《鳴鶴餘音》Vol. 3

Volume Three of Echoes of Cranes Singing, compiled by Peng Zhizhong, a Daoist from Xianyou Mountain, contains poetic verses by several Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) patriarchs. The first piece, authored by Patriarch Wang Chongyang, recounts the Quanzhen lineage: Laozi (Lord Lao) personally transmitted the teachings to the Queen Mother of the West, who then bestowed them upon the Divine Lord of Eastern Florescence (a revered Daoist deity). The lineage continued through Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals), Liu Cao (known by his Daoist name Haichanzi), and Lü Dongbin (Patriarch Lü), who attained enlightenment through the dream of the Yellow Millet. Patriarch Lü vowed to deliver others and later met Wang Chongyang in Ganhe Town, where he transmitted the Dao. When Wang traveled to Shandong to spread the teachings, he envisioned seven golden lotuses (symbolizing his seven major disciples—Qiu Chuji, Liu Chuxuan, Tan Chuduan, Ma Yu, Hao Datong, Sun Bu'er, and Wang Chuyi), foretelling the flourishing of Quanzhen Daoism.

The second piece is a poem by Ma Yu (the Perfected of Danyang) praising a divine sword. This extraordinary sword, bestowed by the Jade Emperor, gleams like a three-foot green serpent, capable of cleaving the essence of heaven and earth (the Supreme Yang of Taiyi). Tempered in the streams of Yue, it balances hardness and softness. This blade is dedicated to vanquishing demons and evil spirits, its might shaking the earth for miles and striking fear into ghosts and deities. It metaphorically urges cultivators to wield the sword of wisdom to sever afflictions.

The third poem encourages spiritual practice. A hundred years of human life pass like a dream—why not roam freely and perform good deeds? Time flies swiftly, and heroes of past and present all return to Beimang Mountain (the burial grounds). One must anchor the wandering mind (rein in the "thought-horse"), nurture vital essence (the "white ox" symbolizing primordial Qi), and diligently cultivate the dual path of nature and life (xingming).

The fourth piece is a self-reflection by the Perfected of Sanyu (possibly Liu Chuxuan's Daoist name). He calls himself an idle and carefree Daoist, avoiding disputes, revering the Three Pure Ones (the highest Daoist deities) and the lineage of Zhongli Quan and Lü Dongbin, and emulating the internal practices of Qiu, Liu, Tan, and Ma (the first four of the Seven Quanzhen Masters). Cultivation requires emptiness, stillness, and a blurred awareness, harmonizing the teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism.

The fifth poem, again by Ma Danyang, reiterates: the divine sword is no ordinary object—it was personally granted by the Jade Emperor and can split chaos (the Supreme Yang of Taiyi). This alludes to the need for balancing Yin and Yang (matching metal and water, hardness and softness) in cultivation, eradicating inner demons (vanquishing evil and severing monstrosities), and ultimately ensuring the indissolubility of the spirit (Shen and Qi) to attain the Great Dao.

This scripture presents in accessible verse form the daily cultivation practices of Daoist practitioners and their profound reflections on worldly life.

The first section outlines the daily discipline of young adepts: The spiritual child (referring to novices entering the Daoist path) learning from their master must maintain reverent attentiveness. Each dawn they rise early to sweep the grounds, careful not to stir dust; during ablutions they maintain bodily purity and clean all cooking utensils. Every grain of rice and drop of oil in the kitchen must be treasured without waste. Visitors should be received courteously, walking softly and speaking quietly. They should abide in simple poverty, free from vain pursuits. At night they sit upright with tranquil hearts, whereupon wisdom's light naturally shines in their eyes. Through such perseverance, they will ultimately attain the fruit of the Great Dao (Dao).

The sixth section uses the metaphor of blooming and withering flowers to lament life's impermanence: Yesterday's flourishing blossoms fade today—such is human life's brevity. People exhaust themselves establishing careers and families, yet in a blink, youthful vigor turns to white-haired age. Alas, worldly people fail to understand this truth, suffering needlessly amid transience. Better awaken early—even mountains of gold cannot escape the cycle of life and death. Contemplating this brings streaming tears, for no multitude of children can shoulder one's mortality. The text urges people to turn back in time, cultivating internal alchemy (Neidan) like Ma Danyang (one of the Seven Perfected of Quanzhen).

The seventh section employs skeletons to reveal human nature: Men are but walking corpses, women merely animated bones; ancestors were skeletons, descendants just smaller skeletons. Accumulated family possessions merely match skeletons together; halls full of grandchildren are but living ghosts playing with skeletal toys. The master skeleton bustles about daily, nourishing other skeletons. When destiny arrives, who can substitute for you? With the last three inches of vital energy (Qi) gone, living skeletons bury dead ones—why grieve? The text advises early awakening to properly tend this skeleton of yours.

The eighth section advocates mountain reclusion: Better return—withdrawal proves wisest. Leaving the dusty world eliminates troublesome disputes; select a quiet cliff to build a modest thatched hut. Rest peacefully after dusk until the purification ritual (Zhaijiao) at dawn. Beyond this nothing remains—how few understand such carefree joy? Even high-ranking officials must engage in social niceties, their golden fish pendants (Tang official regalia) weighing down court robes. Ponder this: how many spoons can one mouth hold simultaneously?

The ninth section compares Buddhism and Daoism's fluctuations: When Daoism first flourished, Buddhism appeared to wane—such rise and fall follows nature's course. Bodhidharma (Zen's first patriarch) transmitting dharma from East to West was actually later generations' doing. Some ruin their true nature craving wine and lust, violating teachings by chasing wealth—how can such people vainly hope for Western rebirth?

This scripture, through multiple poetic verses, reveals the cultivation wisdom and life philosophy of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, an important school of Daoism.

The first section describes the auspicious signs accompanying Qiu Chuji (founder of the Longmen lineage of Quanzhen) when expounding the Great Dao—golden lotuses bloomed, celestial beings descended, and even demons couldn't obstruct. It warns that missing this rare opportunity for enlightenment might require waiting ten thousand years.

Vivid metaphors then depict the illusion of worldly life: neither beautiful wives and children nor mountains of wealth can withstand the summons of impermanence. When underworld messengers arrive unexpectedly, all possessions change hands and families scatter. The wise should escape this "burning house" of mundane desires early, becoming carefree wanderers like cloud-roaming Daoists—begging for alms when hungry, wearing paper-cloth robes against the cold, finding longevity precisely in having no attachments.

The "body as Daoist hermitage" metaphor explains Neidan (internal alchemy) practice: the physical form becomes a chapel, with ears and eyes as windows, the abdomen as kitchen, and the heart as master chef. One must harmonize the body's water and fire (Yin-Yang energies) to refine primordial Yang Qi. Maintaining the original mind is likened to regularly preparing meals for the master. Practitioners are warned against distraction by external temptations, urged instead to sit upright cultivating their inner "golden beams and jade pillars" (symbolizing Jing, Qi, and Shen) until spiritual light shines clear as the bright moon.

The text observes that the formless Dao defies verbal description, yet people stubbornly seek understanding through texts. It mocks that if mere book-learning could achieve immortality, the celestial courts would overflow. True cultivation requires a dust-free mind—then divine guides will appear spontaneously. One then dwells eternally in mystical realms, chanting sacred mantras like "Luo Li Lian."

Finally, it describes the trials of the Dharma-Ending Age: all cultivators face demonic obstacles, yet sincere companions will transcend calamities. The text mentions the protective deity Guanghua Tianzun sheltering the loyal and brave, selecting five thousand steadfast individuals during the Jiazi year (a key cycle in Daoist cosmology). Overcoming demonic barriers demands mountain-splitting resolve—whereupon the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing) manifest everywhere. Completion depends not on accumulating merits but on single-minded, doubt-free determination.

Section Fourteen describes a medicinal formula containing over twenty herbs including licorice root, ginseng, gastrodia, peony, and mint. This remarkable prescription could cure anything from full-body fever to migraines—just a pinch of its powdered form blown into the nose brought immediate relief. Legend says it healed Consort Li's eye ailment, earning praise from Emperor Zhangzong of the Jin Dynasty, who bestowed upon it the name "A Pinch of Gold."

Section Fifteen elucidates the Daoist practice of Neidan (internal alchemy). Within the human body, the dual energies of Yin and Yang (referring to primordial Qi and Shen-spirit) circulate through the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers), moving like quicksilver and lead-mercury (alchemical terms) through the Three Passes (critical acupoints in cultivation). Through persistent practice, one refines Jing-essence and Qi to circulate through all meridians, ultimately forging the Golden Elixir (the pinnacle of internal alchemy). This passage emphasizes renouncing fame and desire to focus wholly on "alchemical refinement" within—success grants Dao-realization, summoning the practitioner to celestial realms.

Section Sixteen employs the metaphor of an "iron ox" for the body's primordial Qi. Though ugly in appearance, this ox possesses tremendous strength; all people harbor it, yet few understand how to harness it. Nourish it with "divine water" (saliva), cultivating an "infant" (the inner elixir) within the Dantian. This energy source sustains life—when hungry, it feeds on "tiger marrow" (symbolizing Yang-energy refinement); when thirsty, it drinks from "quicksilver pools" (representing Yin-nourishment). During midnight meditation, it radiates light illuminating the Dantian. Upon completion, the practitioner attains effortless harmony with nature, like a carefree shepherd.

Section Seventeen reflects on life's brevity—fleeting as lightning—urging recognition of the physical body's illusory nature to seek immortality methods. Upon awakening, one must devote themselves wholly to the Dao, steadfastly following the "King of Methods" (the true cultivation path). Maintain constant practice, keeping company with clear winds and bright moon, joining fellow seekers to pursue longevity together. The passage concludes citing Bai Yuchan's (renowned Southern Song dynasty Daoist) lyric "Courtyard Full of Fragrance," describing alchemical practice: using heaven-earth as the cauldron (the body), drawing solar-lunar essences ("black rabbit" symbolizing sun-moon), and harmonizing internal Yin-Yang energies ("tiger-dragon")—circulating refinement from the lower Dantian (original valley) to the upper Dantian (mud-pill palace).

These passages from The Lingering Sounds of Calling Cranes primarily discuss Daoist cultivation practices and doctrinal philosophies. Let me explain them section by section:

The first section describes Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. By harmonizing Yin-Yang (where "Kan and Li" represent the polarities) and allowing the complete circulation of the Five Phases' energies, one balances the Four Symbols (referring to the Azure Dragon, White Tiger, Vermilion Bird, and Black Tortoise) within the body while mastering the "fire times" (the regulation of breath during cultivation). When reaching a certain stage of practice, the Yang energy begins to flourish ("the return of the single Yang"), enabling the formation of the inner elixir in the Dantian (energy center). This breakthrough instantly penetrates the Three Passes (key thresholds in cultivation), leading to rejuvenation.

The second section discusses the unity of the Three Teachings. It states that Daoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism share the same essence and shouldn't be ranked hierarchically. Daoism teaches cosmic principles, Buddhism emphasizes compassionate practice, and Confucianism focuses on moral education—all being paths to enlighten beings. It advises against sectarian disputes and encourages reverence for all Three Teachings' sages.

The third section portrays a miraculous Daoist incense. Unlike ordinary sandalwood or aloeswood, this spiritual fragrance originates from the primordial realm. When lit, it permeates heaven and earth, awakening practitioners' spiritual awareness. The text expresses the wish that this fragrance may spread the Great Dao (the Way) to benefit all under heaven.

The fourth section addresses mind cultivation. Human nature is originally clear like the breeze and bright moon, radiating spiritual light. The key lies in maintaining this innate clarity without being deluded by external things. Those who understand truth perceive the Dao everywhere, while the confused remain perplexed everywhere. True practitioners observe the celestial operations of the Dao until achieving complete fulfillment.

The fifth section employs repeated "longevity" characters for blessings. It depicts bamboo, pine trees, and landscapes symbolizing longevity, along with auspicious imagery like the Star of Longevity and immortal children. It wishes virtuous people endless blessings—celebrating with longevity feasts and wine—expressing the aspiration for eternal life.

These contents blend Neidan practice, Three Teachings philosophy, and auspicious benedictions, reflecting distinctive features of Yuan Dynasty Daoism. The cultivation portions involve specialized terminology, while other sections remain more accessible to general readers.

The sixth section outlines the essential points of daily cultivation for Daoist practitioners. Whether going out during the day or returning to one's chamber at night, one must strictly adhere to discipline, carrying a devout heart at all times. Morning and evening, one should burn incense in reverence to the divine, and when traveling to sacred mountains or blessed lands, one must humbly seek guidance and visit enlightened masters. Avoid boasting or showing off—eliminate distinctions between self and others, maintaining inner peace and harmony. Matters such as alchemical practices (Neidan), medicine-making, and refined arts like qin-playing, chess, calligraphy, and painting should be properly arranged. As for rituals like summoning deities or performing magic, these merely exhaust the spirit—it is better to follow circumstances and live simply, conserving energy. When gathered in groups, practitioners should care for one another, treating those beyond blood ties as family.

The seventh section discusses methods for refining the heart and nurturing one's nature. Reduce food intake, restrain desires, overcome drowsiness, and study the teachings of sages. Be humble in conduct and contemplate deeply when encountering situations. Face external circumstances without distress, and in moments of leisure, maintain clarity of mind. Understand that even if one escapes the torrent of worldly affairs, one ultimately returns to the realm of "Xi Yi" (the Daoist state of silent emptiness). Abandon greed for wealth and lust, avoid drunkenness and quarrels, break free from the shackles of profit, and sever attachments to anger and delusion. Once true nature is cultivated, one transcends material concerns, realizing the original essence of form and appearance. Upon achieving success, one may ride a phoenix to the immortal palaces of Penglai, seeking the immortal Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) in solitude.

The eighth section offers admonitions to fellow practitioners. Begin by bowing to senior disciples, advising all to accept meals as they come, remaining steadfast whether the fare is good or poor. After eating, return to the hermitage for quiet sitting, speaking little and overlooking others' faults to preserve inner peace. Avoid empty discussions of profound theories—rein in the "wild horse" of the mind and lock up the "restless monkey" of distracting thoughts (metaphors for controlling mental agitation). Eliminate distinctions between self and others and extinguish the flames of anger in the heart. Day and night, overcome drowsiness, maintain stillness, and regulate the breath in an unbroken flow. Understand that through such practice, Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) will naturally merge into perfect harmony.

The ninth section reflects on life's impermanence. Today's glory stems from virtues cultivated in past lives, but after awakening to the Dao, one must practice even more diligently. A hundred years of human life are like bubbles on water—the cycle of rebirth never ceases. Before joy ends, sorrow arrives; people toil endlessly creating karma—how few are willing to turn back? In serene detachment, beyond worldly concerns, one must harmonize the "water and fire" (symbolizing Yin-Yang) within the body during solitary wandering. With a heart as clear as the autumn moon, once merit and practice reach completion, one transcends the Three Realms and takes an eternal place among the immortals. Riding clouds into the beyond, the true body remains incorruptible, spared from burial in desolate graves.

The tenth section reveals the key to pure and tranquil cultivation. Maintain the tradition of a pure and simple lifestyle, aligning the ordinary mind with the great Dao (the Way), never losing one's original nature. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, remain in harmony with the Dao—understanding its principles brings liberation everywhere. A radiant heart naturally embodies Wuwei (non-action), free from forced striving.

These passages from The Lingering Cries of Cranes elucidate how Daoist practitioners can see through illusions and cultivate their inner nature.

The first passage states that awakened sages throughout history have wielded the sword of wisdom to sever delusions, expelling the Three Corpses (Daoist concept of three malevolent spirits residing in the body) and separating from the Six Thieves (sensory desires of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind). Like moonlight breaking through scattered clouds, when cultivation reaches its pinnacle, crimson radiance manifests in the heart, refining true merit as immense as Mount Sumeru. Yet how many in this world truly comprehend this path of longevity and divine vision?

The second passage reveals that the essence of Daoist practice lies in serene non-action (Wuwei). Maintain purity in one's household atmosphere, live simply, and discipline the "mind monkey and thought horse" (metaphor for restless thoughts) in all activities. Cultivate gentle temperament, remaining unperturbed by circumstances. Those who awaken to the true Dao transcend emotions and desires, naturally free from transgressions. Seek not externally—your primordial nature already resides within, merely obscured by delusions. Let the wind of wisdom disperse the clouds, allowing your innate nature to shine as brightly as the moon in clear skies.

The third passage teaches practitioners to dwell in the present. Neither dwell on the past nor fantasize about the future—release even immediate thoughts. By extinguishing the three poisons of greed, anger, and ignorance, the true sovereign of Dharma-nature (one's fundamental nature) emerges. Then your original face appears spontaneously, profound truths permeate all directions, and vital Qi (energy) gathers in the central yellow (Dantian). Maintaining inner purity surpasses struggling in the bitter sea of worldly existence. Move through life with adaptability and gentleness, gradually transcending the cycle of rebirth until meritorious completion enables ascension to pay homage to the Mysterious Sovereign (Daoist deity).

The final section, revealed through celestial inspiration by Lord Xin, depicts the Jade Emperor selecting immortal officials. Disciples of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition must devote themselves to cultivation, subduing the dragon and tiger (symbolizing Yin and Yang energies) and refining essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi, metaphorically called mercury and lead). When virtue and merit reach perfection and celestial records select them, they may gallop swiftly to the golden palace, becoming immortal laureates before the Sanqing (Three Pure Ones) halls.

The conclusion admonishes worldly people to see through earthly illusions—a hundred years of life pass like a dream. Cease endless worries over food and clothing, for these are predestined. Recognize the human realm as a fiery pit and prison—better heed this advice: release attachments to descendants and worldly blessings, shatter mundane affections, and seek transcendent freedom beyond material concerns.

The "Song of the Cranes" by Lü Dongbin primarily teaches that spiritual practitioners must relinquish worldly fame and fortune to return to their original nature.

The first poem advises not to dwell on external phenomena like the sun setting in the west or moon rising in the east, but to focus on subduing one's deluded mind. Simply turning one's heart toward the Dao reveals the celestial realm before one's eyes. People claim to see through worldly illusions, yet remain blinded by ignorance (avidya), unwittingly trapped in the cycle of rebirth. The Dao is inherently simple, yet confused minds perceive it as obscure and difficult. Without eliminating inner demons, virtuous roots cannot grow. The poem admonishes against disputes over right and wrong - what glory or shame is worth pursuing for this walking skeleton of flesh? The urgent task is to save one's own life-essence. When Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) harmonize in purity, one's true nature manifests, naturally arriving at Penglai, the isle of immortals.

The second poem laments worldly affairs churning like ceaseless flowing water, with fame-seekers fighting like tigers, leopards and foxes. Who remembers the names beneath those wilderness graves? Why labor a lifetime only to frown in vain? Better to release attachment to the "Four Elements" (earth, water, fire, wind representing the physical body) and wander in carefree joy. Dwelling in mountain caves to cultivate both nature and life, facing the moon and wind in transcendental freedom. Playing the zither and drinking wine while following the sun and moon's cycles preserves eternal youth, granting longevity like tortoises and cranes.

The third poem declares no love for fine robes, content with coarse cloth and hemp sandals though others mock this poverty. What ultimate purpose does worldly bustle serve? Better the freedom in a Penglai immortal's heart-mind. The joy of Wuwei (non-action) surpasses royal honors. More scheming brings more sorrow, like fish biting hooked bait. Losing celestial secrets over trivial gains resembles bees chasing blossoms or moths flying into flames. Alas, human life proves as illusory as Zhuangzi's butterfly dream.

The fourth poem explains the Great Dao cannot be described in words, and supreme attainment requires time. Ridiculous are those clinging to partial views, vain as drilling ice for fire or polishing bricks for mirrors. Why scheme endlessly? Preserving simple, unadorned authenticity matters most.

Through metaphorical language, these poems urge seeing through fame and wealth, emphasizing that spiritual cultivation focuses on refining the heart-mind and returning to natural authenticity, free from worldly desires. From an immortal's perspective, Lü Dongbin reveals humanity's folly in chasing illusions, stressing that inner refinement constitutes the fundamental path.

These verses from The Lingering Notes of Crying Cranes depict the transcendent and carefree state of Daoist practitioners, embodying profound cultivation philosophy.

The first step in spiritual cultivation is to relinquish attachments and aversions, maintaining a mind as serene and receptive as an empty valley, allowing the primordial Shen (innate spiritual nature) to endure eternally. Only with a solid foundation can one sustain lasting clarity. The primordial Qi (cosmic source energy) is formless and elusive, yet like the luminous full moon, it remains eternally perfect and complete.

The poet envisions an immortal's painted realm: Does the ancient tree south of the city still stand? Will the wealthy patrons of Luoyang return? Ascending Jun Mountain, one gazes upon the eight-hundred-li expanse of Dongting's emerald waves. The immortal by the tea stove, the celestial maiden in the tavern—all shall ultimately transcend the mundane. Recalling verses inscribed at Taiping Temple and revelries at East Grove's Shen Manor, the poet laments how celestial wanderings come easily, while earthly kindred spirits are rare. Better to ride a yellow crane aloft, ascending together to the celestial capital (immortal realm).

When playing the flute before Yellow Crane Tower, one glimpses sword-light flashing by. Roaming the Northern Sea by day, reclining drunk at East Grove by night—using a tripod (alchemical vessel) to brew mountains and rivers as sustenance, containing heaven and earth within one's breast. With bright moon and clear breeze as companions, one laughs while fermenting white liquor and scattering gold without regret. True companions will come naturally, unforced. Thrice the poet wanders Yueyang, revisits Penpu, and freely traverses the Peach Blossom Spring paradise.

Finally, practitioners are admonished: grasp the true meaning of the spiritual terrace (mind-heart)—seek not outwardly. Heaven's mysteries are ineffable, like a mute crone suddenly eloquent or a footless child skilled at kicking balls. True profundity lies hidden in jade caves veiled by clouds, golden towers bathed in moonlight. At advanced stages, one subdues lions into plow oxen, tumbles through Yellow River's waves, and captures macaques in the Sun Palace. When white snow blossoms and azure clouds bear fruit, one penetrates the Mysterious Pass (crux of cultivation), rides dragons back to immortal palaces, and eternally revels in Yingzhou's (paradise) joys.

Last night in Nanjing, this dawn at Northern Peak—suddenly discovering wine in a cave, drinking deeply before using Jun Mountain as a pillow in blissful slumber. The cultivator comes and goes without trace, following the heart's desire—this is the unfettered freedom of the immortal realm.

This Daoist cultivator appears mad and foolish to the world, yet he carries the pure breeze and bright moon with him, his sleeves billowing with drifting clouds after years of wandering the mortal realm. He topples ornate jade towers to plant qitrees of the immortal groves (legendary trees of the celestial realms); he shallows the Yellow River just to cultivate golden lotuses (symbols of Daoist practice). Shattering coral treasures without a glance, he ascends to Penglai, the Isle of Immortals, bowing before the throne of the Xu Huang (the Supreme Daoist Deity). For him, nothing is impossible—having already perfected eight hundred virtuous deeds and three thousand acts of merit.

Having shattered all doubts in his heart and seen through illusion, he eats when hunger arises. He passes time sitting on his meditation cushion and wooden staff, finding eternity in the company of the breeze and moonlight. With his mountain attendant (a young Daoist novice) by his side, leaning on his staff of wild vine, he rests beneath the whispering pines. Now he puts away golden needles and jade threads (symbolizing worldly skills), locking all attachments within the misty clouds. Why cling to doctrines passed down through generations? The pine winds of the Wei River have long whispered the secrets of the Dao. Once he sought to grasp the moon’s reflection in water (a metaphor for chasing illusions), but now he understands the lotus blooming in fire (enlightenment amid suffering). The highest cultivation holds no mystery—a thousand methods return to one. In the moment of awakening, it is as if the vast sea grows still and the endless sky clears of clouds.

Auspicious snow blankets the heavens in silver-white purity. It falls impartially on rich and poor alike, each flake untouched by dust, landing without a sound. The river and sky grow hushed in its wake, the cosmos renewed—sudden joy arises, clear as the Milky Way. When gathered, the snow lies like unbroken jade; when melted, it vanishes without trace—such is the true transformation of Heaven’s mystery (the workings of the Dao), no ordinary illusion. When the yin energy fades and yang brims full, spring will arrive.

Since ancient times, sages and fools alike have been hastened by the turning sun and moon, all returning to the yellow springs of the underworld. Han Dynasty heroes like Zhang Liang and Chen Ping (historical figures) severed bonds for fame and fortune, their luxury ultimately destroying their homes. Riverside tombs and the imperial mausoleums of the plains—all power ends in emptiness. The graves of heroes and champions become forgotten mounds by the roadside, overgrown with withered grass. Alas, the past is but a pity, like floating blossoms swept away by the current. Better to awaken to life’s toil, content in quiet poverty, refining the dantian (the body’s energy center) to transcend the wheel of rebirth, cross the sea of suffering, and board the cool raft of prajñā (wisdom). On the shores of carefree joy, grasp the profound mystery, tread the path of clouds, and seek the Peach Blossom Spring (the utopian immortal realm) together.

Ah, life! Why chase petty fame and wealth without cause? When will the glory of this world ever be enough?

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Those of high status and prosperous families often struggle to persist in cultivating the austere and profound methods of the Dao. The path of cultivation is arduous, yet those who see through the cycle of life and death and sever worldly attachments can transcend suffering. Clad in simple Daoist robes, they wander freely like clouds and flowing water, living in accordance with fate. Through quietude and gradual reduction of desires—until the fires of the heart are extinguished and external cravings cease—the road to the underworld (Fengdu) transforms into a celestial paradise (Penglai and Yingzhou).

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The precious "Dragon Ball" tea is crafted with exquisite artistry: tea leaves gathered from distant Jianxi, blended with rare ingredients like toad venom from the Southern Mountains and crow’s blood, then infused with the "Seven Treasures Spirit Sprouts" (a celestial herb) from the Northern Sea, all prepared in spring. Ground into fragrant powder within a jade chamber, it is brewed by immortal youths into golden-flowered tea. When offered to immortals, it imparts a fragrance that lingers under the arms—even tea masters like Zhao Zhou and Lu Tong may never have tasted such bitterness that transforms into sweetness. It purifies the mundane heart, opens the eyes of Daoist insight, and reverses aging. May all partake of this tea and journey together to the immortal realms.

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Since ancient times, Mount Zhongnan has been a haven for reclusive immortals: withered cypresses revive on the "Platform of Scripture Teachings," and stubborn stones beneath alchemical furnaces transform into maidens (a metaphor for turning stone to gold). Traces of legendary figures like the Four Elders and the Ten Sages of Shangshan linger here. Yin Xi once listened to Laozi expound the Daode Jing in these mountains, leaving behind tales of the green ox tied to a cypress and the white deer ascending to heaven. Lü Dongbin, the "Snow-Pure Three Dawns," attained enlightenment here; Zhongli Quan transcended by riding a crane, and Wang Chongyang encountered immortals at Ganhe, founding the Quanzhen tradition. These sacred grotto-heavens and blessed lands (Daoist holy sites) existed even before the formation of heaven and earth.

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The worldly are entangled day and night in the "burning house" (a metaphor for mundane attachments), unaware of what tomorrow may bring, chasing fleeting pursuits like lamps in the wind or dew on grass. Seeing this, I cannot help but shed tears—human life is as brief as sparks from flint or vanishing bubbles. I urge you to turn back early: abandon past vanities, live content with simple fare, and let others mock as they will. In the end, wealth and poverty alike are empty—why fret day and night? Better to renounce household ties while young and wander the seas and clouds in search of the Dao.

Fifteen

The true Dao eternally resides in the Great Void (the cosmic origin), sharing the same essence as heaven and earth. When the Mysterious Gate naturally opens, it resembles the state of primordial chaos dividing and the emergence of Yin-Yang. Returning to the origin and recovering one’s true nature rely entirely on the function of the Spiritual Terrace (the mind). The vast primordial Qi surges through the Valley Spirit (Dantian), where spirit and Qi merge into a single spark of spiritual light manifesting from emptiness. By concentrating the spirit in stillness, one can perceive the movement of internal Qi, like the roar of dragons and tigers, akin to the stirring of wind and thunder across the earth. This profound Daoist method is truly unfathomable, yet it can enlighten the ignorant and refine them into great vessels. Let me reveal its true meaning to you: just as a clam cradles the moon in the deep abyss, or an autumn hare embraces the lunar essence (symbolizing Neidan cultivation). Men of ambition and virtuous elders must not let their bodies and minds be tainted by worldly dust. When the practice is perfected, one may ascend to the Purple Mansion (the celestial realm) and take a place among the immortals.

Sixteen

To achieve the immortal Dao, the alchemical work is not truly difficult. When the thunder rumbles (referring to the timing of cultivation), the true fire in the Jade Furnace (upper Dantian) blazes, while the Earth Cauldron (lower Dantian) remains cool and tranquil. The Charming Maiden (the spirit) rides a dragon, and the Golden Elder (the essence) mounts a tiger (symbolizing the union of Yin and Yang)—within moments, the Great Returning Elixir (Golden Elixir) is formed. In the Dantian, it is as if a white goose (pure Yang Qi) flies into the Muddy Pellet (the crown of the head), and the River Chariot (Qi circulation) ascends to Kunlun (the crown). Safely navigating this critical stage, one captures the Turtle and Snake (Kan and Li energies) as effortlessly as catching a hare. In an instant, clouds and rain harmonize (the union of water and fire), and a single point of true elixir crystallizes. White snow (the fusion of lead and mercury) fills the sky, and yellow sprouts (the nascent elixir) cover the ground. Consuming even a grain of this elixir can preserve eternal youth. Through the nurturing process of transformation, one sheds the mortal shell and ultimately ascends to the realm of clouds and rainbows.

Seventeen

The truly wise are carefree and unrestrained, wholly attuned to nature. Among pines and rocks, they express noble sentiments; beneath the moon and before the wind, they sing and revel in intoxication. The Jade Maiden plays the sheng, and the Golden Boy dances with flowing sleeves (depicting the harmony of Yin and Yang within), guiding the primordial Qi into the Great Mystery. Having penetrated the profound secrets, they observe the rise and fall of worldly affairs, sensing only the vast, ceaseless flow of primordial Qi. Such wondrous visions defy description—clearly, there exists another realm beyond the mundane. A steadfast and sincere life transcends the passage of time, indifferent to the shifting seas and mulberry fields. When spirit and Qi harmonize, and Yin and Yang rise and descend, one has already attained the freedom of an immortal roaming the earthly realm. No longer burdened by troubles, one joyfully writes the true scriptures with an unbridled heart.

Eighteen

Master Feng Zun’s Response: Awakening to the true Dao in the distant eon of King Vairocana required no external conditions. Roaming freely through the Great Void, one wanders like drifting clouds and wild cranes, heedless of the turning years. Beneath the moon and before the wind, carefree and unrestrained, one sings when moved and sleeps when weary. Looking back, one sees only falling blossoms, drifting catkins, distant waters, and faint mist. The great Dao is ultimately ineffable—forcing the name "Dao" upon it is hardly Zen-like. The natural vitality of peach blossoms and willow greens needs no contrived effort (unlike Zen’s bamboo-striking or flower-holding gestures).

The Song of the Cranes scripture reveals profound Daoist insights into life, wealth, cultivation, and the natural Dao through layered imagery and classical allusions.

The opening employs metaphors like "lotuses may be vast yet formless" and "emptiness (Buddhist śūnyatā) appears substantial yet is unreal" to illustrate how all phenomena—whether minute or grand—are ultimately illusory. It then satirizes those who, like roaring lions, pompously discourse on cosmic truths, noting how time reduces everything to dust: the extravagant wealth of Shi Chong, the poverty of Chen Ping, the brief life of Yan Hui, or the long-lived bandit Zhi—all end as tombs at Beimang Mountain (Luoyang’s famed burial grounds). People chase gold hairpins and pearl-studded shoes but neglect refining the huandan (the core practice of Neidan internal alchemy), mistaking mortals for those destined for immortality. Yet even courtyard stones can comprehend the Dharma, and ancient trees south of the city may attain the Dao. True freedom lies in simplicity: "a jug of wine, a poem, a lute, a sword." When asked what the Dao is, one need only smile and point to the azure sky—the Dao resides in nature itself.

Flickering Red Candlelight depicts the Double Ninth Festival: golden chrysanthemums bloom, the full moon hangs like a mirror illuminating the celestial axis, and osmanthus fragrance coils through the night breeze. This icy orb embodies the primordial chonghe qi (harmonized Yin-Yang energy), though few grasp its mystery.

Immortal by the River portrays the life of a realized adept: wandering carefree as an idler, passing days with unrestrained songs. Their innate clarity shines like moonlight over the Three Divine Isles (Penglai, Fangzhang, Yingzhou), their leisure boundless as the ninth heaven. Words transcend worldly dust; the heart remains untainted. Through the seasons, they savor blossoms, while their "pot" (huzhong, symbolizing the inner alchemical crucible) holds hidden realms, and beyond form lies an eternal spring.

Lü Dongbin’s Oriole’s Prelude paints the perilous peaks of Zhongnan Mountain—snow-clad cliffs, auspicious mists rising. Dragons roar and tigers growl in ravines; crimson light erupts amid lightning and starlight, startling ghosts and gods. This allegorizes Neidan practice: lead and mercury (symbolizing jing, qi, and shen) coalesce in the dantian furnace, forging the Golden Elixir. A fool prolongs life with one pellet—how much more with ten thousand luminous pearls of liuxia (inner elixir phenomena) circulating within. Blending natural vistas with alchemical terminology, the text unveils the cosmos as seen through a cultivator’s eyes.