《新雕洞靈真經》

The first volume of the Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavernous Numen records the words and deeds of Master Kangcang. Kangcang (a Daoist recluse) lived in seclusion for three years south of Mount Yu (an ancient place in the state of Lu). During this time, the region enjoyed favorable weather and abundant harvests. At first, the local people were merely surprised by him, but as his blessings continued to manifest year after year, they began whispering among themselves: "Could this be a sage? Why not make him our ruler and build a temple to honor him?"

When Kangcang heard this, his expression darkened. His disciple Yanhei (also called "An") noticed and asked the reason. Kangcang explained: "A true perfected person (zhiren) should dwell like a corpse in a simple hut, allowing the people to live freely without disturbance. Yet now the people of Mount Yu wish to honor me with grand sacrifices, turning me into an object of public veneration." He stressed that he was originally a recluse cultivating the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) path and had no desire to become an idol for worship.

Note: The phrase "dwelling like a corpse in a simple hut" (shiju huandu) describes a classic Daoist practice—where the realized practitioner remains inwardly still while living in humble surroundings. "Sacrificial vessels" (zudou) refers to ancient ritual utensils, here symbolizing elaborate worship ceremonies. Kangcang's rejection of deification embodies the Daoist principle of "acting without claiming merit, achieving without dwelling on success."

Laozi said: "When I govern through Wuwei (non-action), the people naturally transform; when I refrain from stirring trouble, the people naturally prosper; when I maintain tranquility, the people naturally become upright." Yet the present situation is completely opposite, which makes me perplexed by these statements.

Someone objected: That's not the case. Just as in an ordinary stagnant pond, large fish cannot turn around, while in shallow puddles, small fish can move freely. On a six-foot earthen mound, giant beasts cannot hide, but cunning foxes can find shelter. (This analogy illustrates that just as large fish need deep waters and massive beasts require high mountains, virtuous individuals need corresponding status and treatment.)

Since the times of Yao and Shun, honoring the worthy and pursuing goodness has been considered natural and proper—how much more so in our current worldly society? You, sir, should understand this principle.

Kangcangzi (a Daoist figure) sighed and said: Alas, come here! Do you who speak of Yao and Shun truly understand? When a beast large enough to fill a carriage leaves the mountain forest, it gets caught in fishing nets; when a fish big enough to swallow boats becomes stranded, even ants can bully it. Therefore, birds and beasts should dwell in high places, while fish and turtles belong in deep waters. Those who wish to preserve their lives must conceal themselves profoundly enough.

Let me tell you: The root of the world's great disorder was actually sown during the Yao-Shun era, and its effects will persist for millennia, potentially culminating in the horror of humans devouring each other. (This subtly suggests that the virtuous reputation of Yao and Shun's abdication ironically planted seeds for later usurpations and regicides, echoing Zhuangzi's observation: Both abdications—Yao-Shun succeeded while King Kuai of Yan lost his state; both struggles for power—Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou succeeded while Bai Gong failed. Thus, truly wise people don't deliberately pursue reputations for virtue.)

Before the words were fully spoken, Nanrong Chu (another Daoist figure) already wore a perplexed expression.

After hearing profound teachings, Nanrong Chu (a character from Zhuangzi) suddenly assumed a reverent expression, straightened his robes, and knelt formally to sincerely inquire about cultivation practice. Kangcangzi told him: First, preserve your complete physical form and guard your innate vital energy (Qi), preventing chaotic thoughts from depleting your spirit (Shen). If you can achieve this, you may maintain this state throughout your life.

However, Kangcangzi admitted his own cultivation was still shallow and advised Nanrong Chu to travel south to seek his teacher Laozi (whose courtesy name was Dan). After bidding farewell, Nanrong Chu did not retreat into seclusion but lived like a celestial dragon, adapting to the changes of circumstance.

Here, water and earth serve as metaphors: Water is naturally clear but becomes turbid when stirred by mud; humans possess innate longevity, yet external influences shorten their lifespans. External things should nourish life, yet confused people exhaust their lives pursuing them—this reflects a fundamental misjudgment of priorities.

Thus, the sage's approach to sensory pleasures is: embrace what benefits life and reject what harms it. Consider ten thousand archers aiming at one target—the target will inevitably be struck; when myriad things constantly deplete life, vitality must decline. Therefore, the sage governs external things by preserving innate nature—when nature remains whole, the spirit (Shen) remains complete. Those who attain this state need not deliberate to understand, nor scheme to act appropriately. Their luminous spirit perceives all, and their will merges with the cosmos. Such individuals neither grow arrogant in high positions nor feel distressed in humble circumstances.

This passage describes the state of being and perspective on life and death of those who have attained the Dao. The term "fully realized Daoist" (Quandao zhi ren) refers to one who has completely awakened to the Dao—their mind is perfected, wisdom flows unimpeded, and their resolve stands firm as heaven and earth. Such individuals maintain inner tranquility regardless of social status, remaining undisturbed by external temptations. A purified heart can preserve clarity indefinitely; prolonged clarity leads to the realm of emptiness, and emptiness signifies complete realization of the Dao.

The text recounts a story: When Qin Yi (an ancient Daoist master said to be Laozi's friend) passed away, Kangcangzi (a Daoist figure) wept for him. Disciples questioned this, asking why one should weep when all mortals must die. Kangcangzi replied: "When all under heaven weep, how can I not weep?" Yet his tears weren't genuine sorrow—merely conformity with worldly customs. When pressed about his lack of grief, Kangcangzi explained: One who transcends to share joy with heaven and earth knows no sorrow.

The passage then employs the metaphor of "molting" (tuo, shedding or transcendence) to illustrate spiritual progression: earth molts into water, water molts into qi (vital energy), qi molts into emptiness, and emptiness molts into the Dao. Emptiness constitutes the Dao's essence, stillness its foundation, principle its framework, and cognition its particulars. The Dao preserves shen (spirit), De (Virtue) expands qi's capacity, ritual shapes form, and matter nourishes the body—all indispensable for self-cultivation.

Concluding with black-white symbolism: those fond of white use black for contrast; lovers of black employ white. True wisdom understands relativity—the sage clings to no single standard.

This scripture explores the perception of essential truths through vivid analogies. It begins with the example of someone with blurred vision being unable to distinguish colors (a person with vertigo might mistake yellow for red or cyan for black), illustrating how ordinary people often struggle to discern true purity from defilement. Just as those fixated on a particular color cannot objectively judge other hues.

The text then observes that those excessively obsessed with certain things (such as wealth, horses, or books) become blind to the value of other matters. Thus, it becomes difficult to determine what in this world is truly worthy of love or disdain. Maintaining this detached perspective prevents external objects from disturbing one's inner purity.

The narrative continues with a dialogue between a minister of Chen State and Shusun Qing of Lu State. When Shusun Qing asked whether Chen knew of its own sage (referring to Confucius), the Chen minister instead mentioned a man named Kangcangzi in their state, who had perfectly inherited Laozi's teachings (being the most outstanding among Laozi's disciples). Remarkably, Kangcangzi could "see with his ears and hear with his eyes" (indicating a state of sensory transcendence). Upon hearing this, Duke Ding of Lu was astonished and received Kangcangzi with the honors due to a high minister, accommodating him in the secondary royal chambers and respectfully seeking his counsel.

This passage conveys two key insights: first, it critiques how worldly people are often blinded by subjective biases, making it hard to perceive true reality; second, through Kangcangzi's story, it demonstrates how those who attain the Dao can transcend ordinary cognitive limitations.

Confucius once said, "I can see without using my eyes and hear without using my ears." This did not mean altering the functions of his sensory organs, but rather transcending their conventional limitations. The ruler of Lu was astonished upon hearing this and eagerly inquired who could attain such a state, expressing deep curiosity about its underlying principle.

Kangcangzi (a Daoist figure) explained: When my physical form unites with my mind, my mind merges with Qi (vital energy), Qi harmonizes with Shen (spirit), and Shen becomes one with emptiness, then even the subtlest existence or faintest sound—whether from the eight distant directions or right before me—can be perfectly perceived upon touching my awareness. This perception doesn't rely on the seven orifices or four limbs, nor does it stem from the five viscera, six bowels, or intellectual activity. It is spontaneous awareness.

(This describes an advanced state in Daoist cultivation: when form and mind completely integrate, when spirit and Qi achieve profound unity, one enters a state of transparent self-forgetfulness. Here, the mind grows increasingly tranquil yet profoundly wise, the spirit becomes more serene yet luminously clear. Such a realm requires no deliberate thought to attain mystical insight—only the most sagely individuals could reach it. This constitutes the essential meaning of the spiritual truth, the profound and mysterious crux of the Dao.)

In the second part of "Applying the Dao," it states: Heaven cannot be blindly trusted, earth cannot be blindly trusted, people cannot be blindly trusted, nor can the mind be blindly trusted—only the Dao is truly trustworthy. Yet enlightened rulers and outstanding individuals often fail to comprehend this truth.

History records how Jie of Xia believed in the Mandate of Heaven and ancestral blessings while neglecting to cultivate proper governance, until Heaven withdrew his kingdom and bestowed it upon Shang. Similarly, King Zhou of Shang clung to his faith in heavenly mandate and ancestral protection while disregarding the right path, ultimately losing his realm to Zhou. (Both tyrants indulged in pleasure, convinced of their divine right, yet their cruelty and deviation from the Dao caused them to forfeit the empire.)

Just as a farmer who trusts the land to yield crops without diligent plowing will find his fields overgrown with weeds and barren of harvest, so too did the ruler of Qi (referring to Duke Jian of Qi) excessively trust in human goodness while neglecting the Dao of governance—failing to implement clear rewards and punishments. Consequently, he entrusted his entire state to others, only to have it usurped in the end.

When people fail to cultivate the Great Dao (Da Dao) and indulge their selfish desires unchecked, greed grows like wild weeds, bringing calamities and illnesses that ultimately harm their bodies and shorten their lifespan. These are the disasters brought about by inner desires.

The Great Dao is the most trustworthy foundation. Without aligning with the Dao, heaven and earth cannot endure (heaven becomes clear by attaining the Dao, earth becomes peaceful by attaining the Dao). Without virtuous leaders, the people cannot find stability, and without capable governance, affairs cannot be harmoniously managed. Those who truly embody the Dao do not flaunt their actions, yet all things benefit from them, with the merit returning to nature (silently blessing the people, who perceive it as natural). Such individuals attain spiritual clarity (Shen), flourishing virtue (De), and enduring blessings.

The ability to distinguish right from wrong is called "discernment," while understanding without forceful argumentation is called "the Dao." "Discernment" guides the world, while "the Dao" calms the human heart. Just as the rooster crows at dawn and the farmer labors from sunrise, sweating under the sun until resting late at night—this is the natural way. Merchants, however, bend to pick up scraps, stand on tiptoes to grasp more, scheme tirelessly, and chase profit single-mindedly.

Practices like breath cultivation (Qi swallowing) and focusing on the Dantian (energy center, "Valley Spirit") require stillness and single-minded concentration. In the world, things often appear correct but are wrong, or seem wrong but are correct. Sometimes one weeps before laughing; what begins auspiciously ends in misfortune. Some people may be approachable, but their talents are not; others may have admirable talents, but their character is unworthy. Excessive reverence creates distance, while excessive closeness breeds resentment. Deep kindness easily turns to hatred, and intense love invites aversion. Among all things in the world, some value speed, others slowness, some value directness....

This scripture expounds the wisdom of human conduct. Truly precious things often reside in subtle details, and the appropriate way to handle various matters contains profound principles that one must understand.

The wise know this: in stillness one attains spiritual clarity (referring to inner purity), in adversity one comprehends true meaning, in high position one speaks with propriety, and in wealth one acts with decorum—all these stem from the natural order of things.

In human relationships: those sharing common aspirations naturally draw close, while those of equal skill tend toward mutual envy; those who contribute jointly develop affection, while those competing for gain breed suspicion; those in shared hardship support each other, while those equally powerful jostle for position—such is human nature. (Affinity arises from emotional resonance without demands, while rivalry breeds jealousy—this is shaped by circumstance)

The truly virtuous embody these qualities: abundant talent yet maintaining humility, poverty without sycophancy, diligent labor without shame, and prosperity accompanied by reverence and diligence. Such individuals possess genuine De (Virtue/Power).

(Note: Master Kangcang was traditionally regarded as one of Laozi's disciples. This passage reflects the Daoist philosophy of "valuing softness and preserving simplicity," emphasizing the maintenance of equanimity and humility in human relationships and life circumstances.)

This passage comes from the second volume of the Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavernous Numinous (Xin Diao Dongling Zhenjing), specifically the chapter "On Governance," which expounds principles of statecraft. The Daoist figure Kang Cangzi illustrates the art of governance through analogies between natural laws and human affairs.

The text begins with celestial phenomena as a metaphor: though people cannot directly comprehend the Dao of Heaven, they can understand it through the cyclical patterns of seasons, temperature shifts, and the movements of the sun, moon, and stars. Similarly, while ministers may struggle to discern the ruler’s intentions, they can grasp his governing principles by observing how he dispenses rewards and punishments or distributes titles and emoluments. If these measures are just, people of all backgrounds—whether close or distant, virtuous or unworthy—will devote themselves wholeheartedly to service.

The text then emphasizes the importance of trustworthiness: when a ruler keeps his word, the realm remains stable; when he breaks faith, the world descends into peril. If the people labor tirelessly yet suffer scarcity, contention arises, and mutual trust erodes. Neglecting political virtue (Zheng De—the ruler’s moral conduct) leads to social disorder, much like excessive Yang energy triggers droughts. The state of Chu held that during floods or droughts, the Son of Heaven should rectify laws and cultivate virtue, while officials must abandon selfishness and curb arrogance—only then would calamities fade and blessings arrive.

Later, the text cites an anecdote from Zheng to illustrate how powerful states bully weaker ones: Zheng’s treasured heirlooms—the Hu-state jade Feng Gui (a ceremonial tablet) and the Rong Bow (a famed archer’s weapon)—were forcibly demanded by Chu during a feudal alliance. Under military threat, the ruler of Zheng grew deeply troubled and confided in Kang Cangzi that these artifacts, obtained by his ancestors from Hu, had been cherished as symbols of achievement for generations, destined to be passed down. This story reflects the plight of small states when facing the aggression of stronger powers.

This passage recounts a diplomatic crisis between the states of Zheng and Chu. At the time, the powerful state of Chu was preparing to launch a punitive expedition against Zheng over a minor offense. The ruler of Zheng considered appeasing Chu with precious jade tablets and bows, but his minister Kang Cangzi (a Daoist figure) advised against it.

Kang Cangzi counseled the Zheng ruler: "Your Majesty should not act hastily. In truth, Chu possesses its own treasures—the twin virtues of trustworthiness (信) and righteousness (义). If Zheng now attempts to placate Chu with lavish gifts, it will only convince Chu that military force can be used to extort other states, thereby undermining the principle of good faith among nations. When other feudal lords learn that Chu abuses its power over minor offenses, they will become wary and defensive—this situation will actually gain Zheng moral support."

The Daoist minister further analyzed human nature: "All people desire life over death, stability over danger, honor over disgrace. If a ruler indulges his own desires, his officials will follow suit." Ultimately, Zheng followed this advice and brought only modest gifts. When Chu learned of Kang Cangzi's strategy, they had an awakening—realizing that bullying weaker states would lose them the allegiance of other feudal lords. Chu hastily returned the gifts and instead treated Zheng with greater friendship.

This historical episode illustrates how moral persuasion through De (Virtue/Power) proves superior to military coercion, with trustworthiness being the foundation of governance. As a Daoist figure, Kang Cangzi advocated overcoming hardness with softness, resolving conflicts through moral principles rather than force—embodying the Daoist wisdom of using Wuwei (non-action) and yielding to achieve true strength.

This scripture passage discusses principles of governance and personnel management. When officials at all levels (local magistrates referred to as "shuzhang") indulge their selfish desires, it inevitably leads to widespread poverty among the populace. The poor are forced to exhaust their physical strength, the wealthy are compelled to deplete their resources, and the four social classes (scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants) lose their proper order. None can maintain their rightful livelihood. When people cannot meet basic needs, they begin supporting each other in fleeing, taking refuge in remote mountains to gather wild fruits for survival. Yet officials still pursue them, and when the suffering becomes unbearable, rebellious sentiments arise - rendering the state merely nominal in existence.

The scripture warns rulers: Do not greedily seek to increase registered populations, lest able-bodied men flee and cities become empty. Do not excessively exploit the people, lest uneven taxation deepen the poor's plight. When penal standards are chaotic and the powerful remain unconstrained, the state will collapse. If officials are incompetent, applying policies too leniently or harshly, or even competing with the people for profit, cunning tendencies will flourish. As the populace grows deceitful and unpredictable, the upper class becomes suspicious while the lower class grows more confused. Officials exhaust themselves managing the fallout, rewards lose their motivating effect, and punishments fail to deter. Social turmoil becomes impossible to quell—all due to improper personnel selection.

The key to governance lies in appointing the virtuous and capable: If a scholar's (a learned and virtuous person) ability suits managing a village, assign him to local administration; if suited for a county, appoint him as magistrate; if capable of governing a province or the nation, grant him the corresponding position—thus no talent is wasted. For local troublemakers, first educate them; if unrepentant after repeated instruction, send them to the county office for flogging ("ta," an ancient corporal punishment). If they still do not reform, execute them according to national law—only then can rebellion be eradicated.

(Note: "Scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants" represent the four main social classes of ancient times; "shuzhang" refers to local magistrates; "ta" denotes the ancient punishment of flogging.)

This scripture elucidates the principle that governing a nation hinges upon selecting virtuous talents. True sages (jingren, "serene persons") can bring peace and prosperity to the people, eliminating rebellious and indulgent thoughts. The most crucial task in statecraft lies in seeking capable individuals, and the optimal method for selection is evaluating their administrative achievements.

Yet genuine talents prove difficult to identify in reality: through literary examinations, fewer than four or five may be found among a hundred candidates; through oral assessments, perhaps one or two in ten; but by observing a person's spiritual vitality and demeanor (shenqi jingzuo taidu, "serene spirit and composed bearing"), eight or nine out of ten may be discerned. All these require a wise ruler's discernment.

The text criticizes flawed selection methods: if one values only flowery compositions, truly substantial talents remain buried; if one heeds only grandiose rhetoric, outspoken loyal ministers vanish; if one judges solely by superficial manners, those with proper exteriors but cunning hearts rise, while the genuinely virtuous withdraw. Such approaches lead to paradoxical outcomes—the more effort invested in governance, the greater the chaos.

The scripture concludes emphatically: The realm constitutes the most vital foundation, the imperial position the most august station. With virtuous talents, the state stabilizes; without them, chaos ensues. Therefore, rulers should devote their energies to seeking worthy individuals, then trust them fully in office. Those who wish to preserve the Mandate of Heaven and unite the people's hearts—how could they neglect this matter?

(Note: The term "jingren" refers to virtuous talents of noble character who bring social stability; "shenqi jingzuo taidu" denotes judging moral character through observing spiritual vitality and daily conduct.)

This passage from The Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavernous Numinous (Xin Diao Dongling Zhenjing) discusses principles of governance regarding legal punishment and talent selection. For scholars, nothing is more grievous than unjust penalties. When wise rulers adjudicate cases, they may employ strategy to guide, authority to deter, sincerity to enlighten, or even punishment to correct. Though methods differ, the core principle is impartial justice. Thus, the people neither consider life a bestowed favor nor harbor resentment in death.

True virtuous officials govern in a way that fosters harmony among the people, material abundance, and unshakable bonds between rulers and subjects. If every household abides by the law, how could turmoil arise? King Ping of Zhou (Zhou Pingwang), after relocating the capital to Luoyi (modern Luoyang) amid political upheaval, devoted himself to selecting worthy talents. He would rejoice for days upon hearing recommendations of capable individuals. Yet when his attendants persistently praised certain powerful ministers, the king grew wary and remarked: "My virtue (De) is insufficient—I should seek out reclusive sages rather than indulge in flattery that blinds me." He recognized that such sycophantic courtiers (cemei), by incessantly glorifying the influential, risked fostering factionalism, the gravest corruption of virtue. Without timely intervention, entrenched interest groups would solidify.

(Note: "King Ping" refers to the founding ruler of the Eastern Zhou Dynasty, who moved the capital to Luoyang after the fall of the Western Zhou; "Tianyi" denotes the capital Luoyi; "cemei" describes fawning, obsequious individuals.)

This scripture expounds the Dao of governance, contrasting the practices of enlightened rulers with those of chaotic eras to illustrate how to bring stability to a nation.

A wise sovereign acts thus: First, he dismisses the fawning courtiers who cling to him (those petty officials skilled in flattery), executing three of them and displaying their corpses in the marketplace as warning (the "three men in the market"), while demoting five high-ranking officials who formed factions (the various department heads). These measures prevent ministers from forming cliques, deceiving superiors, or merely preserving their salaries by currying favor. When word spreads, all under heaven praise the ruler's discernment, and even seven feudal states as distant as the western seacoast pledge allegiance.

In times of enlightened governance, people wear simple clothing (carriages and robes of plain cotton), laws are lenient and straightforward (statutes broad and simple), and prohibitions are not overly intricate (restrictive measures sparse and open). This yields three benefits: First, the people do not compete in extravagance, their desires remain modest, and they focus contentedly on their proper occupations. Second, with few social taboos, people speak freely and communicate smoothly. Third, with clear laws that are easy to follow, people distinguish good from evil, revere De (Virtue), and understand propriety and shame.

Conversely, in times of decline: Lavish and ornate clothing (elaborately decorated carriages and robes) spurs competitive imitation; laws become convoluted (statutes full of ritualistic clauses), filling society with taboos; prohibitions grow harsh and obscure (restrictive measures become skewed and obscure), leaving people at a loss. The consequences are threefold: People abandon loyalty and simplicity, glorifying extravagance instead; communication between superiors and subordinates breaks down, creating tension; and the populace, facing draconian laws, cannot discern how to avoid transgression.

The scripture concludes: Enabling people to live and work in peace is called "accord" (Shun); making society flow in harmony is called "harmony" (He); inspiring people to revere De is called "rectitude" (Zheng). The frivolous and degenerate cannot withstand the test of "accord"; those who violate ritual propriety cannot withstand "harmony"; the wicked cannot withstand "rectitude." These three—accord, harmony, and rectitude—constitute the fundamental principles of governance.

This scripture primarily expounds on how the fundamental cause of a nation's order or chaos lies in human affairs rather than natural disasters, and how governance should adhere to principles of simplicity.

The text states that when people pursue superficial extravagance and hierarchical relationships become disordered, the common people will no longer fear death. Truly upright individuals will not serve in ostentatious institutions, fair-minded people will not work in chaotic departments, and capable individuals will not engage in frivolous affairs. These three conditions are the very steps that lead a nation into turmoil.

Lord Xiong Yu of Jing (Xiong being the surname of the Jing rulers, Yu his given name) inquired of Kangcangzi about the relationship between floods, droughts, and national stability. Kangcangzi replied: Floods and droughts are natural disasters, but order or chaos depends on human affairs. If human affairs are harmonious, even floods and droughts cannot cause harm—the eras of Yao and Tang serve as examples (Yao faced nine years of floods, Tang seven years of drought). The "Zhiguan" chapter of the Zhou Shu states, "Human effort can overcome natural calamities." But if human affairs are corrupt, even without floods or droughts, the nation will decline daily—just as the fall of the tyrants Jie and Zhou of the Shang was not due solely to natural disasters (but to their cruelty and extravagance).

Upon hearing this, Lord Jing respectfully stepped back and bowed, saying, "Heaven has not abandoned me, allowing me to hear such wisdom." He then presented Kangcangzi with ten pairs of grand jade discs (hongbi being large jade discs, shi peng meaning ten pairs) as gratitude and appointed him as Ya Yin (vice chancellor). Kangcangzi reluctantly accepted but quietly departed by midnight (chou implying recovery, wei meaning departure).

In well-governed eras, mountains harbor no false hermits, markets no deceitful merchants, and courts no sycophantic officials. When Zichan of Zheng (also known as Gongsun Qiao) asked how to attract talent and foster simple customs among the people, Kangcangzi replied: Complex and harsh decrees breed cunning (the more laws there are, the more thieves emerge); simple and unified governance nurtures honesty. The customs of the people shift with state policies, just as the inchworm changes color with the leaves it eats (yellow from yellow leaves, green from green).

Regarding how to enrich the people, Kangcangzi said: Timely and moderate taxation, coupled with frugal and honest governance, brings prosperity; excessive levies and lavish, unrestrained governance lead to poverty. Like the arrows of Yue (Gouyue being the state of Yue, gan the shaft, zu the arrowhead)...

This scripture elucidates the principles of "utilizing things to their fullest potential" and "acting according to circumstances" through vivid analogies.

First, consider the arrow: an arrowhead forged of fine metal with feathers from a fierce bird makes an excellent arrow. Yet if used to strike someone directly, it would be no different from an ordinary stick. But when shot from a powerful crossbow on the battlefield, none could withstand it within three hundred paces.

Then observe the sword: the divine blade named "Feijing" (Flying Radiance) could cleave sunlight itself, its aura like a rainbow. Yet if used to harvest crops, it would be no better than a common sickle. But when employed to dispel pestilence and evil qi, it could eradicate calamities across a thousand li.

The essential point is this: every material has its specific purpose, and the true value lies in applying it appropriately according to the timing. In the era of ancient sage-kings, all things existed in harmony because people understood how to follow the natural course of events. In recent times, with cunning villains in power and few righteous men remaining, smooth-tongued flatterers have confused right and wrong, causing people to distrust and harm one another.

The author concludes with principles of governance: Laws should be simple to understand yet difficult to violate; reforms should be concise yet effective. Eliminate corrupt powerholders, and officials will perform their duties conscientiously; enforce laws strictly, and officials won't dare seek personal gain. When officials cease pursuing private interests, the people naturally prosper. As the Book of Documents states: "Be lenient toward unintentional faults, but punish deliberate wrongdoing."

(Note: "Feijing" refers to a legendary Daoist divine sword; "shengzai" from the Book of Documents denotes disasters caused by faults.)

This passage from the Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavernous Numinous (Xindiao Dongling Zhenjing) discusses the dangers of frequent amnesties for criminals. When imperial courts habitually issue general pardons, wrongdoers will exploit the loopholes. Knowing their crimes will soon be forgiven, they become increasingly brazen in their misconduct. Ordinary citizens witnessing this situation will likewise harbor improper thoughts in their hearts.

When major bandits are apprehended by authorities, they often falsely implicate many innocent people. By the time the amnesty decree is issued, the true criminals are pardoned while their victims have nowhere to seek justice, forced to swallow their grievances in silence. Consequently, social morals deteriorate further, and officials resort to increasingly harsh measures in handling cases—yet crime remains unchecked. All of this stems from excessively frequent pardons.

The reason people refrain from wrongdoing is the fear of legal punishment; their willingness to do good arises from the encouragement of rewards. But the present situation is this: evildoers receive pardons, while those who act virtuously gain no recognition. How can we still hope for society to improve under such conditions? Isn’t this expectation far too difficult?

Throughout history, wise rulers and sages have understood this principle. The resentment of the people toward the government does not arise from the authorities' lack of engagement with the populace; the anger of the gods is not due to insufficient sacrifices. When cunning and deceitful individuals rise to power, the grievances of the people deepen; when excessive and improper rituals (yinsi) become widespread, the gods grow even more wrathful.

(Note: The term "amnesty" (sheyou) refers to the pardoning of crimes, while "excessive sacrifices" (yinsi) denotes improper or extravagant rituals that violate ceremonial norms.)

In the third volume of the Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavern Mystery (Dongling Zhenjing), the commentary by Master Yuancang (He Can) primarily expounds on the art of governance. It teaches that rulers should maintain clarity and stillness while practicing non-action (Wuwei), leading their subjects through personal example.

All things in creation originate from Heaven and Earth, while humanity assists in nurturing them. Those who can follow Heaven's will in nourishing all beings are called "Sons of Heaven" (i.e., emperors). Every action of the Son of Heaven aims to preserve the primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth, which is also the fundamental purpose of establishing government offices—to protect life through institutional structures. Since Heaven does not personally govern all things, sages govern on its behalf; yet sages cannot accomplish this alone, hence officials are appointed to assist. The original intention behind establishing offices was to nurture all beings and preserve Heaven and Earth's Qi, preventing its harm.

However, today's incompetent rulers establish excessive offices that instead endanger living creatures, violating this original purpose. Excessive bureaucracy leads to cumbersome decrees, and cumbersome decrees harm the people. Just as accumulated vegetation rots, clustered trees breed insects, and stagnant emotions cause human illness, when a nation's governance becomes obstructed, disasters multiply and dangerous unrest becomes unstoppable. The so-called "national stagnation" refers to situations where the ruler's virtuous governance (De) cannot reach the people, and the people's grievances cannot ascend to the throne.

Therefore, enlightened monarchs value loyal and upright ministers precisely because they dare to speak frankly and can unblock these stagnations. If rulers can restrain personal desires and restore proper rites, virtuous individuals will naturally gather around them. When the Son of Heaven personally plows the fields and the empress personally tends silkworms (note: in ancient texts, the character "后" originally meant "empress"), their exemplary conduct naturally transforms the populace. Thus we see that virtuous individuals can be awaited to arrive naturally—they should not be deliberately sought, for those obtained through deliberate pursuit often prove not to be truly worthy.

When a ruler possesses virtuous humility, worthy ministers will naturally come to serve; if he is discourteous and arrogant, even if he searches everywhere for talent, what he attracts will not be true sages. The people should be guided through education, not subjected to excessive punishment, for harsh laws and severe penalties violate the principles of Heaven. Just as when a ruler personally plows the fields, the people will follow his example (this is the power of education); if he does not act himself but forces others to do so, the people will surely resist, and even the application of punishment will fail to enforce compliance truly.

Sage-kings like Yao and Shun diligently labored for the people (diligence here means wholeheartedly nurturing the populace) yet harbored no personal desires (desire here refers to indulging solely in personal pleasures). Though they occupied the throne, they held no arrogance in their hearts, and thus all under Heaven could live freely. Some worthy individuals are beloved by the masses yet unappreciated by the ruler, while others are favored by the ruler but despised by the people—the former win the people's hearts through selfless service, while the latter gain private favor through flattery and sycophancy. Employing those loved by the people brings stability to the realm, while indulging personal favorites endangers the state—how can a ruler give free rein to personal preferences? Therefore, those who value the world must restrain their private inclinations.

The so-called "world" lies in encompassing all things; the so-called "governing the state" lies in nurturing the people. The state is rooted in the people, and only when the people are at peace can the state be secure. Thus, rulers who care for the nation and its people must devote themselves to seeking methods of governance. Just as jade is hard to distinguish because of jade-like stones, and true gold is hard to discern because of gold-like copper ore (copper ore: yellow bronze ore). If a quail is adorned with the wings of a falcon, those with poor eyesight may mistake it for a bird of prey, but the clear-sighted will recognize it as an ordinary fowl. Today, there are petty individuals who, though well-versed in classical arts and techniques or skilled in extraordinary abilities....

This passage elucidates how a ruler should discern talent and govern the state. Using ornate official robes to distinguish status, foolish people take it at face value, assuming those wearing such garments are noble men (junzi); but the wise see through appearances, recognizing they may actually be petty men (referring to those who attain position through deceitful tricks).

An enlightened ruler selects talent by adhering to three criteria: listening to their words, observing their abilities, and examining their conduct. Only through this approach can genuine talent be identified. A foolish ruler applying these same standards would end up selecting those who bring chaos to the court (because an unwise ruler cannot distinguish truth from falsehood). A sage ruler values those who achieve substantial yet unassuming merits (referring to humble officials who quietly benefit the people without seeking recognition).

If a ruler only enjoys hearing ministers boast of achievements, people will compete to bribe their way to fame. If only superficial governance results are considered, people will resort to deception for promotion. If eloquence alone is prized, everyone will polish their rhetoric to create an illusion of peace. Once such practices take root, governance will inevitably deteriorate.

The passage employs a mirror as a metaphor: everyone knows to use a mirror to check their appearance (a minor utility), yet resents when virtuous advisors point out their faults (a major utility). The mirror's benefit is small, while accepting criticism yields great rewards—yet many rulers prioritize the former while neglecting the latter.

Finally, it concludes: If the ruler maintains clarity and restraint (referring to a clear mind), and if ministers remain respectful, frugal, and diligent in their duties, an era of peace will naturally arise. Yet history shows most rulers fail in this regard—a truly perplexing phenomenon. Ultimately, the root of the problem lies in the ruler's own lack of inner clarity and resolute judgment.

This passage from The Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavernous Numinous (Xin Diao Dongling Zhenjing) discusses the principles of governance and personnel selection. It states that if a ruler selects officials solely based on superficial observations (relying on eyes and ears), it will lead to an overabundance of officials and chaotic administration. Skilled pretenders will compete to put on displays, making it difficult for the ruler to distinguish genuine talent from deception. Conversely, selecting officials through thoughtful consideration of their inner virtue results in fewer but more capable administrators who bring clarity to governance.

In times of peace and prosperity, one should choose those who are unassuming yet truly capable; yet in times of decline, superficial charm often takes precedence. Alas, how would the ruler know? When selection is based on appearances, everyone will resort to opportunism (deceiving superiors and subordinates alike) to gain reputation. But when selection is based on inner virtue, people will quietly cultivate their character. When officials quietly cultivate virtue, moral transformation spreads naturally without excessive preaching; when they engage in opportunism, even punishments fail to instill fear. Shouldn't the ruler understand this principle?

Chapter Five, "The Way of Ministers," continues: When a state is about to flourish, its court officials exhibit diverse traits—some short, some tall, some plain, some handsome, some gentle, some stern, some correct, some mistaken. Though their speech, actions, and appearances differ, examining their aspirations and inner motives reveals they all sincerely serve the state. Thus, even blunt remonstrations won't breed resentment, demotions won't cause bitterness, and discussions remain fair and reasonable. In such cases, celestial cycles don't go awry, earthly resources don't run short, human affairs don't descend into chaos, divine blessings are bestowed, distant peoples submit willingly, and all beings flourish in harmony.

When a state approaches ruin, its court officials all appear elegant—their expressions harmonious, their words ornate, their manners refined. Yet though these doomed ministers display outward compliance, their hearts harbor selfish schemes, secretly undermining one another.

This passage primarily discusses how to distinguish loyal ministers from treacherous ones, and the proper way for rulers and ministers to interact.

Observing someone's appearance and speech may suggest harmony, but examining their ambitions and inner thoughts often reveals struggles for power and position. Thus when hearing unusual theories they express shock, upon encountering strange phenomena they react with confusion—mutual jealousy and obfuscation ultimately lead to losing the true Dao. Consequently, heaven sends down calamities (celestial irregularities become disasters), earth produces abnormal creatures (terrestrial anomalies become omens), humans commit wicked deeds while spirits secretly observe ("间" meaning covert surveillance), foreign tribes invade, and chaos frequently arises—the myriad things cannot properly transform and flourish.

Ministers who achieve merit without depleting resources, exhausting the people's strength, or harming officials—who enable commoners to live in peace while enhancing the ruler's virtue—these are loyal and worthy ministers. Those who squander wealth, burden the people and harm officials merely for temporary gain, seeking rewards from the ruler while leaving future calamities for the state—these are treacherous ministers.

In well-governed eras, enlightened rulers obtain worthy ministers; in chaotic times, mediocre men occupy official positions. When asked how to serve a ruler, the Daoist figure Kangcangzi replied: "Having chosen to be a minister, one must be prepared to die for it." The heart must be impartial (without selfish bias), the demeanor gentle, and speech proper. Impartial yet not ostentatious, gentle yet not fawning, proper yet not offensive (not confronting the ruler directly even when they lack discernment).

Ancient officials governed with incorruptible diligence to rectify state affairs, while modern ones do so to seek personal fame. Those rectifying state affairs handle matters with systematic clarity, their actions appropriate to the greater whole; those pursuing personal fame, though also systematic, are shortsighted and mired in trivial details. Hence we understand: Taking the Dao as foundation, all engagements find their proper place; prioritizing private affairs, all contacts lose their measure ("抵" meaning engagement).

Ministers holding high positions who don't remonstrate, or occupying low posts without impartiality, don't deserve their emoluments. Rulers who don't respect high ministers or trust minor officials cannot employ suitable talent in court. The capable aren't necessarily loyal, nor the loyal necessarily capable. Ministers shouldn't fear lacking loyalty, but rather exhausting loyalty without gaining the ruler's trust; rulers shouldn't fear distrusting ministers, but rather trusting when none can shoulder the responsibility. When superior talent attains its true nature, the world becomes well-ordered; when mediocre talent attains its nature, chaos reigns. Enlightened rulers employing superior talent should grant them authority to handle affairs according to circumstances.

(Note: The "⬤" symbol indicates missing characters in the original text)

This scripture primarily discusses how to identify and employ virtuous talents, as well as the moral conduct expected of worthy individuals.

The highest caliber of talent (referring to virtuous individuals of noble character and impartial integrity) serve in office with loyalty to assist their ruler, remaining steadfast in upholding the Dao (the Way) even in times of upheaval. Those of middling talent (referring to those with skills and abilities) require management through merit-based evaluation and clear rewards and punishments, as they are more susceptible to external influences.

Virtuous individuals are often difficult to obtain—they do not readily take office yet easily withdraw from service. This is not because they fear death, but because they worry that their loyalty may go unrecognized by their ruler. True worthies are outwardly humble and inwardly untroubled, treating others with fairness and uprightness without frivolity. When close to them, one finds them increasingly dignified; when distant, they bear no resentment. In adversity, they accept fate with equanimity; in prosperity, they exercise self-restraint.

When employed, virtuous talents enter court to tactfully point out the ruler's faults and appropriately praise his virtues, while maintaining silence when departing. They work diligently and fulfill their duties, living frugally with self-discipline. When not employed, they conceal their abilities, speak and act prudently, and find contentment in poverty without resentment toward heaven or others. The wise do not doubt their integrity.

True worthies do not alter their principles even in chaotic times. Their demeanor is dignified, their speech modest yet grounded in sound reasoning. They never boast of themselves (those who boast are not truly virtuous)—their talents manifest in governance, and their achievements are evident in their handling of affairs.

In times of peace and prosperity, the highest talents contribute wisdom, those of middling ability apply their skills, and the common people offer their labor. The text mentions a man from Qi named Pouzi, whose talent was sufficient to rectify the state and whose character was outstanding (his De [Virtue] was unshakably noble). He served his parents with deep filial piety and reverence.

This passage recounts the story of a man who adheres to faith and righteousness (integrity and moral principle) yet faces adversity in society. A man of impoverished means but unwavering virtue travels extensively yet struggles to find kindred spirits, often being deceived by those who curry favor with the powerful.

Leaning on his cane, he seeks counsel from Kang Cangzi (a Daoist sage), voicing his confusion: "I've heard that the highest 'Perfected Being' (zhiren) transcends worldly emotions, while ordinary people remain ignorant of true feelings. Yet someone like me, who values genuine affection and acts by the principles of integrity, finds myself neither reaching the Perfected Being's state nor spared the common man's suffering. Nowadays, people mistake empty promises for true sincerity, while genuine honesty goes unrecognized; superficial displays of righteousness are praised, while true moral conduct is ignored. Doesn't this mean those who uphold faith and righteousness are doomed to perpetual hardship?"

After listening, Kang Cangzi straightens his robe—first bowing his head in contemplation, then sighing to the heavens, finally singing aloud: "In eras of enlightened governance (yang phase of time), faith and righteousness flourish naturally; in times of darkness (mo phase of time), they recede. The rise and fall of epochs alternate like day and night—how could I favor one over another? These transformations defy simple explanation."

The concluding passage "Fu yun zheng xing" (Maintaining the Correct Nature) reveals the core teaching: True Dao cultivators should preserve the purity of their original heart, aligning with the Dao's natural flow without obsessing over worldly validation. Just as the seasons cycle, clarity and obscurity are both part of nature's rhythm—the essential practice is to safeguard one's innate virtue.

This passage discusses the art of governance and talent selection, emphasizing that true sages are not obtained through forceful pursuit but are naturally drawn to rulers who embody virtue.

When a ruler's conduct aligns with the "True Dao" (the supreme principle of natural non-action/Wuwei), all things respond spontaneously. But when a ruler loses moral integrity and lacks basic sincerity, superior scholars will retreat into seclusion. The emergence of worthy talents depends on timing—sometimes they can be recruited, but they should never be coerced.

When Duke Ji (a Zhou dynasty minister) asked how to obtain worthy talents, Master Kangcang (a Daoist figure) replied: True sages can be awaited to appear naturally, but cannot be forcibly sought. The key lies in how the ruler "seeks" them—if the Son of Heaven (the ruler) maintains dignified composure, ministers govern with clarity and impartiality, enforcing laws without favoritism while extending benevolence to all people, worthy individuals will naturally come to serve.

When true talents are properly employed, the people gain clear moral discernment, perceptive understanding, and open-heartedness free from obstruction. Thus heaven and earth achieve natural harmony, all things flourish spontaneously, and even deities need not manifest miracles (because universal peace renders divine signs unnecessary). This illustrates how worthy talents are encountered rather than pursued.

The text enumerates five types of ruler-minister governance styles that attract corresponding "talents":

1. Diligent and enlightened rulers with harmonious, fair-minded ministers attract broad-minded, upright individuals of integrity;

2. Harsh and suspicious rulers paired with impatient, authoritarian ministers draw opportunists who corrupt proper principles;

3. Distrustful rulers surrounded by sycophantic ministers attract those who use strange names and esoteric arts to flatter;

4. Self-righteous rulers with rigid, position-clinging ministers gather fame-seekers addicted to empty reputation and superficial splendor;

5. Indecisive rulers advised by cunning, obsequious ministers invite outwardly loyal but inwardly malicious schemers.

Historical examples illustrate this principle: The Yellow Emperor obtained Changxian and Fenghong (his two wise ministers), King Tang of Shang gained Yi Yin (the renowned Shang dynasty chancellor), King Xuan of Zhou acquired Zhongshanfu and Shenbo (Zhou dynasty sages), and Duke Huan of Qi secured Ning Qi (the distinguished Qi statesman)—all because these rulers personally embodied the Great Dao with noble aspirations. True sages can stabilize nations, while capable ministers can govern effectively; what we call "pacifying the state" means creating harmonious tranquility.

This passage elucidates the principles for recognizing truly virtuous and capable individuals. The highest form of virtue (De) operates subtly and goes unnoticed (the transformative power of supreme virtue), much like the natural order (Dao) silently governs the workings of all things without being perceived. A genuine sage can effortlessly guide multitudes of talented individuals, while a crowd of mediocrities combined cannot match a single sage.

When observing people, one must pay attention to these nuances: some dwell in mountain forests yet their reputation spreads far and wide, while others remain in the mundane world yet preserve inner purity. Some appear lively on the surface but are upright at heart, while others seem tranquil externally yet harbor wickedness within. Judging people must not rely solely on appearances—there truly exist virtuous individuals (Xianren, rare sages) with coarse features but genuine talent, while ten out of nine seemingly dignified figures may prove to be petty men in reality.

Those with true discernment can achieve this: without deliberate examination of words, they perceive literary brilliance; without demanding perfect demeanor, they assess one's bearing; without chasing empty fame, they recognize good deeds; and without being swayed by rumors, they discern the truth (understanding someone's true faults without relying on slanderous gossip). This requires insight that transcends superficial appearances.

Min Ziji asked Confucius: "How great is the difference between the Dao and filial piety?" (suspecting they were vastly different) Confucius replied: The Dao is the mysterious principle of nature's operation, while filial piety represents the highest virtue in human relations. (Investigating the cosmic origin is called "Dao"; manifested in human relationships it becomes "filial piety." The Dao generates and transforms all things without revealing its source, hence called "wondrous function"; filial piety means serving parents with utmost sincerity and obedience, capable of resonating with divine spirits, thus termed "supreme virtue.")

The Dao encompasses the movement of heaven and earth, nurtures the growth of all beings, shapes diverse forms, and endows varying innate qualities and lifespans. ("Nature" refers to the essential qualities of hardness or softness; "lifespan" denotes the duration of existence.) The Dao's efficacy is supremely substantial yet it does not dominate things, nor interfere in specific affairs—appearing non-active (Wuwei) yet accomplishing everything. When we try to observe or listen to it, we grasp no tangible essence, having only the word "Dao" to name it. (Though the Dao fashions all things and carves myriad forms, seeking its ruler reveals no trace—therefore we call it "Dao." Dao means spiritual and penetrating intelligence.) When manifested in human relationships, it is called "filial piety"—a term representing kind treatment of parents.

Treating parents kindly requires reverence and obedience as its foundation, with undivided attention to compliance, observing their expressions with utmost care. Not a single word spoken or thought conceived dares forget one's parents; no gesture or step taken dares neglect them. Serving one's ruler, one dares not be disloyal; making friends, one dares not be insincere; leading subordinates, one dares not be disrespectful; pursuing goodness, one dares not be lax. Even when alone in a room, one dares not slacken in sincerity—this is called "perfect filial piety." Thus, utmost sincerity in filial devotion can resonate with divine spirits, its radiance illuminating the four seas, with every prayer answered—all these are results of treating parents kindly.

In ancient times, Emperor Shun exemplified great filial piety. His stepmother deluded his father, repeatedly attempting to harm him, yet Shun only grew more reverent—fearful but never resentful. When ordered to dig a well (intending to bury him alive), heaven manifested its power by shaking the earth as he descended, with radiant deities guiding his escape through a side tunnel. Thereafter, he attended his parents with even greater caution, thereby accumulating profound virtue (De) that eventually made him ruler of the world—all blessings stemming from kind treatment of parents.

This passage recounts how two ancient sage-kings, Emperor Shun and King Wen of Zhou, moved Heaven through their filial piety.

Emperor Shun's father Gusou (a blind old man), stepmother, and younger brother repeatedly attempted to kill him. The first time, they ordered Shun to repair a granary roof, then set it ablaze once he climbed up - he escaped by using a bamboo hat as a makeshift parachute. The second time, they sent him to dig a well, then filled it with earth when he descended deep underground; Shun survived by having secretly dug an escape tunnel beforehand. Despite these persecutions, Shun remained ever more reverent toward his father. Heaven was so moved by his virtue (De) that Emperor Yao eventually learned of his sagehood and, after numerous tests, abdicated the throne to him.

When King Wen served as crown prince, he would personally inquire about his father's well-being from attendants outside the royal chambers each morning and evening. His face would brighten upon hearing his father was well, but cloud with worry at any sign of discomfort. He personally checked the temperature of every meal and monitored how much his father ate. During his father's illness, he would dress formally and observe purification rituals (Zhaijiao, referring to mental clarity and devout prayers), personally supervising food preparation and tasting medicines. He would eat little when his father had poor appetite, resuming normal meals only after his father recovered. He would gently remonstrate his parents' faults with soft words while reverently attending to even their smallest preferences. His filial devotion thus moved the entire realm, as recorded in the Book of Songs' "Greater Odes": "King Wen ascends and descends at the left and right of the Lord on High," meaning all his actions received divine protection.

(Note: The "purification rituals" mentioned are key Daoist ceremonial practices involving ritual bathing, changing into clean garments, and dietary abstention to purify body and mind as expressions of piety toward deities.)

This passage recounts several stories about virtue (De) and heavenly mandate (Tianming).

First, it mentions how the tyrannical King Zhou of Shang was unable to harm King Wen of Zhou because the latter enjoyed divine protection. Citing the Book of Rites, it recounts that when King Wen fell seriously ill, King Wu dreamed that the Heavenly Emperor granted him nine additional years of life. King Wen interpreted this dream as a sign that nine western states would submit to Zhou, and he willingly transferred three years of his own lifespan to King Wu. Ultimately, King Wen lived to ninety-seven, King Wu to ninety-three, and the Zhou dynasty endured for seven hundred years—all because they were favored by Heaven due to their virtuous service to their parents, which accumulated blessings.

Min Ziqian once asked Confucius about the principles of educating children. Confucius replied that the sage-kings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties always nurtured their children through ritual and music. Music was used to cultivate the inner self (harmonizing the heart-mind), while ritual was employed to regulate outward conduct (rectifying demeanor). By cultivating both inner and outer aspects, virtue would naturally manifest, making one refined and dignified. As a subject, one should be willing to sacrifice for the ruler’s benefit—how much more should one cultivate oneself to better assist the ruler? Therefore, it is essential to select loyal and upright individuals as teachers, instructing children in the proper relationships between father and son, ruler and subject, and elder and younger. Only by understanding how to be a good son can one become a good father; only by knowing how to be a good subject can one become a good ruler; and only by mastering service to others can one lead them.

Min Ziqian returned home and practiced these teachings for three years. In serving his parents and being kind to his brothers, he achieved perfection. Neighbors praised his integrity, the community lauded his benevolence, and his clan honored his filial piety and fraternal duty. His reputation spread throughout the land—all because he excelled in serving his parents.

Finally, the passage mentions the Crown Prince of Qi sitting on the Qing Terrace with the Prince of Yan (the text is incomplete here, possibly describing a ceremonial occasion).

This passage recounts several allegorical tales about cultivating speech and conduct:

The first story tells of Lord Zhuang Ta (a ruler of Yan state posthumously titled "Zhuang" with personal name "Ta"). This lord wore exquisite jade ornaments, with swords and jade pendants on both sides glittering in mutual reflection. When the crown prince was reading and ignored him, Lord Zhuang Ta asked: "Does Qi state possess any treasures?" The prince replied: "A ruler's integrity, ministers' loyalty, and the people's support—these are Qi's true treasures." Hearing this, Lord Zhuang Ta immediately removed his sword and departed, demonstrating the noble quality of yielding upon hearing righteousness. This parable illustrates that true nobility values integrity and loyalty over external adornments.

The second tale discusses how people often fail to recognize their own faults. The wise tolerate others' mistakes without comment, petty men exaggerate them, while relatives speak ambiguously out of either pity or jealousy. Therefore, gentlemen should constantly examine themselves—knowing one's faults yet failing to correct them brings shame to nobility. Regarding advice they know won't be heeded, gentlemen rarely speak. Before criticizing others, one must first examine whether one is truly virtuous and upright.

The third narrative concerns Zhai Xi (a surname). Zhai Xi's son was filial, but Zhai Xi enjoyed teasing him with falsehoods. He frequently fabricated stories like "so-and-so has died" or "someone wants to harm me," which his son always believed. Over time, the villagers came to despise Zhai Xi's lies and conspired to kill him. When Zhai Xi warned his son of this danger, the son no longer believed him, and Zhai Xi was ultimately slain. This cautionary tale warns against careless speech—even closest kin will lose trust, eventually bringing calamity.

These stories collectively emphasize the importance of prudent and honest speech and conduct. True nobility focuses on inner cultivation rather than external decoration, engages in constant self-reflection, and avoids misfortune caused by irresponsible words.

This passage primarily discusses how judging people should not be based solely on appearances but must discern their inner essence. Some who speak voluminously may seem frivolous, yet there are those with concise speech whose thoughts lack depth; some whose behavior appears flippant and restless, yet others maintain composed exteriors while harboring inner turmoil; some whose lives seem disorderly and vulgar, yet there are those outwardly neat with filthy hearts. Such cases are innumerable, and without penetrating insight, distinguishing them proves difficult.

Certain individuals appear calm externally while inwardly agitated—this restlessness proves hard to quell (like greedily chasing profit upon seeing it, where obtaining more only fuels greater desire, exhausting the body beyond tranquility). Others harbor consuming desires while feigning patience, finding joy only upon attainment (when lust arises within, environmental stimuli drive relentless pursuit; satisfaction comes only with possession, unknowingly destabilizing the heart and harming one's nature). Thus, those outwardly serene but inwardly restless damage their essence through scattered thoughts, while profit-seekers ruin their reputation through physical exhaustion (only those free from desire, unswayed by fame and gain, attain bodily peace and preserved nature).

In human life, some encountering adversity complain of being born at the wrong time—this resembles a criminal extending their neck awaiting execution (reckless words and deeds angering rulers differ little from awaiting decapitation). For the erudite yet unrecognized, one can only say their time has not come and destiny remains unfulfilled—why indulge in complaint?

Skillful admonishers understand aligning with others' temperaments, guiding emotions from their root to foster mutual harmony. Unskillful critics attack innate character while failing to grasp emotional origins, deepening mutual suspicion. What delights children often repels elders; what pleases the senses frequently troubles the mind.

Finally, it notes that those condemning the world's folly may lack virtue themselves; those accusing universal confusion may want clarity (truly virtuous individuals tolerate folly without harsh judgment). Demanding from others standards one fails to meet constitutes error.

Note: The terms "frivolous and unsteady" (轻佻 qīngtiāo) denote lack of gravitas, "bloodied neck" (丹颈 dānjǐng) metaphorically indicates peril, and "correct" (韙 wěi) signifies propriety. These terms frequently appear in Daoist contexts as admonitions for self-cultivation.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between wisdom and foolishness. The unwise (those lacking virtue) always attribute their failures to others' confusion ("blaming the multitude for their bewilderment"), while those who are genuinely confused end up being harmed.

The annotation in parentheses further explains: those who are foolish and lost actually suffer no real loss ("the deluded lose nothing"), whereas those who persistently blame others ("the fault-finders") only injure themselves ("merely wound themselves"). This excerpt comes from the fourth volume of The Newly Carved Works of Master Kangcang, where Kangcangzi is the central figure of the Dongling Zhenjing (Scripture of the Cavernous Numinous), an important Daoist classic primarily discussing principles of self-cultivation.

The core message here is a warning: when facing problems, one should not constantly blame others, as this attitude of complaint ultimately harms oneself. A true practitioner should turn inward, seeking the cause within.

In the fifth volume of the Newly Carved Scripture of the Cavern Mystery, the Chapters on the Dao of Agriculture and Dao of Warfare, jointly annotated by Kangcangzi (a Daoist philosopher) and He Can, expound the fundamental principles of state governance.

The Chapter on the Dao of Agriculture clearly states: Grain production is the natural law that sustains human existence and the essential task of state administration. If people abandon this root vocation of farming to pursue the floating profits of commerce (referring to speculative industries), it will lead to difficulties in unifying government decrees. A state with fragmented decrees can neither maintain stable defense nor wage effective campaigns.

When people neglect agricultural production, household wealth diminishes. Impoverished families become prone to displacement, and such population mobility leads to frequent calamities in the state, stirring thoughts of abandoning native lands among the people. If all forsake the root for the branches, they will exalt cleverness and cunning, fostering deceitful practices. When craftiness prevails, laws become distorted, ultimately inverting right and wrong.

The primary principle by which ancient sage-kings governed the people was to settle them in stable livelihoods—this aimed not merely at demarcating territories, but more importantly at cultivating a steadfast will to remain rooted. Settled people possess simple temperaments; simplicity makes them easier to govern, borders naturally become peaceful, and royal authority stabilizes. Their minds remain childlike in purity, with few selfish thoughts, allowing public laws to be easily implemented.

When agricultural foundations run deep, the people's households prosper. Wealthy families become reluctant to migrate, maintaining undivided loyalty until death, thus uniting all under heaven as one. Achieving such a state would make even the governance achievements of the Yellow Emperor (the legendary sage ruler of antiquity) seem no greater. The ancient sage-kings vigorously promoted farming and weaving precisely to establish this fundamental teaching. Therefore, the Son of Heaven personally led feudal lords to plow the ceremonial field (the symbolic imperial field in ancient rituals), while ministers and scholars cultivated according to their ranks and merits—all to encourage the people to value agricultural work.

Note: The "ceremonial plowing" mentioned here was an important Zhou dynasty ritual. The Monthly Ordinances records that in the first month, the Son of Heaven would select an auspicious day to personally lead dukes and feudal lords in a plowing ceremony, wielding farm tools—the emperor pushing the plow three times, the lords five times—as a demonstration of valuing agriculture.

This passage describes the institutional norms by which ancient rulers emphasized agricultural and sericultural affairs, embodying the social division of labor concept of "men plowing and women weaving."

Kings and feudal lords were required to personally oversee agricultural and sericultural activities. The queen and imperial consorts led the women of the palace to participate in silkworm rearing in mulberry fields outside the capital, promoting the virtue of diligent weaving among women. According to the Monthly Ordinances, in the third lunar month, officials were prohibited from cutting down mulberry trees while silkworm-raising tools were repaired. The queen and consorts observed purification rituals (Zhaijiao) to worship the Silkworm Deity (Xiancan), personally gathering mulberry leaves and tending to silkworms.

Ancient regulations stipulated that both the Son of Heaven and feudal lords maintained public mulberry fields and silkworm chambers, usually located by rivers. Virtuous noblewomen entered these chambers to rear silkworms, presenting the cocoons to the ruler upon completion. The queen then personally reeled the silk ("reeling thrice with ceremonial hand movements") and distributed it to palace women for weaving. This system aimed to encourage diligence in textile work.

Regarding social division of labor, men did not weave yet had clothing, and women did not farm yet had food—this was because they exchanged the fruits of their labor ("trading merits"), mutually supplying each other’s needs, a system established by sage kings. Agricultural work followed the seasons, with strict evaluation of labor output—unless elderly or ill, no one was exempt. A diligent farmer could feed ten people ("a superior farmer sustains ten"). During peak farming seasons, no large-scale construction or military campaigns were permitted; men did not marry outside their locality, nor did women marry away, prioritizing agricultural production above all.

The Yellow Emperor once said: "If the seasonal climate is abnormal, focus solely on cultivating the five grains." Crops depend on human effort for planting, on timely weather for growth, and on the land for nourishment. Thus, when plowing, seed spacing should allow room for stepping; when hoeing, there must be space to swing the tool; and when weeding, the work should be manageable by hand—this is the correct method of farming.

Social roles were clearly defined: farmers produced grain, artisans crafted tools, and merchants facilitated trade. If a ruler neglected agriculture and instead undertook large construction projects during farming seasons, it would be a grave error. Crops sown too early or late, out of season, or affected by irregular temperatures would yield poor harvests.

(Note: "Xiancan" refers to the worship of the Silkworm Deity; "reeling thrice with ceremonial hand movements" describes a ritualized silk-reeling technique; "trading merits" denotes the exchange of labor products.)

This passage expounds on the principle of aligning agricultural work with celestial timing. Fifty-seven days after the winter solstice (around the Beginning of Spring solar term), when plants begin to grow, it's time to prepare for cultivation. Farming should follow the maxim "sow when you see growth, harvest when you see withering," arranging agricultural activities according to natural rhythms.

Both bountiful years and lean years require sacrifices to the Earth God (Sheji) - the former in gratitude, the latter in supplication, demonstrating reverence for earthly blessings and human life. Proper timing is essential: work when the season demands, and cease when the time has passed. Even elderly or weaker laborers can contribute effectively when following this principle. Those ignorant of agricultural timing make three mistakes: acting too early (forcing cultivation before the proper solar term), acting too late (regretting missed opportunities), or working carelessly during the correct season - such practitioners are unworthy of being called farmers.

Specific cultivation techniques include: weeding during dry periods when unwanted plants die easily and soil becomes loose and fertile; sowing seeds in ground with soft upper layers and firm lower strata, allowing deep root penetration while ensuring sturdy stalks when rain compacts the soil. Planting density should be moderate - too sparse wastes land, too dense harms yield. Irrigation channels should be dug deep and straight for efficient water flow, while planting beds require level, fertile surfaces for even moisture distribution. Ultimately, crops need both sunlight above and cool moisture below (yang illumination for growth, yin dampness for root nourishment).

This scripture expounds the essential principles of agricultural cultivation, using metaphorical language to illustrate the natural laws governing crop growth.

First, it explains the natural patterns of plant development: when moisture is abundant (lower Yin) and sunlight plentiful (upper Yang), crops flourish. Seedlings arranged in orderly rows grow swiftly, while strong and weak plants thrive when they do not interfere with one another. Proper spacing (moderate density) and adequate airflow (cool breezes) are crucial for high yields.

Next, it details farming techniques: if the soil is poor (barren land), crops will struggle; weeding too late (after weeds have overgrown) damages the roots of young plants. Seedlings should be thinned appropriately in their early stages (not overcrowded), while mature plants should support one another (mutual shading), preventing lodging at harvest—much like a clan working together ensures abundant harvests.

Special emphasis is placed on thinning methods: uneven growth is the greatest threat. Early-sprouting, robust plants produce full grains (fine rice), while late, weak ones yield empty husks (chaff). Thus, thinning should favor strong sprouts (elder brothers) over weak ones (younger brothers). Fertile fields should be moderately spaced (loosely arranged), while poor soil (arid land) should not be overly dispersed.

Finally, it contrasts timely and untimely planting: crops sown at the right season bear large, dense ears (long and full spikes) with sweet, plump grains; those planted late develop long awns and small stems (deep awns and thin stalks), producing mostly empty or immature seeds (chaff and green grains). Millet sown on time yields large spikes with short awns and round kernels, whereas delayed planting results in thick husks and small grains.

(Note: The symbol "⬤" in the original text indicates missing or illegible characters.)

This passage explores the relationship between crop growth patterns and human health, using the contrast between "timely cultivation" (following agricultural seasons) and "untimely cultivation" (defying natural cycles) to illustrate the importance of adhering to natural laws.

Taking millet as an example: Untimely millet develops thick stems and leaves but short ears, while timely millet grows sturdy stalks with long, horsetail-like tassels. Regarding rice, untimely plants have thin stems, sparse growth, and thick husks, whereas timely rice exhibits plump stems and lush foliage. For hemp crops, timely cultivation produces widely spaced nodes with glossy color and tough fibers, while untimely hemp grows dense nodes with leaves prone to pest damage.

Legumes (soybeans) cultivated at the proper time develop short stems with full pods—each plant bearing fourteen pods—and abundant foliage for high yield. Untimely beans produce excessive vines with sparse, weak leaves and few pods. Wheat grown in season forms long, plump ears with thin golden husks that strengthen those who consume it; out-of-season wheat develops swollen, diseased roots and ears with many awns but hollow grains.

The fundamental principle emerges: Crops following agricultural seasons flourish, while those defying natural cycles fail. When people consume seasonally appropriate grains, their limbs gain strength, hearing and vision sharpen, pathogenic Qi (vital energy) cannot invade, and diseases cannot take root. The text quotes Kong Sheng's observation: Eating well in winter warms the body, while summer nourishment cools it—maintaining this thermal balance makes people resistant to illness and prevents epidemics from spreading.

The passage emphasizes grain as humanity's foundation for survival ("grains are man's heaven"), stressing that wise rulers must prioritize agriculture. When monarchs neglect farming, they essentially abandon their people—how can such nations endure? A concluding note references the "Military Doctrine" chapter's perspective: Weapons are inauspicious instruments to be used only as last resorts.

This passage recounts the dialogue between King Jing of Qin and Master Kangcang (a Daoist recluse) concerning military affairs. At that time, the Qin state possessed formidable military strength, and King Jing sent Bao Rong with lavish gifts of twelve cities to invite Master Kangcang out of seclusion, even applying covert pressure to ensure his compliance.

After Master Kangcang arrived in Qin from Rongquan, King Jing waited three full days without obtaining an audience. Growing impatient, the king rose from his seat and, facing north while holding a jade scepter (gui), lamented: "Has Heaven forsaken me?" Master Kangcang turned slightly to observe him and remarked: "I presumed Your Majesty would inquire about profound matters, yet you remain entangled in these vulgar concerns of slaughter and warfare."

The Daoist master continued: "If we must discuss military affairs, let us address their essence—warfare has existed since humanity's inception. Martial force manifests human dignity, and this dignity originates from Heaven (referring to innate nature). Anger generates dignity, and dignity provokes conflict. Thus, the roots of warfare run deep, unceasing since antiquity."

Hearing this, King Jing respectfully adjusted his robes and headdress, bowed while holding the jade scepter, and said: "I humbly await Heaven's guidance." This dialogue reveals the Daoist perspective on war: martial force stems from humanity's inborn nature rather than being merely a political instrument.

In youth, people experience unpredictable fluctuations of joy and anger, making no age group entirely immune to emotional turbulence. Regardless of social status, age, wisdom, or folly, all must understand this universal truth.

Anger is the root of war. When resentment brews in the heart before erupting, conflict is already simmering; glaring eyes and darkened expressions are war; arrogant words and physical shoving are war; extravagant rivalries and mutual attacks are also war. Though these four manifestations differ in scale, all stem from the same source—the heart of wrath. As early as the era of Chiyou (a tribal leader during the Yellow Emperor’s reign), people clashed with wooden staves. By the time of the Yellow Emperor, warfare escalated to using water and fire (such as flooding cities or fire assaults). Gonggong (a rebel tribe against Emperor Zhuanxu) ignited conflicts, and even the Five Emperors waged wars against one another. Dynasties rose and fell, with victors imposing their Dao upon the land.

Just as we wouldn’t ban medicine because some misuse it, or outlaw boats because some capsize, we cannot abolish all military action simply because certain rulers fell through warmongering. War is like fire and water—properly harnessed, it brings benefit; recklessly wielded, it invites disaster. Families cannot function without discipline, states cannot govern without laws, and the world cannot endure without punitive campaigns. The ancient sage-kings advocated righteous armies (those aligned with heaven’s will to liberate the people) but never proposed total disarmament. When such forces overthrew tyrants to save the oppressed, the people rejoiced like children greeting a loving mother or starving men finding food—their momentum unstoppable as a crossbow bolt piercing a deep valley.

This passage elucidates the core philosophy of military strategy. To achieve victory in warfare, the key does not lie in external conditions but in understanding the patterns of human psychology—people universally desire glory and detest disgrace. By unifying the army's perception of honor and shame, one can forge unbreakable solidarity among all troops.

Truly skilled commanders prioritize the awe-inspiring authority of military orders. When orders are formidable, the enemy appears weak; when orders command respect, the enemy submits. Advantage must be established through strict discipline before battle commences, rendering the enemy unworthy of fear. Since adversaries initiate conflict for gain, if they perceive retreat as their greatest advantage, victory can be achieved without crossing blades—this represents the highest art of warfare.

Deceptive tactics stand in opposition to righteous warfare, and the two can never triumph simultaneously. When an army of justice enters hostile territory, the people know they will be protected: crops remain untrampled, graves undisturbed, property unplundered, homes unburned, and captives properly returned. The purpose of battle—to punish evil and uphold good—must first be declared, clarifying right and wrong. Only if some remain obstinately unyielding should military force then be employed.

Before deploying troops, a proclamation should be issued: "We come to eliminate harm for the people, in accordance with the Dao of Heaven." Upon conquering a hostile state, the populace shall not be slaughtered—only the tyrant executed. Simultaneously, virtuous and capable individuals must be selected for positions of honor, for only thus can true allegiance be won.

This scripture recounts a story about winning people through virtue (De) and practicing benevolence and righteousness.

A wise man (Kang Cangzi) visited a highly respected elder and humbly assisted the poor and sick. He distributed all the wealth from his treasury, opened granaries to relieve the people, and did not hoard possessions for himself. Instead, he treated the virtuous and capable with the utmost respect.

The scripture gives an example: If someone could save a person’s life through the way of benevolence and righteousness, everyone under heaven would strive to follow his example. If an army of benevolence could save even one person, it would inspire countless others. Thus, wherever such an army went, the people of neighboring states would flock to them, like water naturally flowing together. Those from other lands would look upon such an army with the reverence one shows to their parents. The farther they traveled, the more followers they would gain.

Hearing this, Lord Jing (likely a ruler) rose excitedly and said, "Listening to your teachings, I feel the cosmos brimming with righteous energy (Qi). It has shown me what must be done, filling my heart with even greater reverence." Lord Jing then stepped forward to offer a toast in Kang Cangzi’s honor, formally acknowledging him as his teacher and seating him in a place of high honor. Afterward, Lord Jing even set aside a fasting chamber, where he practiced the rituals of a disciple at dawn (Chen hour) every day, continuing this for over a month.

Through this concrete example, the passage illustrates the Daoist political principle of "winning people through benevolence and righteousness," demonstrating that true leadership lies not in conquest by force but in transforming others through virtue (De). If those in power enact benevolent governance and honor the worthy, they will naturally earn the people’s allegiance.

This passage contains numerous archaic and variant Chinese characters requiring careful analysis:

In the four-character phrase "抇埅墬貞", "抇" is interchangeable with "掘" (to dig/excavate); "埅" is the ancient form of "防" (embankment/dyke); "墬" is simply "地" (earth/land); and "貞" corresponds to "真" (truth/authenticity). The complete phrase means: Only by excavating the earth's protective barriers (embankments) can one attain the true Dao.

In "用道龢耑", "龢" represents "和" (harmony/balance), while "耑" corresponds to "端" (proper alignment). This conveys using the Dao to harmonize all things and bring them into proper order.

The phrase "政道処沝蕳" contains "処" (the ancient form of "處" - to handle/manage), "沝" (an archaic form of "流" - flowing water), and "蕳" (interchangeable with "簡" - simplicity). The general meaning suggests that governance through the Dao involves managing flowing waterways (water conservancy projects) and administering with simplicity.

The bracketed notations like "〇用道二〇" likely serve as chapter markers or annotations in ancient texts, indicating this belongs to Chapter Two, Chapter Three, etc. Characters such as "農" (agriculture), "萬晨" (all things), "辰" (celestial timing), and "長流州" (rivers) imply these chapters respectively discuss agricultural principles, harmonizing creation, aligning with celestial cycles, and water governance.

This scripture embodies the Daoist principle of "the Dao follows natural law," advocating governance through observing geographical hydrology and conforming to natural patterns. It integrates practical statecraft like water management and farming with spiritual cultivation of the Dao.