《鳴鶴餘音》Vol. 2

Volume II of The Lingering Notes of Cranes contains four Suwu Man lyrics composed by Master Feng (a renowned Daoist adept), depicting a transcendent life of reclusion. The first poem describes a springtime countryside excursion: leaning on a staff after a meal, the poet gazes at distant returning sails and egrets, observes nearby blooming flowers and lush grass, with the towers of Jinjiang half-hidden among misty mountains. Though no old friends are seen on the horizon, the journey home reveals singing birds and golden willows swaying by a small bridge where flowing water whispers—such mountain-cloud scenery, how few in this world truly appreciate it?

The second lyric celebrates the joys of seclusion: in the glow of sunset, one grasps life’s true meaning, choosing pine-and-bamboo-shaded springs as companions. Befriending clouds and mist, contemplating water’s hue and mountain’s light, the poet nurtures vast Qi (vital energy) in secluded valleys. Most cherished are butterflies dancing among flowers and moss-covered stone paths—far from worldly clamor, robes loosened, laughing freely by the eastern fence. Though longing to pour genuine feelings into ink, old friends of the dust-bound world have scattered.

The third piece speaks of seeing through worldly illusions: recognizing life’s cage-like constraints, one drifts free like duckweed or wild clouds. Understanding the Dao of advance and retreat, fame and shame lose meaning; time flies whether on sea or land. Henceforth, brushes gather dust, petty gains forgotten, dwelling content in emerald hills. All mundane affairs discarded, facing plum blossoms and bamboo in idle repose, one embraces ancient simplicity—this is true pure blessing.

The fourth lyric expresses ultimate awakening: jolted from the dream of Huai’an Kingdom (alluding to illusory wealth), the poet roars at the sky, seeing through human follies past and present. Once striving like studying by snowlight or slaying tigers and dragons, youth was wasted in Golden Valley Garden (the lavish estate of Shi Chong) and palaces of Han and Qin. Alas, why do mortals rush endlessly? Who will awaken?

V

As death approaches and one reflects on life, how could it compare to my carefree existence: holding a jade-handled whisk while discoursing on profound mysteries, plucking golden strings of the zither with refined elegance. Reclining by the gateway to celestial grottoes, roaming freely through open fields, surrendering to unrestrained joy, idly befriending gulls and herons on sandy shores. Casting aside worldly affairs, savoring only purple crabs and golden tangerines, donning a straw cloak to drink alone in river mist, returning drunk through reed flowers as moonlight still bathes the hidden coves.

VI

At the gates of Zen practice, how many strive in vain, squandering their days? Like polishing bricks to make mirrors or piling snow for bridge beams—how many youths are thus deluded? The ocean swallowed in a hair, Mount Sumeru in a mustard seed—the golden-robed ascetic smiles in sudden awakening, transcending the Ten Grounds and Three Vehicles. Yet the deluded remain trapped in the Four Births and Six Realms. Who has heard the cuckoo's spring cry atop the Cliff of Severed Thought, beneath the Shadeless Tree? The path to Caoxi is perilous, Vulture Peak shrouded in clouds—old companions leave no trace. On thousand-zhang icy cliffs, the five-petaled lotus blooms; ancient halls hang curtains where incense coils. Cease your old-womanish prattle amid tangled vines—the wanderer's dreaming soul is already lost in reverie.

VII

To transcend the mundane and ascend to the true realm demands unyielding resolve, a decisive awakening of spiritual insight. Eradicate worldly thoughts, sever clinging desires—only through serene detachment can one taste reality’s essence. Like a thunderclap igniting the Three Dantian’s true fire, a midnight crow pierces a thousand miles through curtains. Nurture the Lead Cauldron (Dantian), sip the Jade Nectar (refined saliva), then commence the work. Ride phoenixes, temper Metal and Wood (inner alchemical balance), wander the inner chamber’s auspicious visions. Light pours forth, vital Qi (energy) fills mountains and seas, permeating heaven and earth. Mount the wind, harness clouds, pluck stars, embrace the moon—this is no child’s play. When the Mysterious Pearl (inner elixir) forms, soar to the Great Luo Heaven, joining the ranks of sages.

VIII

The Dao’s profundity defies measure—divulging its secrets would startle ghosts and gods. It enfolds the cosmos, divides the Primal Origin (Dao’s source), offering joys beyond compare. Before Vulture Peak, a jewel is held aloft, its five hues illuminating creation; beings who grasp this truth rival mountains and seas in longevity. At the ultimate extreme, emerald mists part, jade blossoms rain, forming a canopy in the sky. Golden body, jade bones, cloaked in stars and moon, harmonizing with celestial music. Within the purest gates, the sages’ legacy endures eternally. May seekers comprehend the ineffable ("Looked at but unseen—this is called ‘Subtle’" — Daodejing), wandering together beyond the mundane.

IX

Withdraw from the world yet abide in harmony, blending with the dust while yielding to nature—who can recognize the sage silent as deep waters? Like a quail content in its nest, a fledgling awaiting food—unadorned, without sharp edges.

These passages from Echoes of the Cranes' Song depict the realm of transcendence sought by Daoist practitioners who have seen through worldly illusions. The first section describes the life of a hermit: dwelling in a thatched hut deep in moss-covered mountains, the mind is serene and detached. Daily sustenance comes from simple bamboo utensils; he laughs freely among the peaks, refusing to bow to fame or toil for worldly gains. In leisure, he plucks the zither and sings beneath pine-framed windows, sipping fine wine from a jade flask, bathing in the pure breeze and moonlight—truly savoring the quiet marvels of life beyond the mundane. This state is as lucid as glimpsing the Jade Rope (the Big Dipper) hanging high after the clouds disperse, a clarity unmistakable to his awakened heart.

The ninth section laments worldly delusions: pitiful beings adrift in the river of desire, chasing fame and profit until death. Bound by the shackles of family, property, reputation, lust, and indulgence, they stumble through streets of flowers and wine, bustling like ants in endless cycles, oblivious to their graying temples. Who would willingly return to the simplicity Laozi praised? Only by walking with Lao-Zhuang, like the allegory of the Yellow Emperor losing his Mystic Pearl (symbolizing the return to primal purity), awakening from the dream of Huaxu (the Daoist utopia), and reclining in blessed grotto-heavens. Here, the Three Realms expand, the Eight Directions dissolve into emptiness, and spiritual radiance pierces through—a joy beyond kalpas, ineffable in mortal words.

The tenth section speaks of time’s fleeting arrow: life passes like a white steed’s shadow, while worldly trifles silently transform all things. Deluded masses chase wine, lust, and fame—observe the heroes of ages past: kings of Chu, Yue, Zhou, Qin, Tang, and Han, now mere crumbling tombs and weathered steles, their deeds debated for millennia. Better to awaken early, seeking the immortal realm within the jade flask (Neidan practice), joining celestial banquets in emerald palaces beyond the clouds. There, five-colored auspicious mists swirl, granting passage to feasts at the Purple Tenuity Star, roaming freely in Langyuan’s jade pools. Smiling at foolish beings trapped in samsara’s bitter sea, reborn endlessly like peddlers changing stalls.

The eleventh section reveals the stages of cultivation: like the Sixth Patriarch Huineng’s awakening at Caoxi, soaring like a crane through the heavens. A cloud-water ascetic’s (practitioner’s) life resembles casting a line by the river, hooking crimson-scaled carps, steering the boat through mountain shadows with the wind. Suddenly, clouds part—a glimpse of the Golden Elixir (Neidan achievement) glows in the mist’s depths, priceless beyond measure. Its mystery lies in embracing the Dao of True Oneness, where primal Qi takes form, circulating unimpeded within. Nine years tempering the will, three refining the essence, until the Five Splendors’ Nectar (inner elixir) is forged—the spirit piercing the Nine Heavens’ luminous truth, transcending the mundane. This is the immortal’s true path to enduring vision, holding the profound secrets of heaven.

Twelve

When first establishing the sacred altar and alchemical furnace (for inner refinement), nurture the pure primordial Qi (the Great Harmony and True Life). During cultivation, the inner breath rises like the roar of a tiger, while the True Fire surges like a dragon leaping. Regulating Yin and Yang must follow the rhythms of nature, allowing the energies of Metal (lungs) and Wood (liver) to merge and flow, akin to the celestial rotation of the Northern Dipper. After continuously purifying the mind of distractions, one may glimpse the inner elixir (Neidan) within, shining like a mystical pearl with radiant light, ultimately guiding it into the lower Dantian (the Golden Cauldron). The transformations within are profound and ineffable (Xiyi), their essence lying in refining the Hun and Po (ethereal and corporeal souls) to attain sagehood. From "non-being" (Wu), one comprehends the workings of "being" (You); understanding this truth awakens one's original true nature, leading to eternal return. Gradually, one enters the azure paradise of Qingyang, silently contemplating the flawless full moon in the void—this moon, long obscured by worldly dust, suddenly becomes crystal clear.

Thirteen

In cultivation, inhale the clouds and exhale the mists, riding the wind and drinking the dew, following the generative cycles of the Five Phases. The Crimson Phoenix of the Southern Mountain (heart fire) meets the Mystic Turtle of the Northern Sea (kidney water), steadfast in will to unite Lead and Mercury (essence and spirit). Within the alchemical furnace, refine the pure elixir, where the wondrous interplay of Yin and Yang nurtures the vast and righteous Qi (True Breath) in the void. Only by penetrating the Mysterious Pass (the pivotal point of cultivation) can one grasp the true principle, like a blind and deaf person encountering a master's guidance. Employ the subtle methods of talismanic incantations (Fulu) to silently move the celestial mechanism, allowing the Jade Nectar (essence of the inner elixir) to circulate throughout the body. Maintain a mind as clear as clouds and water, experiencing the boundless serenity of the Great Void—these secrets of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) dissolve all life's doubts like melting ice and snow.

Fourteen

The essences of the sun and moon surge upward, filling the body with golden light, extending life through the seven returns and nine restorations (the microcosmic orbit of Neidan). True Jing (essence) resonates with external phenomena, while the Great Dao lies hidden within the body. In the state of reverie, one traverses the mystical path, awaiting the birth of Yang Qi to forge the divine elixir. The Dragon and Tiger (water and fire) unite in the celestial realm of Purple Empyrean—these heavenly secrets recorded in precious scriptures require a master's instruction to comprehend. The path to immortality lies in fortifying the root; the daily practice of immortals is refining Lead and Mercury (essence and spirit). The alchemical furnace glows with five colors, the cauldron radiates three lights—one must recognize one's original true face. Before the Tower of the Bright Moon, golden cicadas (symbolizing the inner elixir) dance, emerald peaks shine brilliantly. With lofty aspirations and devout practice, one ascends the immortal register.

Fifteen

Feast on the Qi of Heaven and Earth, clad in humble hemp robes, seeing through the fleeting illusions of worldly affairs. Yellow Sprouts (kidney Yang) and White Snow (heart Yin), Black Water (kidneys) and Crimson Clouds (heart)—these alchemical terms passed down from the Yellow Emperor have resounded through the ages. Deep gratitude is owed to the enlightened master who expounded the profound principles of the "Treatise on the Ineffable" (Xiyi Zhuan): humans inherently possess pure Yang essence. When the immortal embryo (inner elixir) is fully nurtured, celestial music will resound, and ten thousand spirits will gather. Seizing the opportunity of creation, all may attain perfection. Riding the Primordial Qi, one roams the eight celestial extremities, touring the three divine mountains of Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou—yet these realms are none other than the present nature of the mind.

This scripture describes the process and stages of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, which can be understood through several layers:

The practitioner laughs at those lost on misguided paths, who fundamentally fail to comprehend the ancestral source of Yin-Yang (referring to the cosmic foundational principles). While heretical methods vainly attempt to refine the Golden Elixir (Jindan), true alchemical practice requires gathering the essence of heaven and earth. The sixteenth section explains how the cultivator abstains from earthly grains (jueli tingchu) and instead nourishes himself with solar and lunar essences (canxia yinlu), allowing the internal lead and mercury (symbolizing Yin and Yang energies) to generate five-colored radiance through natural circulation. When the Golden Elixir first takes form, it opens the vermilion celestial gate (zhufei), like the golden crow (sun) leaping forth to enter the jade toad palace (moon) to complete the union of Yin and Yang. Within the divine furnace, the pure Yang body is refined, surrounded by purple qi while the Mysterious Pearl (the inner elixir) emits light that illuminates the primordial chaos.

The seventeenth section emphasizes understanding the profound mechanics of alchemy in accordance with orthodox Daoist lineage transmission. "Dragon plowing and tiger sowing" metaphorically describes the harmonious interplay of Yin-Yang to cultivate golden nectar and jade liquor (alchemical substances). When the infant (embryonic form of the elixir) appears in the cauldron, purple clouds and phoenixes come to welcome it—this marks the true heir of immortal arts. Imagery like triple Yang, jade stamens, and celestial flowers depict the miraculous phenomena accompanying elixir attainment, illustrating how realized adepts transcend mundanity like the roc transforming from a kun fish.

The eighteenth passage speaks of cultivation requiring soaring ambition, kindling the furnace fire within emptiness (internal refinement) through prenatal primordial qi (tianzhen). It notes the rarity of encountering enlightened masters—though ordinary people possess the alchemical ingredients (yellow sprouts and red marrow), ignorance prevents their application. True practitioners circulate the celestial orbits, shattering chaos to obtain the Golden Elixir luminous as a night-shining pearl.

The nineteenth section portrays the cultivator enduring hardships before receiving a genuine master’s guidance. Through the interaction of Li and Kan (heart and kidneys) and the cyclical reversal of Yin-Yang, aided by the wood dragon and metal tiger (liver and lung energies) in motion, the Five Phases are arranged within the bodily crucible to complete the elixir path that resurrects the dead.

This passage describes the process and states of attainment in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. The cultivator nurtures the "yellow sprout" (primordial Qi) in the mysterious "true earth" (the Dantian energy center), refining it through precise firing techniques to form the Golden Elixir. Such profound principles are difficult to explain to ordinary people—as unfathomable as hatching a phoenix within glass or concealing a dragon pearl within jade. When the Golden Elixir is perfected, thunderous light erupts from the depths of auspicious clouds, startling the "Three Corpses" (three malevolent spirits within the body) and "Six Thieves" (sensory desires) into fleeing. At this moment, the immortal embryo (yang spirit) manifests, dancing amid five-colored clouds while celestial music resounds.

The practitioner must cultivate heart-mind and nature in quiet chambers while contemplating the Great Dao amidst cloud-wrapped mountains. They require repeated encounters with enlightened masters to transmit true formulas—the alchemical furnace must align with the Bagua (Eight Trigrams representing cosmic directions), while the cauldron embodies the principles of the Three Powers (heaven-earth-human). Establishing the foundation of Daoist practice requires harmonizing Yin-Yang, mastering the pivots of celestial movement, and facilitating the entwined union of "dragon and tiger" (water and fire). These celestial mysteries operate through both forward and reverse processes—without understanding their transformations, one cannot discern truth from falsehood.

When cultivation reaches the realm of "Xi-Yi" (emptiness and stillness), auspicious Qi ascends while propitious clouds swirl, with purple mists enveloping the "golden tower" (upper Dantian). A thousand spirits return to their stations, ten thousand transformations complete—this verifies the maturation of the Great Elixir. Jade trees and precious flowers bloom throughout the void, revealing a true landscape of crimson and jade. Contemplating one's original mind becomes like gazing at a clear moon; within refreshing breezes, the inner cosmos (microcosmic grotto-heaven) becomes luminously transparent.

The subsequent verses are cultivation insights composed by the Yuan dynasty Daoist Yu Bosheng using the "Su Wu Man" lyric meter. He mocks his own lingering worldly attachments—his past obsession with fame and wealth, listening to orioles while riding through Chang'an, squandering youthful years. Later awakening, he retreats to rivers and lakes, keeping company with misty waves as his screen, befriending wild apes and shorebirds. Mornings find him practicing in purple pavilions (cultivation sites), evenings resting in Mystic Isles (immortal realms), watching azure dragons surge from seas and white cranes soar skyward—suddenly comprehending life's true meaning. On crisp autumn days he strolls alone through celestial capitals, witnessing grotto-heavens at dawn.

Sweeping away inner turmoil, casting off worldly vexations, he conceals his simplicity in modest hills. With pines as his canopy and white stones for beds, he relinquishes all material attachments. Repeatedly his spirit wanders to Penglai's immortal isles—clad in hemp robes, girded with long swords, idly watching sea waves clarify. Unaware which immortal's wine has matured, inviting him to share the moonlight. Returning, he finds jade palaces serenely empty, the Milky Way gleaming bright—a single iron flute's note cracks mountain peaks. Above his head, the Three Treasures (essence, Qi, and spirit) coalesce; his body encircled by Nine Qi (celestial energies), he drifts ethereally toward the Great Purity realm. Holding lotus blossoms, treading voidward steps—how many can attain such celestial audience tonight? Then turning, he scoops the Big Dipper as ladle, sprinkling fragrant snow (the Golden Elixir) from purple cups.

The finale depicts moonrise over mountains as sea winds still, revealing jade towers and gem terraces on level ground, osmanthus fragrance perfuming the immortal scene. Through rich imagery, these verses portray the cultivator's journey from worldly bondage to ascendant liberation.

Beneath the moon's clear glow and autumn frost, a lone boat drifts leisurely across the crystalline stream. The Milky Way lies silent, while a jade-like rainbow arches over the fields, and the handle of the Northern Dipper dips toward the north. Wearing a half-tilted black cap, his hair already streaked with white, the straw-sandaled recluse asks the ancient tree by Immortal Return City's southern gate: "How many ages have you witnessed?" On Western Flower Mountain blooms a ten-zhang tall flower; autumn dew from the nine heavens congeals into emerald fruit. Casting off mortal sandals is no hardship—but how far truly is the flight beyond the clouds? Three times he swallows the elixir, cold as melting snow, mastering the divine method of grain avoidance and the true secret of feasting on rainbows. Once departed, no trace remains. Laughing at the mortal world—who among men can dwell eternally in the void like that crimson sun?

V

Drifting on the Canglang River at dusk, watching sunset clouds linger, I moor briefly where mountain paths twist and turn. Pairs of wild geese and ducks float among broken reeds—a scene painted by nature. Autumn night rain drums on shoals while candlelight flickers in the wind; deep into night, I still pore over poetry. What use is measuring the ache of separation when vast distances divide us? I laugh at myself—like the Luoyang scholar or Xiangyang's old friend, when did we ever meet except in dreams? Aged Fuqiu composes verses beneath the bright moon; the azure void stretches like an unsheathed sword. After snow, jade towers brim with spring, and feasts are laid on gemstone mats. Let me hold high revelry in my native hills, then at cockcrow fly over Mount Luofu to watch the sea's tranquil shallows.

VI

Facing wine, I sing—no sorrow left to untangle, such is the way of Daoist adepts. Cool breezes whisper past my ears; the bright moon fills my embrace amid pure streams and mountain hues. A thousand years pass in the mundane world, yet here in the mountains mere days elapse—everywhere becomes home. Who truly comprehends the arcane mysteries of the vast void and the Dipper's stars? I recall the blue-eyed foreign monk in hemp robes, casting thousand-foot lines upon the emerald sea to hook leviathans, stirring winds and thunder—no ordinary feat. Cold and heat alternate as heaven and earth revolve, leaving no trace through kalpas. Pitiful—forgetting my advanced years, I still play like a carefree child.

Seventh Poem

I recall the night when Su Dongpo wandered by the Red Cliff, and a lone crane swept past his boat from the west. Heroes and great minds will eventually fade, and the twists of fate remain unfathomable. Tonight, the moon is small, the water cold, and the starlight sparse—better to be a fisherman, untroubled by past or present, lying drunk amidst the fireflies and knotweed flowers. In dreams, I meet an immortal in feathered robes (Daoist attire), and perhaps that is my true self. Who can grasp the poetic vision of wielding a spear and composing verses beneath the sails and moonlight on the vast winter river? On nights when the clear dew dampens robes by the eastern river, as the evening breeze crosses the sandbars, how many long chants and short songs have vanished? The jade towers and palaces are too cold in their heights—where are my old friends now? My heart wanders far beyond words, sighing as I drift on a raft across the sea, unsure who might accompany me on this ethereal journey.

Eighth Poem

Return! What was wrong yesterday has become right today. What use is there in solitary lament? Fortunately, the lost path was not too far, and dawn’s light now glimmers faintly. So I bid the boatman to lead the way, letting the light vessel follow the wind. At the gate, children crane their necks in anticipation—today, I finally see my homeland again. The wine cup is full, though the garden paths are overgrown; still, the pines and chrysanthemums remain as they were. For now, I entrust my proud spirit to this place, turning my back on worldly ways. Old friends have long faded—why bother visiting them by carriage? Better to strum the zither and read books, conversing freely among the valleys and hills, like a weary bird returning to its nest. A farmer tells me of work in the western fields, so I row alone, composing poems in the spring rain. Content to follow Heaven’s will, why should I doubt? Let fate decide whether I stay or go.

Ninth Poem

Ten years in the Yan Mountains, ten years on the river—half a lifetime spent watching wind and snow. How lamentable that when I admire snow, there is no boat, and when I sail, there is no snow—rarely do both align. Now, between broken banks and scattered sands, I no longer know what night it is, lost like Wang Ziyou returning from his snowy visit to Dai on the Shanxi River. Lifting the boat’s awning, I see feet of piled snow, with no trace of plum blossoms, people, or birds. Have you not seen the peaks of Mount Wulao or the summit of Fuqiu, where the immortals laugh at my prematurely graying hair? Though reversing age is easy, refining the coarse into the sublime is hard—what use are the secrets of the Nine-Return Elixir (Daoist longevity elixir)? After the rain, the sky’s light floats in the air, and sea and heavens blur into dazzling unity—such a state might be called the realm of the Six-Yi Immortal Duke (a Daoist celestial title). In the vast emptiness of eternity, only the moon remains constant.

Tenth Poem

At sixty, I retired; now I am past seventy. Grateful for the sage’s grace, I sleep early and rise late, drinking when thirsty, eating when hungry, with no burdens in my heart. A few tattered books and a half-worn inkstone—these merely mark me as a scholar. They say the master can write and chant, but that is long behind me. Without much thought, I take my blue-wood staff, slip on straw sandals, and walk to the ferry to watch the river. The past flows eastward in endless waves, the future surges in unbroken torrents—unknowingly, the sun’s shadow has already tilted west.

The Echoes of Cranes presents two poetic passages depicting the transcendent realm of reclusive living. The first portrays a fisherman's life: in the gentle breeze and fine rain, an old fisherman suddenly calls out, asking what you're gazing at. Carrying freshly caught fish to trade for wine, he shares drunken revelry with you. Passing through secluded paths, you arrive at a hidden utopia deep within white clouds—where celestial peach trees and divine wells, golden oranges and jade orchards (fairyland gardens) abound. Beating sandalwood clappers (musical instruments) and strumming plain zithers, you offer phoenix-fat and unicorn-jerky (rare immortal delicacies) while white-haired, youthful-faced companions dance gracefully. What appears as an opulent immortal abode of gold and jade is actually as fleeting as a cicada's life. Within the five-colored Penglai paradise, another extraordinary path awaits. When Magu (the immortal maiden) finishes brewing her wine and clouds gather over Wu Gorge, it's time to bow toward the Grotto-Heaven (Daoist paradise) and return, letting ocean waves shift as they may, forever dwelling in this secluded retreat of green windows and cloud-kissed doors.

The second passage opens with "mild clouds and gentle breeze," depicting leisurely days: strolling among flowers and willows, one might mistake it for youthful merriment, yet it's actually about savoring eternal peace in high pavilions amid forests, or small carts traversing the city. Gazing at the mighty flowing waters evokes thoughts of noble virtues. Recalling youthful days chanting "kites soaring, fish leaping" (a famous line from the Book of Songs), now aged yet maintaining serene detachment. Amid vermilion strings in the Qing Temple (ritual space) and the chime of ancient hall bells (ritual instruments), one almost hears farmers announcing affairs in the western fields. Books hung from ox horns embody the harmony of plowing and study.

Master Feng's River All Red laments time's passage: the alternation of cold and heat suddenly brings autumn, startling the soul with memories like vanishing smoke. A hundred years pass in a blink; before achieving fame, one retreats to the Five Lakes (symbolizing reclusion), embracing the joy of Xiyi (the Daoist void-tranquility state). Mortal realms brim with sorrow, while beyond lies unique delight. The wonderlands of Yingzhou surpass golden seals of office—worldly sentiments seen through. When returning to azure skies, rainbow phoenixes await.

Lastly, spring scenes after rain: shallow streams in eastern suburbs, mountain halls at dawn—most enchanting. Peach blossoms on flowing water, idle clouds and secluded birds compose a transcendent panorama. Beneath the red sun, green hills appear miniature; behind bamboo shadows, a brushwood gate lies hidden. Few know these quiet delights—here, one greets the wind, embraces the moon, and lies drunk on fragrant grass. These verses embody the Daoist pursuit of natural harmony and liberation from worldly ties.

These passages from The Lingering Sounds of Cranes express the Daoist practitioner's transcendence of worldly concerns, their immersion in mountain-and-water landscapes, and profound realization of life's illusory nature.

The third section states that throughout history, genuine refined sentiments have always sprung from mountain forests and flowing springs. Those who understand life's dreamlike ephemerality will never covet embroidered robes or ornate mansions. Practitioners prefer moonlit waterside vistas—how could broad-minded souls cling to golden mountains or precious jade? Golden light filters through courtyard blossoms, green moss dapples the ground, yet their final destination lies in admiring chrysanthemums by the eastern fence, strolling with bamboo staffs by southern verandas. Resting peacefully with lute and books, they rise above fame and disgrace. Seeing through ten thousand generations' rise and fall as but a spring dream, a single stream's cloud-reflecting waters suffice for this lifetime. Gazing toward the three fragrant herbs of Wuling's immortal realm, their fields of lingzhi mushrooms already reach maturity.

The fourth section depicts the hermit's life: Master Dongli dwells where mountain shadows meet winding streams, facing open fields with a few thatched cottages nestled within. After last night's fresh rain by the riverbank, crystalline jade-like water flows before his gate. Willow trees tower by the small bridge, their new greenery swaying. Chrysanthemum clusters crowd the sparse fence while bamboo whispers beyond the eaves. Reflecting on gain/loss, right/wrong, honor/disgrace throughout history, he understands all must ultimately be released—when will worldly affairs ever bring satisfaction? Better to inquire of the newly brewed spring wine: has it mellowed sufficiently today?

The fifth section discusses the practitioner's mindset: Maintaining leisurely serenity while comprehending celestial principles, though the physical body hasn't yet ascended, they temporarily dwell content as Daoist recluses. Within their gourd's microcosm, they contemplate sun and moon's revolutions, never envying piled-up worldly gold. Letting seasons flow unimpeded, they witness all scarlet and emerald transformations. Guarding their cinnabar well, golden chrysanthemums, lingzhi herbs, and jade-like immortal bamboos—facing Heaven-and-Earth's impartial gaze, what room remains for pride or shame? The century-long grand dream will eventually return beyond the mundane; all life's affairs already satisfy the heart. They await three sightings of the Yellow River running clear, when the蟠桃 peaches of immortality finally ripen.

The sixth section employs Chan (Zen) paradoxes to discuss the Dao: With detached mind observing skeletons, they penetrate life-death cycles. Creation toys with mortals—all beings rush about in disarray. What meaning has selling mountains of flesh and bone? Passion's ocean proves nearly impossible to cross. Painfully aware how primordial spirit lies long-buried under worldly dust, they recognize liberation demands fierce diligence: seeking fellow practitioners to discuss truths pure as ice and snow, honing their practice until spiritual light shines transparent. Like seeing pool bottoms when winds calm, or the cold moon illuminating Heaven's heart as clouds disperse. Ask a mute about honey's taste—this realm transcends verbal explanation.

The seventh section (by Master Yunyang) delivers a Chan-style awakening shock: "Raise an empty fist—don't cling to appearances, for scale weights are fundamentally wrought from iron. Dare to shoulder responsibility in this very moment—this constitutes true measurement." This points directly to the mind's essence, urging practitioners to shatter attachment to form.

This passage combines several Daoist cultivation poems, which I'll explain section by section in modern terms:

The first poem describes spiritual attainment: Using the ancient典故 of the Buddha holding a flower and smiling, it asks how many today truly understand this profound meaning. The cuckoo crying blood symbolizes the arduous path of cultivation, yet paradoxically the deaf and mute can grasp the truth. The wooden figure (representing an adept) atop a solitary peak coexists naturally with birds and beasts, while pine winds and mountain streams whisper cosmic secrets. Only by breaking through these appearances can one behold the original face, bright as the full moon.

The eighth poem addresses cultivation's foundation: Originally there was nothing, yet beings drown in desires. Daoist study requires relinquishing attachments—those flashy martial displays are mere illusions. Sever fame and profit, withdraw into mist-shrouded peaks, reaching thoughtless selflessness, pure as the lone moon reflecting on an icy pond.

The ninth by Master Mo Yueding (Yuan dynasty adept) reveals essential methods: The Dao's mystery lies in the primordial (one's innate nature), maintained through centered equilibrium. When mind becomes pristine, primordial Qi (vital energy) naturally gathers at the Mysterious Pass (Dantian). Perfect stillness connects with heaven-earth—this power summons wind/rain and exorcises demons, not through talismans (Fulu) or ritual steps, but via the true skill of serene return to origin.

The tenth by Qiu Changchun (Quanzhen patriarch Qiu Chuji) celebrates reclusion: Purchasing a green mountain retreat, wearing straw sandals and leaning on a wild vine staff, he abandons worldly honors. Seeing human struggles as insignificant as battles on a snail's horn, his new white hairs mark passing years. Free from red dust, he joins the Four Elders of Shangshan (reclusive sages), consuming fire dates and pears (Daoist immortal fruits), surpassing even Tao Yuanming's carefree ideal.

The spring-summer verses depict mountain living: Spring's perfection with wildflowers and birds erases sorrow; summer means tea-picking and bamboo shoots, coarse cloth with village wine, drunken beneath heaven. Together they express Daoism's natural harmony and Wuwei (non-action) cultivation.

These poems from Echoes of the Cranes' Songs depict the carefree life amidst mountain seasons and a Daoist practitioner's transcendent insights on life and death.

The first poem paints a summer retreat: ten thousand bamboo stalks shimmer like scattered gold, a waterfall hangs like a curtain of white jade. Beneath the pine shade, one reclines, savoring chilled melons, strumming the zither or playing chess by aged pines and pale stones, drunk and left to the breeze. Autumn brings freshly harvested rice and chrysanthemum fragrance, frost-tinted citrus groves, moonlight cool and pale—only old farmers celebrate the harvest, no sign of bustling youth. In winter, gathered around a red-clay tea stove, seated on a rush mat in meditation, one watches plum blossoms unfold and wild geese cutting through snow. Drunk in all seasons, wandering freely as if riding the spring wind.

Liu Tieguan’s verses reveal the life of a Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist practitioner: clad in coarse robes, tied with a hempen belt, hair cropped short and unkempt, carrying a cloth sack to beg alms door to door. When asked of his origins, he replies, "My masters are Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma" (the four great disciples of Quanzhen founder Wang Chongyang: Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, and Ma Yu).

The second poem reflects on encountering a skull by the roadside: in wind and rain, a skull shattered by a shepherd boy—who knows if it once belonged to Zhang or Li? Death spares no one, not even those with mountains of wealth; in the end, each faces it alone.

The third laments worldly delusion: though he has urged thousands, none turn back, forever bound by domestic trifles. They fret over their children’s food and clothes, dreaming of a century together, unaware that the King of Hell may send his enforcers any moment.

The final piece, Willow by the Mountain Pavilion, sums up life as fleeting illusion: the turning seasons hasten age, a hundred years pass like Zhuangzi’s dream of a butterfly (an allusion to the Zhuangzi). Seeing through the vanity of the red dust, why cling so stubbornly?

This passage describes the mindset of practitioners who see through worldly illusions and resolve to cultivate the true Dao. Those fortunate enough to encounter the authentic transmission of Xiyi (referring to Patriarch Chen Tuan, the renowned Daoist master of the Five Dynasties and early Song period) have completely relinquished worldly troubles and sensual desires. They vow to seize time diligently for cultivation, yet in this world there remain foolish and deluded individuals whom even lofty adepts like Ma Danyang (one of the Seven Quanzhen Masters and disciple of Wang Chongyang) cannot awaken.

Should these people persist in their delusions without awakening, after death they can only become wandering spirits without karmic connection to the Dao's cultivation, or worse—turn into mere dry bones. The "skeleton" metaphor here represents the pitiable fate awaiting those who remain immersed in worldly pursuits without seeking the Great Dao.