《雲山集》Vol. 8

In the winter of the year Jiwei (1259), during the tenth month, Baghesu, an official of the Crown Prince's residence in Xiliang Prefecture (present-day Wuwei, Gansu), had long held the aspiration to conduct the Supreme Yellow Register Grand Rite (Wushang Huanglu Dajiao, a major Daoist ritual for the salvation of the deceased). At the local Yingxiang Temple, preparations began in spring and continued through autumn, with the renovation of halls and the arrangement of altars. They even traveled great distances to invite the Perfected Qiyun to serve as the presiding master of the Great Salvation (Jiaoyi Zhuchi Fashi).

After selecting an auspicious date, the Daoists were summoned to set up the altar according to ritual protocols. Announcements were sent to the Three Realms (the divine realms of Heaven, Earth, and Water) to inform them of the ceremony. All participants observed purification and fasting, sincerely praying for divine protection. Three days before the ritual, the formal ceremonies commenced, with offerings made to the 360 sacred deities and perfected beings. This ritual primarily aimed to save the souls of Baghesu’s ancestors, including deceased relatives from both near and distant lineages, as well as the wandering spirits within the region who had no one to honor them. Regardless of kinship, all departed souls could receive salvation through this ceremony. The ritual lasted three days and two nights, concluding at dawn on the final day. The entire process was carried out with utmost devotion, embodying the virtues of benevolence and filial piety.

Here, it must be clarified: All things between Heaven and Earth are born from the same Qi (vital energy), and humans share the same origin with all beings. Though the myriad phenomena in the world are endlessly diverse in form, shaped by the interactions of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and the cycles of the four seasons, the fundamental laws governing the transformations of Qi remain eternal. Once humans acquire physical form, they cling to the notion of "self," giving rise to oppositions of strength and weakness, rises and falls, until life comes to an end. In truth, these are all manifestations of the movement of Qi and the cycles of heavenly principle—there are ups and downs, beginnings and endings. Gains and losses, survival and demise, all follow the will of Heaven, beyond human resistance. Those who defy the Dao of Heaven will perish, while those who align with it will flourish. Those who rely on force and cunning are doomed to fail. Since ancient times, humans have never been able to overcome Heaven.

Now, the Great Yuan Dynasty, in accordance with the Mandate of Heaven, has unified the realm. Whether north or south, east or west, all are brought under one rule. Under Heaven, there is no second Dao; across the Four Seas, all share one heart. Reflecting on the turmoil of past years, when ancestral temples lay in ruins, the contrast with today is like comparing one to ten thousand. The peace and prosperity we enjoy now, the flourishing of families, and the blessings of official rank—all are the protection of Heaven.

Witnessing the misfortunes of this world, one cannot help but think of one's own kin; seeing the helpless wandering souls across the land, one realizes all beings share the same origin—how can this not stir profound emotion? Thus, with the simplest of wishes and utmost sincerity, I invoke the boundless compassion of the Mysterious Origin (referring to the Sanqing, the highest Daoist deities) to save all beings, opening the sacred gate of the Great Yellow Register Retreat (a major Daoist ritual for the salvation of lost souls).

With devout prayers, I beseech the vast spiritual power of the immortal sages, hoping the radiance of the Three Pure Realms (the celestial realms of Yuqing, Shangqing, and Taiqing) may illuminate the dark underworld and unseal the gates of the netherworld. May all long-lost souls return to their source, and may wandering spirits find liberation. Let every soul ride upon harmonious Qi, silently safeguarding the prosperity of our nation. The unification of the land, the cessation of war, and universal benevolence—these are the deepest aspirations of this humble servant.

Now, the ritual altar stands solemnly prepared, and the ceremony proceeds with reverence. I carve this record of merit into stone, hoping it may endure for posterity. Here, I faithfully inscribe this account with the following epigraph:

All phenomena in this world, no matter how complex, must ultimately return to their origin. Yet the ownerless wandering souls and lingering shades cannot find their way home. They cling to grass and trees, lost without purpose—how much more so the countless souls lost in years of warfare? These frightened spirits drift with the currents, tossed in the cycles of rebirth, enduring endless kalpas of suffering.

Today, through the great compassion of the retreat's patron who sponsors this Great Yellow Register Retreat to redeem the underworld, all souls across time and space—whether kin or stranger—rely upon the majestic virtue of the Celestial Worthy. Scattered Po finds cohesion; wandering Hun returns to its source. The hidden becomes manifest; the restless finds peace. Without distinction, all are embraced within the all-encompassing Dao. Yin and Yang subtly harmonize, and an era of great peace may yet dawn.

(Continuation of the Yellow Register Stele Inscription) Human life between heaven and earth is but a brief sojourn in an inn—a hundred years pass swift as a white steed glimpsed through a crack. Nothing endures unchanged. Within the span of decades, whether one lives long or dies young, the body's fate is sealed. People toil day and night—how few transcend the workings of creation to roam the vast void in spirit? From sages downward, who truly sees through this illusion?

Children are the continuation of their parents' life—how should one repay this debt across the boundary of death? In life, we honor them with love; in death, we mourn them with rites, never forgetting to offer sacrifice—this is the constant principle of human relations. Remembering our departed kin who once labored for family and descendants, yet were ensnared by worldly temptations and blinded by the seven emotions and six desires, forever lost in delusion...

This passage discusses the remembrance of deceased parents and the rituals for their salvation, embodying Daoist perspectives on life and death, as well as filial piety.

In life, a person’s transgressions may accumulate like mountains, while their virtuous deeds remain few. Now, their bones have returned to the earth, and their spirit (shen) has scattered into the void—seemingly vanished yet not entirely gone. Where, then, has the soul gone? Is it undergoing judgment in the underworld? Has it ascended to the celestial palaces? Is it caught in the cycle of rebirth (six realms of existence), or has it been reborn as a human again? These questions remain unknowable. Only the unseen deities govern the distinctions between the realms of Yin and Yang, while ordinary people remain ignorant of such matters.

Thus, filial children, filled with boundless grief, seek to repay their parents’ kindness. Without relying on the profound meritorious power of Daoist practice, how else can the souls of the departed be liberated? One must sincerely and reverently pray to the divine, hoping that the exalted immortals and sages will take pity and guide the departed souls, freeing them from suffering. This is the principle of mutual resonance and connection.

On the anniversary of their parents’ passing, a devoted individual respectfully prepared the Great Yellow Register Retreat (Huanglu Zhai, a Daoist salvation ritual), making offerings to multiple sacred beings. They invited Daoist priests to preside over the sacrificial rites (Zhaijiao) and instructed the assembly of Daoists to submit memorials and petitions (Jingbiao Shangzhang) according to the liturgical procedures (Keyi). The ritual began on a certain day with the issuance of documents and concluded on another with the burning of the sacrificial texts. Gathering at the altar with utmost sincerity, all participated in the salvation ritual together—this is the fullest expression of a filial child’s devotion.

The ceremony was solemn and complete, and this heartfelt act of honoring the departed and tracing one’s roots should be inscribed on a stone stele, both as a memorial and as an encouragement for others to cultivate goodness. The inscription reads:

Children serve their parents in life and must continue to honor them in death as they did in life.

With tears of blood and sincere hearts, they remember the spirits of their parents in the unseen realm.

They come to this jade-pure celestial abode (referring to the Daoist temple), praying with purified body and mind.

Immortals gather in clouds, masters arrive in full, and the rain of compassion and Dharma falls universally.

Through the refining rites of the Fire Court (a segment of the salvation ritual), the departed souls are elevated to transcendence.

Finally, the stele inscription of Nanchang Temple states:

The Great Dao (Da Dao) embraces all things, and all things contain the nature of the Dao.

The Dao permeates heaven and earth in all directions, sustaining the operation of the cosmos.

Heaven is clear by virtue of the Dao, earth is tranquil by virtue of the Dao.

The sun, moon, and stars shine by virtue of the Dao, the seasons change by virtue of the Dao, and sages achieve greatness by virtue of the Dao.

This passage recounts the historical lineage and core teachings of Daoist transmission. The essential meaning is as follows:

Since ancient times, the Great Dao (the Uncarved Block) has manifested in the human realm through successive sages, forming a system to enlighten all beings. From Yuhuazi of the Fuxi era, Dachengzi of the Shennong period, Guangchengzi during the Yellow Emperor's reign, to various perfected beings of the Yao-Shun-Yu-Tang periods—these Dao-realized figures all served as teachers to emperors, transmitting profound Daoist methods to the world. Though their virtuous deeds are recorded in scriptures, many recluses chose to vanish without leaving traces.

By the Shang-Zhou dynasties, Laozi (Lao Shi) appeared. He advocated the wisdom of blunting sharpness and untangling complications, taking emptiness and stillness as fundamental principles, expounding through the Daode Jing the way to govern humanity and serve heaven. During the Hundred Schools of Thought period, Dao practitioners variously drank jade nectar, refined the Golden Elixir (Jindan), practiced breath regulation and daoyin exercises, or drew talismans (Fulu) to expel evil—all being health-preserving methods responding to worldly needs. These were supplementary arts to cultivation, not the Great Dao itself.

It wasn't until the Jin-Yuan period when Wang Chongyang (Chongyang Zhenren) emerged—a man of extraordinary gifts who swept away cumbersome formalities to directly point to cultivation's essence. Emphasizing purity, authenticity, gentleness and humility in practice, he completely inherited the true transmission of the Dao through heaven, earth and all ages. His teachings spread in the eastern regions, attracting numerous disciples and ultimately achieving widespread influence.

After the Yuan dynasty's establishment, Qiu Chuji (Changchun Zhenren) received imperial summons, making the Quanzhen school flourish greatly. Later, Yin Zhiping (Qinghe Zhenren) succeeded the lineage, honored as Great Patriarch, sustaining the Daoist tradition's prosperity. This history reveals Daoism's development from reclusive practice to public prominence, stressing that true cultivation should return to the fundamental truth of life rather than clinging to external forms.

Taoist temples, the sacred spaces for Daoist cultivation, are scattered across the land like stars—even in the most remote wilderness, deep mountains, and secluded lakes, one can find practitioners of the Dao. Less than a mile north of Liting, in the village of Tunzhuang Fuli, stands a temple named "Nanchang," founded by Master Baoguang (Daoist name Baoguang, secular name Zhu Zhiming). A native of the region, Master Baoguang displayed extraordinary intelligence in his youth and renounced worldly life to enter the Daoist path, becoming a disciple of Liu Zhifu, known as Baoyangzi—who was himself a prized student of the ancient sage Taigu Zhenren.

Under his master’s guidance, Baoguang devoted himself to cultivation, gradually receiving the true transmission of the Dao. In middle age, he returned to his hometown only to find his ancestral home in ruins, with nothing but remnants of its foundation remaining. Leading his disciples, he cleared the land, built roads, and reclaimed nearly a hundred acres of fields. With official recognition from the local governor, Zhang Hou of Mengzhou, he undertook large-scale construction. In less than twelve days, the temple was completed: its main hall enshrined Lord Lao (Laozi), while the Yunhui Hall served as a gathering space. The temple embodied both the solemn majesty of the Daoist sacred realm and the devout aspirations of its followers. From then on, incense offerings burned ceaselessly at dawn and dusk, praying for blessings upon the imperial court and accumulating virtue for all beings—fulfilling the dual purpose of honoring the Dao and repaying the kindness of teachers.

When the temple was completed, a senior master was invited to inscribe its name, "Nanchang." With his mission accomplished, Master Baoguang withdrew into seclusion, keeping the profound and ineffable truths of cultivation hidden within his heart. The transmission of Daoist teachings across ages has never relied on superficial forms; its essence lies in the state of serene non-action (Wuwei) and natural emptiness—this is the ultimate principle of heaven and earth, the true meaning of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). Daoist practice is not illusory; its people and places are real, and it is through such tangible cultivation that sages teach and transform the world. This is the significance of the master-disciple transmission. Temples are built to manifest reverence through physical forms, cultivating blessings for the nation—a profound undertaking indeed.

Liu Zhiguan, the temple’s caretaker, specially requested that I record this account, hoping to preserve the legacy of past masters and inspire future generations. Though my knowledge is shallow, I could not refuse, and thus I have faithfully composed this inscription:

The immortal sages of all ages revolve like the Northern Dipper,

Guiding humanity through the rise and fall of worldly affairs.

This passage recounts the stories of two recluses. The first part traces the development of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school of Daoism, while the second provides a detailed account of the ascetic life of the Qin dynasty hermit Chaoyun.

The Quanzhen lineage began with Wang Chongyang (Chongyang), then flourished through the efforts of patriarchs like Ma Yu (Changzhen) and Qiu Chuji (Changchun). Special mention is made of two eminent disciples—Baoyangzi (Wang Chuyi) and Baoguang Zhenren (Hao Datong)—who inherited the Daoist tradition of Taigu Zhenren (Liu Chuxuan) and propagated Daoism throughout the land. Practitioners devoted themselves day and night to incense offerings and spiritual cultivation, praying both for the emperor's longevity and the nation's prosperity, as well as for the common people's material abundance.

The second part describes how the Qin dynasty recluse Chaoyun fled to the remote depths of the Taihang Mountains to escape the forced labor imposed by Emperor Qin Shi Huang. Sustaining himself on wild fruits and mountain springs, he built a nest in the treetops to dwell among wild beasts, far from worldly disturbances. Through prolonged seclusion, he gradually realized the joy of emptiness and stillness, reflecting how his former worldly life had been like being fried on a hot griddle. Though now facing beast-infested mountain paths and perilous cliffs, this existence felt infinitely freer than worldly constraints.

Chaoyun wandered the mountains at will—standing, sitting, or reclining as he pleased—marveling at the silent landscapes, the harmonious chorus of birds and beasts, the exquisite flora, and the majestic peaks. To him, this surpassed even the most divine grotto heavens. Often he would sing loudly with loosened hair beneath pine shadows, or dance alone by mountain streams, completely forgetting worldly troubles. Time became meaningless—he couldn't distinguish whether it was the Han or Wei dynasty—and the boundaries between self and objects blurred. Sustained by medicinal herbs like Solomon's Seal and Atractylodes, drinking from clear springs and sitting on white stones, he eventually encountered an azure-robed immortal elder in a trance-like state (implying his attainment of Daoist transcendence).

A white-haired immortal with luminous eyes and flowing beard descended beside me on auspicious clouds, his hair tied in a Daoist child’s topknot, holding a divine lingzhi mushroom in hand. Pointing at me, he said: "Your obsession with mountains and forests is like an incurable disease, and your infatuation with springs and rocks is no different from those who muddle through life in the mundane world. Prolonged craving for stillness will inevitably breed sorrow and unsettle your spirit. Today, I impart to you the 'Uncarved Block of Namelessness' (referring to the Daoist state of primal authenticity) to steady your mind. With it, you can break free from the shackles of stillness and ascend to the sublime realm of Kunlun’s immortal paradise. Will you accept it?"

I (Chaoyun) hastily rose and knelt in reverence, crawling forward on my knees to humbly seek his method. The immortal commanded me to sit quietly, close my eyes, and shut my ears. Suddenly, he took a sharp blade, cut open my chest, removed my heart, and then placed it back, applying divine medicine to the wound. After this, he said: "The Uncarved Block of Namelessness is the seed of sages and immortals. It has been planted in your chest—guard it well." With these words, he vanished without a trace.

A long time passed before I awoke as if from a profound dream or a drunken stupor. Looking around, the immortal was nowhere to be seen. Touching my chest, my skin was intact as before, yet my mind felt clear and luminous, my spirit invigorated, and my entire body suffused with harmonious Qi. Within me, the Heavenly Radiance (primordial spiritual light) naturally shone forth, returning me to the pure and tranquil state of my original nature—like the luminous clarity at the dawn of primordial chaos, vast and unrestrained to the point where even the boundless sea seemed narrow, and the leisurely clouds and waters paled in comparison.

From then on, I penetrated the profound mysteries (key aspects of cultivation), my wisdom flowing unimpeded. I attained the "vision beyond sight" (perception transcending form) and realized the "knowledge beyond knowing" (wisdom beyond thought). I became one with Heaven and Earth, harmonized with all things, dissolving all distinctions between self and other. Whether lofty sky or solid earth, inner or outer, near or far—all merged into a unified whole. Whether grand or subtle, all shared the same intrinsic nature.

Later, I often spontaneously chanted wordless poems, played a flute without holes, strummed a stringless zither, and sang lyrics without words—these sounds shook Heaven and Earth yet remained unheard by ordinary people. Through this, I attained spiritual powers: I could summon dragons to roar and phoenixes to cry, make cranes dance and simurghs soar, even tread upon light and ride the winds. Yet I chose not to wield these abilities lightly.

After years of seclusion in the mountains, woodcutters and hunters occasionally stumbled upon my extraordinary deeds, and my reputation gradually spread. Mountain paths began to see visitors, among them one or two earnest seekers of the Dao who came to pay homage. At that time, a scholar named Rong Bohua, hearing of my exploits, braved hardships to visit, bringing several companions. When they found me, I sat in the valley as still as withered grass.

This dialogue presents a profound debate between two contrasting worldviews through the voices of its protagonists.

The challenger passionately declares: "A true man should embrace grand ambitions, soaring aspirations that transcend the ordinary, bringing benefit to all, establishing meritorious deeds and earning renown. Like the noblemen frequenting royal courts, one should be the phoenix among birds and the dragon among beasts. As the saying goes, 'Better be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix'—this is human nature. Yet you cower in fear, hiding in remote mountains and ancient forests, less perceptive than a frog at the bottom of a well. Do you feel no shame?"

Chaoyun (the Daoist practitioner) sighs deeply toward the heavens and responds calmly: "Do you not see how all things between heaven and earth follow their inherent nature? The shifting clouds and rain, the shining sun and moon, the stirring wind and thunder, the waxing and waning frost and dew—these all follow the movement of heavenly Dao. The stillness of mountains and flowing rivers, the solidity of metal and stone, the growth of plants and trees, the distinct forms of birds, beasts, fish and insects—these manifest earthly creation. All things possess innate dispositions that cannot be forcibly altered. Yet humans persistently try to seize things through clever schemes—this resembles reckless action without understanding natural patterns."

"From the finest autumn down to the vastness of Mount Tai, from the legendary longevity of Pengzu to children who die young, from glorious wealth to bitter poverty—all are preordained. Yet viewed through the lens of Dao, these tangible, measurable differences vanish in an instant. Great and small, long-lived and short-lived, rich and poor, noble and humble—in truth there is no distinction. Within my heart resides the eternal Dao that transcends form, enduring through kalpas without destruction. This is immutable truth—what more could I desire?"

Bohua (the challenger) counters again: "Those with talent should benefit the world—your reclusion makes you useless." Chaoyun replies: "You consider 'uselessness' suffering, yet fail to recognize the harm in 'usefulness.' Creatures suffer bondage when made useful to humans—horses bearing loads, oxen pulling carts, driven by reins and whips. Though fed with hay, they lose their natural freedom. Thus the clever often toil, and the wise constantly worry."

This dialogue between the two Daoist practitioners Bohua and Chaoyun reveals the profound truth of "the usefulness of the useless" in Daoist cultivation. Chaoyun first points out the common misunderstanding of health preservation: people worry that useful things invite misfortune (straight trees get felled first, sweet wells run dry first), yet fail to grasp the true art of nurturing life.

What ordinary people call health preservation merely satisfies bodily cravings (filling mouths and bellies) – this only understands the tools of cultivation while missing life’s true master. The genuine ruler of life is "Shen" (the primordial spirit, the source of life). When Shen remains, life endures; when it scatters, death follows. People indulge their senses with rich flavors and sensual pleasures, only to let the six desires, seven emotions, three poisons (greed, anger, delusion), and five turbidities (five kinds of defiled Qi) harm their primordial spirit. Once Shen is injured and dissipates, life meets its end.

Chaoyun presents the essential method of "the usefulness of the useless": just as still water naturally clarifies and a clean mirror naturally reflects, cultivators should maintain an empty and luminous mind, responding to things as they come and letting them pass without clinging (reflecting when encountered, releasing when departed). Though it appears as non-action (reflection without deliberate effort, usefulness in uselessness), it contains great function. Thus, the body remains unburdened in constant tranquility, and the mind stays unharmed in perpetual clarity.

Conversely, forcefully pursuing "usefulness" leads to sensory dysfunction (eyes that cannot see, ears that cannot hear), like a patient suffering from paralysis. The true Dao resembles the heavens (Hao Tian), which act not yet all phenomena move naturally, and the earth, which accomplishes nothing yet all things flourish spontaneously. This state of "uselessness" is, in truth, all-encompassing in function; seemingly thoughtless, yet omniscient; outwardly inactive, yet omnipotent.

Finally, Chaoyun clarifies: the mysteries of creation, unfathomable even to ghosts and spirits, are all inherent in our true nature. This nature remains unbroken through countless kalpas – why cling to the illusory forms of the mundane world? Upon hearing this, Bohua awakens in realization and respectfully withdraws after bowing. This exchange, recorded at Shenqing Temple in Kaizhou, embodies the Daoist wisdom of "non-action yet nothing left undone" in cultivation.

This passage explains the reasons for Daoism's flourishing in the secular world through the story of practitioner Zhang Xiaoyaozi. The general meaning is that when the great Dao prevails in the world, people can receive its profound teachings, eliminate greed and contention, gradually cultivate goodness, and abide by their true nature—thus society can achieve a state of great peace. Daoism's contribution to the world is by no means insignificant.

At the beginning of the Yuan dynasty, after the Celestial Master Qiu Chuji (Changchun Zhenren) responded to the imperial summons, Daoism experienced a revival. During this time, there was a Master Zhang named Zhixin, styled Xiaoyaozi, from Zhangchuan, known for his resolute and decisive character. Amid the turmoil of the Zhenyou era, fearing the spread of calamity, he retreated to the deep mountains to seek liberation from worldly attachments. Later, hearing that Master Wang Chuyun (Qiyun Wang Zhenren) was transmitting the Dao at Panshan, he traveled a great distance to become his disciple. Under his master's guidance, he cultivated with utmost sincerity and ultimately comprehended the wondrous Dao. After descending the mountain, he lived an exceptionally simple life—taking heaven and earth as his dwelling, regarding his body as a temporary lodging, wearing tattered clothes with disheveled hair, yet never wavering in his resolve. Detached from material concerns, he remained indifferent to worldly disturbances, viewing them with the same equanimity as flying birds or buzzing mosquitoes.

In the seventh month of the Dinghai year, Master Zhang arrived at Chanyuan, where the local people held him in solemn reverence. When Magistrate Zhao Hou encountered him, he sincerely invited him to reside at the Lingxian Zhenjun Temple. Through Zhang Xiaoyaozi's cultivation journey, this passage reveals the transcendent state and austere lifestyle of one who has truly attained the Dao.

In those days, people often brought food offerings to the temple, and soon multitudes came daily seeking teachings—so many that not all could be received. He had hundreds of disciples. When sitting in meditation, there was no deliberate instruction; when standing, no idle discussion. Yet all who sought the Dao came empty-handed and left fulfilled (referring to attaining true wisdom). The assembly leader (head of the Daoist organization), Master Cai, admired his character and entrusted him with the deed to land beside the temple, relocating himself to build a dwelling elsewhere for the master's residence.

The Pacification Commissioner (regional governor), Lord Wang, praised his strict adherence to precepts and funded the expansion of the Daoist temple. First, they constructed the main hall enshrining the Three Pure Ones (the highest Daoist deities: Jade Pure, Upper Pure, and Supreme Pure). Next came the fasting hall and kitchen to accommodate fellow cultivators, followed by orderly rows of modest hermitages (small huts for practitioners) harmonizing with this blessed land. Upon completion, they specially invited the lineage master to inscribe the plaque "Divine Clarity" for the temple.

Consider this: people establish the meaning of life through the Dao, while the Dao is propagated through people. When one inwardly realizes the Dao, it naturally manifests outwardly. Just as in ancient times, when Master Kangcang resided in Lu, the people spontaneously erected shrines to honor him; or when Lie Yukou traveled to Qi, vendors of broth competed to offer him nourishment. All this occurs because cultivators preserve their innate nature, becoming one with heaven, earth, and the myriad things—when personal harmony is maintained, it resonates with cosmic harmony. From this perspective, such practice can move heaven and earth, commune with spirits, enter fire and water unharmed, pass through metal and stone unimpeded, and elicit responses in all things great and small—how much more so with people? Who would not revere one who treats others with this harmonious Dao?

Master Zhang Xiaoyao truly embodied this. His disciple Zhao Zhiwan, recalling his master's aspirations and integrity while reflecting on the traces of their former cultivation site, sought to engrave a stele for posterity and entrusted me to compose this record. Unable to decline, I have compiled these accounts. Inscribed on the 20th day of the first month, the cyclical year Ding-Si.

(Conclusion of Volume 8 of the Cloud Mountain Anthology)