomes excessively fixated on something, they lose clear awareness of reality as a whole, leading to irrational and contradictory actions.