《鳴鶴餘音》Vol. 5

Volume Five of Echoes of Cranes' Songs collects poems from numerous eminent Daoist masters, primarily expounding on the brevity of human life and the principles of cultivating the Dao to realize truth.

Zhongli Quan's Man Lu Hua states: The human body is composed of the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind), yet contains no true self; the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness) are equally illusory. There's no need to contend with others—whether noble or humble, wise or foolish, all becomes emptiness after death. Kin and loved ones are but fleeting connections lasting a hundred years at most, as transient as lightning. He urges all to diligently practice Neidan (internal alchemy) and maintain clarity in the spiritual altar. Life arrives and departs empty-handed—greed and attachment only bring endless vexations. Better to follow nature's course, keeping one's heart-mind pure like the bright moon and refreshing breeze.

Lü Dongbin's Jiang Shen Zi laments: Rare are those who live to seventy, yet pitifully few cultivate the Dao. Time is limited—fame and fortune prove empty, only inviting karmic retribution. Indulging in wine, lust, wealth, and anger may seem advantageous, but in truth depletes one's primordial Qi (vital energy). When illness strikes and life nears its end, regret comes too late.

An anonymous poem Qu Jiang Qiu reveals the true essence of seeking the Dao: The great Dao is originally complete within all, yet deluded thoughts breed endless troubles. If one can relinquish attachments and live in accordance with conditions, the original mind and true nature will become clear. Cultivation requires no external search—the stove before your eyes, the tiger's roar and dragon's chant all manifest the Dao, resonating with Buddhist enlightenment.

Qiu Chuji's Mei Hua Yin depicts the carefree life of cultivation: walking, standing, sitting, or reclining—all in perfect ease, with clear breeze and bright moon as companions. At night he drinks beneath the moon, singing Daoist verses with loosened hair, utterly unfettered.

Master Wu's Shang Sheng Hua emphasizes essential cultivation methods: First rein in the "mind monkey and thought horse," realizing life's transience. Practitioners must escape worldly snares, avoiding wealth, lust, wine, and anger while severing all desires—even attachments to parents, spouse, and children—to cultivate in solitary purity.

These poems collectively urge people to see through worldly illusions, abandon attachments, and return to one's original nature through cultivation. Methods include Neidan practice, purifying the heart and minimizing desires, and living in harmony with conditions. They emphasize that the Dao is never distant from humanity—what matters is awakening to one's original mind.

This passage contains poetry by several eminent Daoist masters, revealing the spiritual realms and pursuits of cultivators.

Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals) in "Stepping into the Toad Palace" describes essential cultivation techniques: One must comprehend the relationship between the trigrams Kan (Water), Li (Fire), Zhen (Thunder), and Dui (Lake) with the zi (midnight) and wu (noon) time periods, recognizing the foundation of self-cultivation. Like spring thunder shaking the mountains and rain nourishing the earth, it allows the "yellow sprouts" (a Neidan term referring to nascent Qi) to break through the soil. One must grasp the "golden essence" (alchemical quintessence), guard it securely, and through cultivation during the jia (yang) and geng (yin) celestial stems, subdue the dragon and tiger (symbolizing yin and yang energies within the body). When asked about transmission, simply say it comes from Master Lü.

Qiu Chuji (the Eternal Spring Master) in "A Pair of Swallows" depicts the carefree life of cultivation: Spring mountains radiate charm as clouds drift between heaven and earth, while exotic flowers and wondrous stones adorn the grotto-heavens and blessed lands. Dwelling in lofty, spacious chambers, gazing into the distance with the wind refreshes heart and mind. Casting aside karmic debts accumulated over countless lifetimes, one enjoys unconstrained freedom. Keeping company with clear breezes and bright moonlight, listening to celestial harmonies - all these boundless beauties are entrusted to mountain dwelling. Though one might offer a thousand precious pearls, who could truly comprehend this carefree state?

The Three Purity Master's "No Sorrow to Untie" advises seeing through worldly attachments: Since ancient times, sorrows outnumber joys, and peaceful eras are rare. Fortunately, sages descend to transmit the Dao, bringing peace to the world. To repay heaven's grace, we should cherish time, value frugality, and find contentment. Without coveting fame or wealth, seek the profound mysteries from the Mystic Gate (Daoism). Restrain desires to preserve harmony, relinquish all mental attachments one by one - only then can worldly burdens be lifted.

The final "Magnolia Blossoms Slow" reveals cultivation's true meaning: Our original nature is inherently light, pure, wondrous and profound - fundamentally capable of roaming with heaven. But having fallen into mortal form, we become bound by the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) and Four Elements (earth, water, fire, wind). Long deluded without awakening, drowning in sensory illusions, though the immortal realm seems near, it remains distant. To return to our origin, the key lies solely within the mind. Through silent, refined contemplation and constant exploration, success is assured. When reaching the state of "shattered emptiness" (the supreme cultivation realm), one transcends the cycle of life and death.

These passages from The Cranes' Last Song express the mindset of Daoist practitioners who have seen through worldly illusions to pursue transcendence. The adept perceives the impermanence of mundane existence and urges others to cultivate the Dao early, attaining carefree liberation.

The first passage suggests that by relinquishing all karmic obstructions (a Buddhist concept referring to negative deeds hindering cultivation), one may effortlessly ascend to Penglai and Langyuan (Daoist celestial realms), unconcerned about crossing the Weak Waters (mythical rivers where even feathers cannot float). Drunk, one leans against green mountains; sober, one plays the jade zither. Listening to cranes calling from the nine marshes, with mountains and waters close at hand, one achieves serene contentment. Thus returning to immortal isles, though temporarily dwelling in the human world, one roams freely with heaven and earth, nurturing both form and spirit (Xingshen) to perfection.

The second passage emphasizes how the words "impermanence" are hardest to guard against—when death comes, none can escape. Neither young nor old, rich nor poor, wise nor foolish can avoid mortality. The body ultimately returns to dust, the ethereal soul scattering with the wind. Why cling to the red dust? Better to cultivate early and ascend. When merit and virtue (De) are complete, one may dwell eternally in Penglai's immortal realm.

The third passage describes keeping company with clear breezes and bright moon, far from worldly disputes. Dwelling among mountains and streams with pine, bamboo, and plum as neighbors, one's courtyard holds only poetry, wine, zither, and chess. Without attachments or worries, one prefers to play the fool. Seeing through petty gains, better to awaken early to the true Dao, reclining high among clouds.

The fourth passage uses seasonal cycles and dynastic rises and falls as metaphors for endless rebirth. Only by reaching the state of "no-mind" (free from distracting thoughts) can true liberation be attained.

The fifth passage depicts late spring scenery: fading greens and sparse reds, swallows building nests, willow catkins drifting, cuckoos calling across countless peaks. Leaning on a bamboo staff and wearing straw sandals, one wanders freely through woods and springs. Only by releasing attachments can one fully enjoy the wind and moonlight over the river.

The sixth passage portrays celestial realms: the western-turning sun paying homage to the Jade Emperor (Daoism's supreme deity), the eastern-rising moon illuminating cassia trees. Attending the chrysanthemum gathering of Nanhua (Zhuangzi), drinking immortal wine from the North Sea. Drunk amidst Zhongnan Mountain's hues, under a cloudless night sky where birds don't sing, winds whisper, and moonlight flows like water.

These verses collectively express the Daoist ideal of transcendent freedom, urging detachment from worldly dust to pursue enduring life and luminous vision.

The Echoes of Cranes poetry collection presents Daoist practitioners' life attitudes and cultivation insights.

The first poem depicts a hermit's lifestyle: dwelling in secluded mountain caves, carving jade for shelter, forgetting worldly knowledge. When friends visit, don't disdain this humble abode—wealth and fame appear reliable yet breed endless disputes and uncertainties. Rich feasts eventually cloy, while simple tea and rice bring lasting peace.

The second poem reflects life's impermanence: true freedom lies in timely detachment, without exhausting mind and spirit. Countless clever souls waste their lives in ceaseless toil. Fate shifts unpredictably—today's laughter becomes tomorrow's sorrow—why fret over the unknown?

The third poem shares cultivation realizations: reflecting on the past reveals the arduous path ahead. When blessings don't increase and heaven's will remains inscrutable, while the mortal body decays, one might as well settle contentedly by Pan Stream (legendary fishing spot of Jiang Ziya), grateful for neighbors' kind remembrance.

Song of Wandering Incense uses flies as metaphor: drawn to sweet, pungent basins, they revel yet become mired in filth. This mirrors worldly obsession with desires—sweetness conceals bitterness, fortune breeds calamity.

Beautiful Yu describes Double Ninth wine enlightenment: clad in coarse hemp yet radiant in spirit. No mirror needed—the heart already sees clearly. Dream-revealed illusions pierced, one roams freely to the far shore.

Pillow Screen Master records wandering experiences: traversing famed peaks and rivers, though wearying, the Dao-mind stays firm. Companions by day, sharing rest by night—suddenly realizing "Elder Brother" (one's true nature) was always present.

Finally, Immortal Maiden Sun's Song of Divination·Farewell to the World depicts cultivation visions: seated cross-legged in "holding firm" posture (Daoist mudra), water and fire merge (Neidan terminology), light arises from the "sea floor" (Dantian), three passes (key energy points) unblocked. Celestial music lingers, eternally drinking ghee (symbolizing supreme truth), embodying profound mystery.

This set of poems titled "Joy of the Immortal's Call" encapsulates the cultivation insights of Qiu Chuji (styled Changchunzi), patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) lineage. The "nine-cycled golden elixir" mentioned doesn't refer to external alchemy (waidan) but symbolizes the pure yang energy formed through internal alchemy (neidan) practice.

The first poem addresses the initial stage of cultivation—breaking worldly habits. To transcend the cycle of life and death, one must thoroughly eradicate ingrained tendencies, particularly desires and attachments. Through relentless refinement, the will becomes firm as iron, harmonizing the six spirits (referring to the deities of the five organs and gallbladder) and subduing the disturbances of the "three corpse worms" (malevolent spirits believed to reside in the body). This intense practice requires maintaining a state of emptiness and thoughtlessness. Only by dissolving all mental knots and receiving authentic oral instructions from a true master can one dispel obstacles like a clear breeze, attaining stillness like a carved wooden statue. When the innate luminous pearl (manifestation of the spirit, shen) is realized, worldly illusions become transparent. At this stage, even ghosts and demons cannot interfere—only immortals can guide one toward liberation.

The second poem describes the state after achieving cultivation success. Disenchanted with worldly filth, one's aspiration turns toward purity and freedom. Like a sword sheathed yet gleaming coldly (symbolizing internal restraint), one overcomes the disturbances of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and attains the primordial qi (洞玄灵宝). Freed from the constraints of yin-yang cycles, the perfected golden elixir enables mastery over the sun, moon, and stars. Wisdom transcends time, manifesting miraculous responses to circumstances. Like threading the mysteries of heaven and earth with golden needles and jade threads (symbolizing cultivation methods), one awakens all beings. At this stage, one should withdraw gracefully, reclining in the azure mists of immortal realms.

The third poem directly reveals the essence of practice. Avoid chasing abstractions—the true key lies in conquering drowsiness (a metaphor for mental dullness) and severing delusions, the orthodox path transmitted by sages. Moderation in diet and daily self-awareness are essential. The crucial point is maintaining a wakeful, sleepless mind (constant clarity) to unite with the Dao. There are even subtler techniques: when refining qi into spirit (炼气化神), golden light envelops the body; the qi of the five organs returns to the dantian; the three blossoms (essence, qi, and spirit) gather at the crown; and the water and fire (kidney and heart qi) merge and circulate. The nine yang qi coalesces into the returned elixir, penetrating the spiritual terrace (niwan palace) to connect with all directions. With merits fulfilled, one roams freely across the three isles of Penglai.

The fourth poem focuses on breath regulation. Adjusting the true breath (innate respiration) traces back to the origin of life—recognizing that qi is the heart, and spirit governs qi. Mental agitation separates spirit and qi, while stillness naturally reunites them like mother and child (primordial and postnatal qi). Settled intention spontaneously produces true nectar (sweet dew). Internal breath regulation isn’t forced—those who misunderstand fetal breathing (胎息) by imitating tortoise and snake movements with eyes open or noses pinched labor in vain. Authentic Daoist practice involves turning the light inward (回光返照), allowing breath to return to its root. Suddenly, like a breeze through a window, water and fire instantly merge (heart-kidney union). Understanding this truth, one realizes their true nature immediately—the Buddha-nature of past, present, and future lies within reach.

Fifth Poem:

Having seen through worldly life, one can break free from its constraints—truly carefree days are rare indeed. Wearing coarse cloth robes with silk sashes, leaning on a mottled bamboo staff while plucking the scorched-tail lute—this is the life I’ve chosen. When asked why I live in seclusion, I simply point to the verdant pines and vines—deep within the emerald mists, accompanied by the cranes and gibbons of Dongting Lake, such companions are more precious than anything. Resting my head on the texts of Laozi and Zhuangzi, I envy no kings or nobles. Dressed in simple attire suited for mountains and streams, draped in rain cloaks while playing the flute under moonlight—there’s a unique charm to it all. How does one grasp these truths? Since ancient times, this has been the essence of an immortal’s practice. I’ve resolved to live as I please, letting the world change as it may, untouched by life’s ups and downs.

Sixth Poem:

Setting aside all mundane affairs, I wander the fields with my staff. A rain hat shields me, a wind-scarf wraps my head, my patched robe drapes a lean frame—I dwell at the foot of green mountains. Seeing through worldly chaos, I grasp the secrets beyond the ordinary. Delighting in the teachings of Dao and De (Virtue), I maintain a serene and empty mind. The beauty of this land is profound—I’ll ride a crane back to the clouds. The orioles and swallows of my homeland sing of bygone glories, while clear waters and deep ravines stay far from bustling carriages. The rights and wrongs of millennia pale beside a pillow of mist and the wild joys of a streamside. Such a splendid life—who could even put a price on it?

Seventh Poem:

Abandoning fame and fortune, I retreat to the open countryside. Winding mountain paths lead me as I roam freely by bends and ridges. Amid misty villages and cloud-wrapped huts, clad in hemp and dining on wild greens—why chase high office when my thatched hills suffice? My heart is vast: I idle by the eastern fence, chant verses in the western garden, living a long, unhurried life of Wuwei (non-action). Without a kindred spirit, who can I discuss the profound with? My book chest, lute case, stone altar, and earthen tripod—these alone bring true joy. Who will carry forward this refined simplicity? In solitary amusement, only the pines, the moonlit stream, and the ageless cranes and gibbons keep me company.

Eighth Poem:

Suddenly shedding all attachments, life feels as illusory as Zhuangzi’s dream of a butterfly. My dwelling is as humble as a quail’s nest, my fare as meager as ant broth, my robes dust-laden—a century slips by unused. Riches fade like twilight, fame scatters like petals—what endures? A candle in the wind, dew on a branch. Who understands? Alone, I return to tidy my thoughts and recline by Caoxi’s path. Beyond the bamboo, a flowing spring; by the fence, chrysanthemums—wild beauty adorns my retreat. Drunk with verse before my five-willow gate, I laugh at the follies of ages past. Where to confide my heart? Alas, the misty waves stretch far—where is my kindred spirit?

First:

In the jade censer, a hundred fragrant herbs are lit, and the sincere heart transforms into a wisp of devotional incense (a symbolic offering in Daoist rituals representing sincerity). The curling smoke spirals upward, eventually forming a sacred canopy (a parasol-shaped auspicious cloud symbolizing divine protection). This is an expression of gratitude—to heaven and earth for their nurturing grace, to the sun and moon for their illuminating virtue, to the sovereign for governing a land of abundance and peace, and to parents for their loving care. It is also an offering of thanks to the celestial patriarchs and the Perfected Lord of Danyang (a key patriarch of the Quanzhen tradition), who established the great Quanzhen teachings, enabling the Three Perfected Ones—Qiu Chuji, Wang Chuyi, and others—to spread the Dao in Ninghai (present-day Muping, Shandong), aligning subtly with the laws of heaven and earth. May the emperor enjoy boundless longevity, may his ministers assist with wisdom, and may disciples below bow with reverence.

Second:

Observing the bustling masses of this floating world—striving for fame and profit, drowning in desires, only multiplying their sorrows—one recalls the rise and fall of the Six Dynasties, the struggles of the Five Hegemons, the tripartite division of the Three Kingdoms, and the wars of the Seven States. Where are those military strategies and grand schemes now? Only desolate wildflowers and fragrant grasses remain in desolation. Alas, those deep schemes and lofty ambitions have all lost their luster, reduced to ashes. Roaming the outskirts of Chang’an in search of traces, a century’s vicissitudes leave but a few aged survivors. On the ruins of Tang palaces, Han gardens, Qin halls, and Zhou walls, only lush grasses thrive. Old friends scatter without word, and considering life’s fleeting nature—like a mushroom that sprouts at dawn and withers by dusk—who truly possesses eternity?

Third:

The early winter sky is clear as crystal, and beneath the moonlight over Chang’an, a gentle breeze stirs, leaving no shade beneath the trees. A hundred calamities silently dissolve, and ten thousand households share in this luminous scene. Venus shines bright, the Milky Way glitters, their radiance interweaving to fill heaven and earth, flowing unimpeded through the azure void like water. This brilliance pierces mountains, illuminates seas, and endlessly manifests auspicious signs. Henceforth, the mind is firm as a precious vase (symbolizing steadfast Daoist resolve), nourished constantly by jade nectar (a metaphor for the inner elixir, or Neidan). Wishing to speak of the true feelings within, yet finding none who understand—better for now to revel in blissful intoxication.

Fourth:

After the rain, the firmament stretches vast, and all things brim with vitality. Pavilions, towers, and terraces rise and fall among mountains and rivers like an embroidered scroll. From the depths of distant emerald caves, a clear spring chimes, its lingering note carried on the air. Gazing often at the faraway green peaks, one sees white clouds gathering at their summits. Countless rare birds and beasts soothe melancholy, while verdant cypresses compete for growth between twin cliffs, a thousand trees vying in splendor. The sunlit alchemy platform (a site of cultivation) accompanies through all seasons, and though cold and heat alternate, stars shift, and things change, one may still rest in lofty midday slumber.

Fifth:

When chaos first parted, auspicious signs appeared over the Southern Peak, and numinous clouds emerged from the summit of Mount Kunlun. Stars flowed like streaks of lightning (hinting at cosmic movement), revealing the profound mystery of the Dao’s operation. This passage depicts the primordial scene of creation, employing distinctively Daoist concepts like the Primal Chaos (Hunyuan) and Kunlun to portray the majestic unfolding of heaven and earth.

This passage depicts the transcendent state of a Daoist cultivator who has returned to primordial simplicity. The first section describes the circulation of Yin-Yang energies within the body during practice: Yin qi ascends while Yang qi descends, with crimson light swirling amidst visions of dancing cranes and phoenixes, tortoises entwined with scarlet dragons. These are manifestations of authentic qi movement at advanced stages of cultivation, resembling the primordial chaos of creation's dawn, where one momentarily glimpses the profound mystery of cosmic transformation.

The second part portrays the cultivator's lifestyle: far removed from worldly turmoil, without attachment to human riches, sitting disheveled in ancient temples to refine the Dao. Within this seemingly void state, they perceive the true Way while maintaining inner purity. Carrying only a simple cloth sack and staff, wearing straw sandals and coarse robes, they beg for alms when hungry and sing freely when satiated. Though mocked by the world as foolish idlers, they remain unperturbed in their transcendent freedom.

Using historical cycles as metaphor, the third section observes: A century passes like Zhuangzi's butterfly dream; the grand ambitions of heroes throughout history become mere firewood-gatherers' tales. Qin palaces and Han towers now house only foxes and rabbits, while wealth and glory prove as fleeting as candles in wind or snow melted by boiling water. Having seen through these illusions, the cultivator chooses to nurture simplicity by circumstance—fishing by streams, playing the zither to cloud-wrapped mountains, keeping the moon as companion.

The conclusion employs Chan-style paradoxes to reveal cultivation's essence: wooden horses neighing to wind, stone men nodding—these contradictions signify enlightenment beyond verbal logic. Without forced pursuit of Zen or immortality, maintaining natural authenticity becomes wondrous as lotuses blooming in fire. When mental clouds disperse, the full moon appears naturally, its clarity piercing as golden thread through a needle's eye. The fishing metaphor ultimately suggests that while dwelling in worldly turbulence (the waves), true cultivators resemble golden-scaled carps—unswayed by currents, ever preserving their luminous original nature.

These two lyrics from Echoes of Cranes' Songs were composed by Qiu Chuji (styled Changchunzi), the patriarch of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, revealing the transcendent enlightenment of Daoist practitioners beyond worldly concerns.

The first piece, Wandering Immortal in a Dream, depicts a celestial journey in slumber: as if truly traversing the nine heavenly realms, amidst vast pure Qi (vital energy), where ethereal white clouds stretch boundlessly, and the solemn atmosphere resembles an audience with the Celestial Worthy. Golden boys and jade maidens descend to convey divine decrees, while ten thousand sages gather under great radiance enveloping the purple-gold lotus throne. Immortals sing in chorus as all heavens celebrate, immersed in wordless joy—sipping flowing aurora wine and feasting on peaches of immortality. The divine assembly lingers in orderly reverence, each embodying the majestic virtue (De) of the Dao, their spiritual powers unshaken even by cosmic calamities. This sublime realm transcends the highest heaven, existing before the formation of heaven and earth. The primordial spirit (Shen) penetrates layered mystic gates, roaming ten thousand miles at will, traversing all directions without hindrance—no need for phoenix steeds, arriving instantly with a single thought. Having witnessed celestial palaces and indescribable splendors of Yingzhou's purple abodes, where auspicious clouds coil around jade terraces and eternal spring fragrances drift on the breeze—such realms emerge from perfected true cultivation, merging with the Great Void to endure beyond eons, untouched by mortal world vicissitudes.

The second lyric, Spring in Brocade Hall, dispels worldly illusions: awakening from the Southern Branch dream, seeing through the millet dream's vanity, one reflects innate wisdom in a simple cloud-canopied niche. The sword of insight severs love's entanglements; a staff of goosefoot smashes worldly fetters. Concealing brilliance beneath Mount Emei, dwelling by forest springs near Mount Hua, one tucks sun, moon, and stars into sleeves. Even should heaven collapse, true nature remains unmoved. Swirling Daoist robes find the cosmos too small; unfolding a palm measures heaven and earth. Drunkenness encompasses four seas; laughter swallows three rivers. Having frequented the Jade Pool's peach feasts, where Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) is ever-present at divine banquets, and seven golden lotuses radiate sacred light during Chongyang rituals.

The final "living skeleton" metaphor jolts worldly minds: What glamour lies in this fleshly form? Merely rags veiling the body, squandering spirit (Shen) in idle days. Neither mindful of impermanence's approach, nor fearing Yama's summons. Scheming exhaustively for livelihood, bustling pursuits are but futile cravings.

The Echoes of Cranes poetry passage primarily discusses how practitioners should relinquish worldly desires and focus on cultivating their inner nature.

The first section advises against pursuing empty fame and petty gains, as these only bring suffering. Human life is fleeting—a single breath withheld brings death, leaving one alone in a desolate grave. Success and failure throughout history vanish in the blink of an eye; time slips away, impossible to hold. Instead, it is better to cultivate truth and nurture one’s nature with ease, letting go of past worldly skills. Freeing oneself from the toils of the mundane world and awakening to the original mind, one becomes like wild clouds scattered by the wind—mountains and rivers grow still, the void expands, and the stars and moon illuminate Yingzhou (a legendary immortal mountain). This is true freedom and joy, surpassing even the envy of kings and nobles.

The second section warns of the harm caused by the "sleep demon" to practitioners. During the day, it may be manageable, but at night, the sleep demon has nowhere to hide, plunging people into drunken stupor, disrupting practice, and even leading them to recklessly throw away their lives. Eyes feel glued shut, the head weighed down like a mountain, the whole body sluggish and weak. The sleep demon entices the Three Corpses (three harmful spirits believed to reside in the body in Daoism) and the Six Thieves (the six sensory desires of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), stealing the Primordial Yang (the body’s innate vital essence) in dreams. Wild thoughts surge through the Dharmadhatu (the realm of spiritual cultivation). Against such a wanton troublemaker, all are advised to remain vigilant. One must constantly reflect on the great matter of life and death, diligently safeguarding the Three Lights (Jing, Qi, and Shen). Laziness is unacceptable—everything depends on awakening. Spiritual power must be as fierce as that of Guan Yu and Zhang Fei (legendary warriors), with unwavering determination pressing forward, until finally the clouds part and the mist clears, revealing a realm of cool clarity, radiant with divine light.

Ma Danyang (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen tradition) specially burned an oath and made solemn vows, prioritizing adherence to the laws of the land. He treated men and women, young and old, as his own parents. He forever renounced quarrels, greed for wealth, drunkenness, lust, abandoned glory and riches, and abstained from meat. Maintaining purity, humility, and reverence, he avoided factionalism and bias. Content with a simple life, he embraced poverty willingly, preferring to beg rather than covet wealth. He refrained from wild boasts and false claims of enlightenment. Steadfast in caution, he grew even more resolute in adversity. Should he ever abandon the Dao (the path of cultivation), he would rather be torn limb from limb and forever sink into the Yellow Springs (the underworld).

Finally, the text states that practitioners need not necessarily dwell in the mountains, toiling in hardship. Why deliberately rush about in exhausting travel? True realization does not lie in forced meditation or backbreaking labor. There is no need to laboriously gather herbs or refine elixirs just to secure food and clothing. It all depends on where the mind is placed—so long as it remains untainted by external things and breaks free from all attachments. There is no harm in begging for scraps in the mundane world. Seeing through empty fame and profit, regarding life and death lightly, and forgetting worldly distractions—only then can one eventually take a place among the ranks of immortals.

Wang Chongyang, founder of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, reveals the essential method of spiritual cultivation in his poem "Hollyhock Blossoms." The key to attaining immortality lies in eliminating worldly desires. One must firmly restrain the wild-horse of wandering thoughts (yima) and the restless monkey of the mind (xinyuan), preventing their unruly behavior. Abandon miserliness and greed, relinquish attachments to right and wrong, and sever the root of ignorance (avidyā in Buddhist terms, denoting fundamental delusion). All clever rhetoric and intellectual brilliance should be reined in to preserve one's original simplicity.

When the Purple Palace Primordial Sovereign (an honorific title for Daoist female immortals) pacifies all disturbances, cinnabar (a Neidan/internal alchemy term symbolizing spiritual achievement) naturally coalesces within the precious cauldron. There's no need to obsess over complex theories of "dragon and tiger, lead and mercury" (Neidan terminology representing yin-yang and water-fire dynamics). Instead, one should reach into the depths of bewildering clouds to reveal a bright full moon (symbolizing innate radiance). Only then can one truly embody the comprehension of the "Xi and Yi" way (referencing the Dao De Jing's "look but cannot see—call it Yi; listen but cannot hear—call it Xi"), thereby entering the extraordinary path of spiritual cultivation.

The poem emphasizes that the core of practice lies in purifying the heart and reducing desires, returning to primordial simplicity rather than clinging to elaborate theories. The ultimate goal is to manifest the innate luminosity of one's true nature.