《子華子》

In the ancient region of Yangcheng, Xu Qu sought an audience with Master Zihua through the introduction of Beigongzi. Xu Qu expressed his desire to inquire about the origins of the cosmos: "In the primordial chaos before all things came into being, who set the winds and clouds in motion? Who governs the mysteries of these 'three-threes and six-sixes' (referring to the numerical patterns of Yin-Yang transformation)? I've heard you possess knowledge of these records and hope for your guidance."

Master Zihua modestly replied that he couldn't claim complete understanding but was willing to explore the matter: "The undifferentiated state is called 'Taichu' (Grand Beginning), from which three Qi (vital energies) emerged—the highest named 'Shiqi' (Primordial Qi), the middle 'Yuanqi' (Original Qi), and the lowest 'Xuanqi' (Mysterious Qi). These three Qi interdepend: Xuanqi relies on Yuanqi, Yuanqi relies on Shiqi, and Shiqi originates from Taichu itself. The unified Qi divides into Yin and Yang energies, whose combinations generate all transformations, ultimately forming the complete numerical system (with nine as the ultimate number)."

To elaborate: "When the essence of Yin Qi coalesces in the Wind Wheel (symbolizing celestial movement), it's called 'Taixuan' (Grand Mystery); when the essence of Yang Qi concentrates in the Water Pivot (symbolizing terrestrial currents), it's called 'Taiyi' (Grand Unity). Taiyi represents pure Yang (red), while Taixuan embodies pure Yin (black). Water appears Yang yet contains Yin qualities; wind seems Yin yet activates Yang energy. The cosmos manifests in five directions: red above (Li trigram/fire), black below (Kan trigram/water), azure and white flanking the sides, with yellow hidden at the center. This balanced intermediate state enables the harmonious interaction of the two poles (Yin-Yang)."

"Water contains the essence of Taiyi, thus nourishing all things through subterranean flow; wind bears the essence of Taixuan, thus propelling all things through celestial motion. At winter solstice when Yang (fire nature) peaks, dryness prevails; at summer solstice when Yin (water nature) peaks, humidity dominates—because fire ascends through combustion while water descends through permeation. Just as birds fly upward and fish swim downward, all things follow the fundamental principle of Yin-Yang interaction."

This passage explores the origin of the Dao (the Way) and the hierarchy of life states. Master Zihuazi (a Daoist scholar) posits that the root of all things lies in the Dao, an ineffable source akin to the primordial chaos before the formation of heaven and earth. When this chaos divides, it is called "the Center"; when divided elements reunite, it is termed "Harmony." The interaction between Center and Harmony generates the transformations of all things, referred to as "three-three six-six" (denoting the patterns of Yin-Yang alternation).

Yangcheng Xuqu (the interlocutor) laments nearly failing to grasp this truth. Zihuazi elaborates: The Dao is the singular substance. When humans perceive it, a tripartite relationship forms—"self, cognition, and the Dao." Every aspect of the human body—bones, organs, breath regulation (tu'na)—is in fact a manifestation of the Dao, a connection traceable to the incalculable beginnings of time. Through the primal unity of "One," the Dao differentiates into the myriad transformations of existence.

The text then discusses four life states: The highest is "complete life" (where all six desires are appropriately fulfilled), followed by "diminished life" (partial satisfaction of desires), then death, and lastly "constrained life" (where no desires are met and one endures repulsive circumstances). Zihuazi emphasizes that constrained existence is worse than death—just as one would rather not hear loathed sounds or see detested sights. True life cultivation (yangsheng) is not mere survival, just as gourmets refuse spoiled meat and connoisseurs reject劣酒 (inferior wine).

Here, "six desires" denote sensory cravings of the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind; "Center-Harmony mystical unity" describes the harmonized chaos of Yin-Yang; "three-three six-six" is a technical term for Yin-Yang transformation patterns. These concepts reflect Daoism's distinctive understanding of life's essence and cultivation realms.

This passage explores the authenticity of the Yellow Emperor legends through a dialogue format, while elucidating the Daoist philosophical concept of "like attracting like."

Gong Zhongcheng asked Master Cheng: "People say that when the Yellow Emperor ruled the world, all manner of divine beings came to the Mingtang (ancient imperial audience hall) to receive their duties. The Emperor mined copper from Mount Shou, built a great furnace, and cast the Divine Tripod. When completed, a host of dragons descended to welcome him. Riding a white cloud, he ascended to the Land of Immortals (Dixiang). His attendants tried clinging to the dragons' beards to follow, but lacking strength, they fell. The people wept over their dropped robes, bows and fur garments, hence naming these relics 'Crow-Cry Bow' and burying the vestments at Qiaoling. Are these legends credible?"

Master Cheng categorically denied: "People are too fond of fantastical tales! Sages and commoners share the same essence - like categories share forms, like forms share Qi (vital energy), and like Qi shares understanding. Humans differ from dragons in category, as dragons differ from tripods, and tripods from clouds. How could such disparate things interact? These stories cannot be true."

He elaborated: "Ancient sages taught humanity through either direct instruction or metaphorical lessons. Though metaphorical teachings endure longer, prolonged transmission distorts them - hence the wise correct errors when they appear, and halt transmission when distortions grow severe. The Yellow Emperor's governance excelled in creating spiritual resonance that connected all levels of existence, thus attracting manifold blessings. What's called 'hundred spirits receiving duties' actually signifies harmonious operation of natural forces."

Regarding the tripod's symbolism: Copper mining represents tempering resilient essence; ascending Mount Shou symbolizes pursuing lofty wisdom; the great furnace embodies activating yang energy. The Divine Tripod - vessel for refining all things - with water above and fire below, represents the harmonization of yin and yang Qi. The "host of dragons" signifies abundant yang energy; "clouds" belong to the dragon category; the "Land of Immortals" indicates elevated spiritual states. The Yellow Emperor could resonate with all creation precisely because he achieved unity with all things in essence, form, and Qi.

This passage discusses the hierarchical differences in wisdom and cognition, as well as humanity's pursuit of illusions.

Though human knowledge may appear similar on the surface, those with true wisdom ascend to higher understanding with each realization. Such continuous refinement is beyond the reach of ordinary people. It is like those who climb the beard of a dragon—they can only see below but cannot rise upward. Those who see below but not above are scholars (intellectuals), while those who see neither are the common folk.

Rulers govern society and transform customs through ritual systems (symbolized by bows, furs, robes, and caps as emblems of propriety), and the people need only memorize these norms. When an emperor passes away, the people express their grief through lamentation and preserve his teachings in texts. Yet later generations turn these very things into weapons for mutual attacks—such is humanity's fondness for sophistry and bizarre tales.

The author predicts that a thousand years later, rulers will pursue immortality and ascension to immortality (xian), with sycophantic ministers indulging such delusions. In truth, the cycle from life to death is the natural order, something even sages cannot escape. From the legendary sage-kings of antiquity—Da Ting, Zhong Huang, He Xu, and Zun Lu—if they truly could live forever, the celestial palaces would long have been overcrowded, leaving no room to govern the mortal world.

Humanity remains obsessed with absurd myths. Just as Yu the Great cast the Nine Cauldrons to suppress demons, and the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) cast his cauldron with the same intent but through different means, these stories should enlighten people. Yet they prefer to believe in strange tales—like the Ding family of Song, who, after digging a well, mistakenly thought they had "gained a person" (when in fact they had merely saved the labor of a water carrier). Such misunderstandings spread far and wide.

This passage critiques three phenomena: first, the real disparities in cognitive ability being ignored; second, the deification of rulers; and third, the absurdity of social transmission where "three men make a tiger." Through layered examples, the author demonstrates that rather than chasing illusions of immortality or power, it is better to recognize the natural laws of life.

This passage records two stories about Master Zihua that reveal profound truths.

The first recounts the "well-digging misunderstanding." When the Ding family dug a well and said they'd "gained one laborer," gossip distorted this into "found a man in the well." When the Song ruler investigated, the Dings explained they'd simply saved the labor previously spent fetching water. Master Zihua used this to illustrate how Emperor Huangdi's true purpose in casting the ritual cauldrons had been similarly distorted over time. He prophesied that millennia later, rulers seeking immortality would be misled by treacherous ministers about Huangdi's original intent, just as the Song ruler needed firsthand verification to dispel rumors. This underscores how we must correctly understand ancient sage-kings' deeds.

The second story describes Master Zihua visiting Lord Tan of Tan State, renowned for ritual expertise. Upon meeting him, Zihua found the ruler excessively focused on ceremonial trappings: robes so embroidered they lost their original texture, music so boisterous it drowned its essence, and elaborate nets trapping birds and beasts. Quoting the Book of Songs about how even hidden fish get caught, Zihua criticized Lord Tan for violating ritual's true purpose—ancient kings established rites to stabilize hearts, not for display, and to guide through education, not cruelty. Disappointed, Zihua immediately took his leave.

Both stories emphasize grasping the essence of things: whether examining ancient sage-kings' actions or ritual systems, one must look beyond surface forms to understand their fundamental purpose. Master Zihua demonstrates a truth-seeking, pragmatic attitude, rejecting exaggeration and misinterpretation.

When Jin nobleman Cheng Ben (Zihuazi) was returning from Tan territory, he encountered Confucius. The two stopped their carriages to converse, their canopies touching as they spoke joyfully for an entire day, finding deep mutual understanding. Confucius instructed his disciple Zilu to prepare a gift of silk for Zihuazi. Zilu objected: "I've heard that scholars meeting without proper introduction is like marrying a daughter without matchmakers - a gentleman shouldn't associate so casually." Later when Confucius repeated the instruction, Zilu gave the same response. Confucius said: "Zilu, you're too rigid! Doesn't the Book of Songs say 'There's a lady fair, clear as the breeze, our chance meeting perfectly suits my heart'? Master Cheng is a worthy scholar of our age - if we don't present gifts now, we may never meet again. Go prepare them at once."

Zihuazi expounded on the Dao: The Great Dao has no fixed form - when concentrated it becomes primordial Qi (vital energy), when dispersed it generates all things. The cosmos (Yuzhou) is the vessel that carries and transmits the Dao. All existence is fundamentally one - who can fully describe its origins or endings? In concentration it forms substance, in dispersion it governs phenomena; between this gathering and scattering, all forms transform into each other. In ancient times people lived with serene spontaneity, harmonious as herds of deer. Wisdom grew gradually, joy arose naturally - this manifests "Yu" (cosmic space). Being and non-being give birth to each other, high and low complete each other, prosperity and decline alternate, great and small compare - life, death, success and failure all emerge thus, manifesting "Zhou" (cosmic time). "Yu" connects through feeling, "Zhou" links through principle. Thus the formless Dao concentrates as Qi and disperses as myriad things, with the cosmos serving as its vessel.

Zihuazi continued: Words move people through resonance, yet before echoes fade the emotion changes; intentions form thoughts, yet before thoughts shift circumstances alter - because spirit (Shen) cannot fully contain them. Seventy-nine generations of rulers governed successfully with different institutions, all relying on rewarding good and punishing evil - this is law's foundation. Laws function through sincere devotion; without manifested sincerity, one cannot govern. Later generations instead use harshness to test mercy, hypocrisy to examine loyalty - speaking insincere words, harboring disingenuous thoughts.

This passage comes from Master Zihua and recounts how Master Zihua (a Daoist figure) declined the summons of Zhao Jianzi (a powerful minister of the Jin state), embodying the Daoist wisdom of "contentment in self-abiding."

When Zhao Jianzi sent an envoy bearing generous gifts to invite Master Zihua to serve in office, the master received the envoy with respect but politely declined, saying: "I am but an ordinary man, and moreover afflicted with illness—I dare not accept such a weighty responsibility." After bowing repeatedly in gratitude, he escorted the envoy out the gate.

His disciple Beigongzi failed to understand, remarking: "Cultivating one's character is meant to prepare for serving in office—this is a principle upheld since ancient times. Zhao Jianzi is a pillar of the state, yet you refuse to respond to his courteous invitation—is this not improper?"

Master Zihua replied: "I thought you had already grasped the principle of 'non-speaking' (Wuwei), but it seems attachments remain. When the mind clings to attachments, confusion arises externally. Zhao Jianzi summons me with intentions of his own. Yet if I accept another's arrangements, how can I maintain my true way of being in the world?"

Through this story of declining office, the passage illustrates the Daoist philosophy of "contentment in self-abiding," emphasizing the importance of preserving inner independence free from external disturbances. Master Zihua believed that accepting others' arrangements would forfeit one's autonomy in self-positioning—precisely reflecting the Daoist teaching of "not being enslaved by external things."

This passage records dialogues between Master Zihua (a Daoist thinker) with Beigongzi and Lord Jian of Zhao, primarily discussing the proper relationship between ruler and minister and the wisdom of navigating worldly affairs.

The ancients were exceedingly cautious in their approach to worldly conduct. When I returned from the State of Tan long ago, I heard Confucius' words that remain vividly remembered to this day. Indeed, Confucius' aspirations far surpassed ordinary men. When the ruler summoned him, Confucius lingered by the riverbank but refused to cross, instead playing his zither to express his feelings, composing the piece "Facing the River." He sang: "Vast and mighty river waters, I, Kong Qiu, cannot cross—this is Heaven's decree (tianming)." Confucius' refusal to meet the ruler exemplifies the conduct I myself would emulate.

Beigongzi suggested these words might be forgotten, but Master Zihua pointed out: "Using petty men's shallow understanding to measure a noble man's intentions is perilous indeed." Later, Beigongzi reluctantly arranged for Master Zihua to meet Lord Jian of Zhao. The lord received him with utmost reverence, offering thirty or forty li (Chinese miles) of land—even extending to fifty or sixty li—as Master Zihua's fiefdom.

Master Zihua politely declined: "I have grown old, my hair turned white, and fear I cannot shoulder the heavy responsibilities you would entrust. With territories stretching in all directions requiring your protection, I am truly unfit for the task." The next day, Master Zihua departed. Beigongzi considered such refusal of goodwill excessively harsh.

Master Zihua explained: "Lord Jian's ambitions are vast, his expectations of me too lofty to satisfy. Consider how King Wu of Zhou, during the Battle of Muye, had his garter come loose—yet none of his five ministers would stoop to tie it, for ministers serve rulers not in such trivial matters. Ultimately, the king had to lay aside his scepter and fasten it himself. This illustrates how true rulers should properly treat their ministers."

This dialogue embodies the Daoist wisdom of "knowing when to stop avoids danger" (zhi zhi bu dai), emphasizing self-awareness that prevents excessive pursuit of fame and wealth, while reminding rulers to respect ministers' proper roles. The exchange demonstrates the Daoist art of maintaining integrity through measured engagement with worldly power.

This passage recounts an encounter between Zihua Zi (a Daoist thinker) and Zhao Jianzi (a powerful minister of Jin State), illustrating the Daoist wisdom of "only by refraining from certain actions can one accomplish others."

When Zihua Zi left Zhao State, Zhao Jianzi was displeased. After minister Zhu Guo encountered Zihua Zi by the left gate of Guangmen, he advised Zhao Jianzi: "Zihua Zi is merely a commoner yet behaves with arrogant disrespect. According to law he should be punished—not doing so harms the state." Zhao Jianzi dispatched soldiers in pursuit, but Zihua Zi had already departed five days prior.

Later, Zhao Jianzi regretted his actions and sent an envoy bearing a letter written by Dong An'yu to invite Zihua Zi back from Qi State. Zihua Zi received the messenger with reverence, performing solemn courtesies in the courtyard before saying: "This exiled minister has caused his lord distress. I've heard objects are treasured for their sweetness, while scholars are honored for their integrity. Though wandering abroad, my heart remains connected to all directions—how dare I dishonor my lord's envoy?"

He articulated his stance through three metaphors: "Only when high mountains contain caves can foxes find shelter; only when deep valleys hold pools can fish and turtles dwell securely; only when pines and cypresses flourish into forests can travelers enjoy shade." These implied that like these natural phenomena, he followed his own principles of existence. Finally he declared that though he might die in exile, he would never forget his lord's kindness.

Upon reading the reply, Zhao Jianzi summoned his son Wu Xu and admonished him: "Zhu Guo is a petty man who made me offend a worthy scholar. After my death, you must rectify this error." Wu Xu assented.

This story embodies the Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)"—when rulers refrain from coercion, worthy scholars naturally return. It also demonstrates how true wisdom lies in knowing when to withdraw (refraining from certain actions) to ultimately fulfill one's aspirations (accomplishing others).

Beigongzi was preparing to take up an official post in the state of Wei when Zihuazi asked him: "You came to study the Dao of cultivating the heart-mind with me. What insights have you gained that you wish to share?"

Beigongzi replied: "I haven't fully comprehended it yet. Even gathering firewood for a living has become difficult, and I rely on others' support to get by. However, I always remember to practice good and avoid evil, hoping to perfect myself."

Hearing this, Zihuazi's expression turned solemn as he countered: "What kind of talk is this? What's so worthy about pursuing good? Why must one avoid evil? Let me tell you: when sages don't appear in the world, chaos increases daily. People indulge in selfish desires—those who seek to preserve themselves end up losing themselves, and those who try to help others often achieve the opposite. All this stems from attachment to 'goodness.'"

"When a true king arises, his role is to cleanse the muddled understanding of the people. If this attachment to 'goodness' isn't eradicated, chaos will never cease. So why pursue so-called goodness at all?"

Beigongzi exclaimed in surprise: "Is that really so? Please explain in detail." Zihuazi elaborated: "The human heart-mind is no larger than a square inch, yet it's the dwelling place of Shenming (the innate spiritual nature). The affairs of the world are endlessly complex—like untangling hemp strands or wading through rapids—bringing moments of fear, caution, or self-reproach. Within a single day, this square-inch heart-mind may burn like fire one moment and freeze like ice the next. How can such a dwelling place for the spiritual nature endure?"

"When Shenming no longer resides there, the heart-mind decays; when illumination doesn't abide, the spirit scatters. What's the use of discussing 'doing good' then? The ancient ones who attained the Dao were as plain as unseasoned broth and as pure as newborn infants. They followed the natural flow, their vitality brimming as if having recovered something lost. Their spiritual nature remained serene, constantly aligned with the great Dao, having abandoned all cravings and desires. Who can comprehend such profundity?"

"Now you speak of resolving to do good—but who will shoulder what is 'not good'? When you deliberately avoid what you dislike, where will that 'evil' go? Rejecting and resisting only breeds opposition. When your self-righteous intentions clash with others' resentment, how can conflict not arise? Once conflict begins, at the very least there will be quarrels and disputes..."

This passage is from Master Zihua, which examines how social disorder and calamities stem from people's excessive pursuit of "goodness" while deliberately avoiding "evil." The author argues that such forced striving corrupts fundamental human relationships.

The so-called virtuous scholars and teachers of today, with their solemn caps and belts, delivering lofty speeches, are precisely the ones sowing chaos. When scholars mutually reinforce this mindset—devoting all their energy to distinguishing good from evil—they ironically create disaster. Fathers become less kind, sons less filial; brotherly affection fades between siblings, harmony vanishes between spouses; rulers lose benevolence, ministers lose loyalty. As these basic ethical bonds deteriorate, people still compete to chase this so-called "goodness," fearing they might fall behind—how lamentable!

The text cites historical examples: Shi Que killed his son Hougong to preserve his reputation; Prince Zhe rejected his father Kuai Kui to monopolize power; Wusheng plotted against his brother Duan; Ji You poisoned Qingfu; Shu Xiang executed Fu Yong; Zhuang Zhongzi first harmed his family to secure his estate. Though these individuals superficially attained their desires and avoided unwanted outcomes, they ultimately caused complete moral collapse.

The author observes that when human hearts are hollow, failing to obtain what they crave breeds doubt, while obtaining what they dislike breeds confusion. Such doubts take root like thorns. Conversely, if fathers don’t distrust sons, sons naturally become filial; elder brothers don’t suspect younger ones, who then show respect; husbands don’t doubt wives, who remain devoted; rulers don’t distrust ministers, who stay loyal. These effects manifest spontaneously.

The text concludes: if just one doubt arises in a hundred actions, the entire principle collapses; if one among three travelers hesitates, the journey stalls. In an ideal age of the Great Dao, superiors and subordinates communicate without suspicion. The sage-kings Yao, Shun, and the rulers of the Three Dynasties didn’t forcibly pursue kingly governance—they simply followed the natural Dao, and peace prevailed effortlessly.

(Note: Master Zihua was a Daoist scholar of the Warring States period; "Beigongzi" is the interlocutor; figures like Shi Que and Kuai Kui are historical personalities from the Spring and Autumn period.)

This passage primarily discusses the importance of "balance" (equilibrium, fairness) and how rulers should maintain integrity. Through several illustrative stories, it demonstrates that deliberately pursuing reputation can lead to the loss of true justice.

The text first states that the key to a peaceful world lies in clear and enlightened governance, which in turn is founded upon inner harmony among the people. Just like a balance scale, even the slightest additional weight—symbolizing selfish thoughts—can disrupt equilibrium. Those who boast of their merits struggle to stand firm, and those who speak of ideals without action accomplish little. Not only do they fail to receive blessings, but they may even invite misfortune. Thus, the author disapproves of deliberately seeking a reputation for "goodness," arguing that maintaining inner balance and upright conduct naturally leads to achievement.

The passage then uses the examples of Yao and Shun to illustrate that if both superiors and subordinates compete to demonstrate their "virtuous deeds," it creates a double standard (两实), undermining true balance. Without balance, there can be no integrity, and thus Yao and Shun would cease to be sage rulers.

Two stories follow: Beigongzi, after violating his teacher’s instructions, was convicted in the state of Wei and ultimately chose to resign and retreat into seclusion. Yanzi governed the region of A for three years—initially facing criticism and nearly being dismissed for his strictness, but later changing his methods and earning praise. Yet he refused rewards, believing it unreasonable to be punished earlier but rewarded now. Zihuazi praised Yanzi for his unwavering integrity, seeing it as the very reason for Qi’s decline—people tend to favor those who agree with them, and this common tendency corrupts governance.

The core message of the text is a warning to rulers: True benevolent governance does not lie in deliberately pursuing reputation, but in maintaining inner balance and upright conduct. Deliberately displaying "goodness" disrupts political equilibrium and leads to national decline.

This passage elucidates the principle of opposing forces transforming into one another. Where love exists, hatred will inevitably arise; where assistance is given, rejection will emerge; where praise is bestowed, slander will follow. Yet rulers often fail to perceive these transformations, allowing court ministers to exploit the situation for personal gain. If left unchecked, this leads to the cyclical alternation of order and chaos—the decline of the Qi state being the natural outcome of this dynamic.

Master Zihua (a prominent Daoist figure) further explains: "Yuan" represents the core energy of creation during the universe's primordial state (Taichu refers to the initial condition of the cosmos). When the Heavenly Emperor wields this energy, the celestial mechanism operates eternally; when the Earthly Sovereign (Hou Tu, the deity of earth) obtains it, the land expands boundlessly. Within the human body, this "Yuan" governs all bones and limbs. The ancient creators of Chinese characters understood this principle perfectly—hence they used the character "完" (wan, meaning complete) to represent the intact preservation of "Yuan," while its violation became the character "寇" (kou, meaning invasion). When constraints of law are applied to "寇," it transforms into "冠" (guan, symbolizing ritual propriety). Thus, the destruction of wholeness invites external calamities, and continued violation turns into "贼" (zei, meaning thief). Those who dig through walls and pry open locks represent merely the most trivial form of theft.

Hu Hui privately asked Cheng Ben: "What do you think of our current ruler?" Cheng Ben replied: "In the days when Yao and Shun reigned, the common people could freely discuss state affairs in the streets without prohibition—this was the standard by which scholars judged right and wrong. Let me attempt to analyze this for you."

"I dare not compare with ancient examples, but consider the late Minister Wenzi (a virtuous official of Jin). Diligent in study and receptive to remonstrance, he appeared frail in demeanor and spoke with caution. He personally promoted forty-six talents from humble backgrounds, all of whom served him with utter loyalty, benefiting the state. When Wenzi passed away, all forty-six voluntarily attended his mourning rites—proof he never formed cliques. A love for learning demonstrates wisdom; accepting criticism reflects benevolence (Ren); and avoiding factionalism proves loyalty."

"Consider the Yangtze River: its source at Mount Min is but the size of a jar’s mouth, its initial flow so shallow it could barely float a wine cup. Yet as it descends through Jing and Chu, it broadens for thousands of li, requiring great vessels to cross. This transformation has no other cause than its acceptance of countless tributaries. Such was Minister Wenzi’s art of governance."

"Thus, Wenzi cultivated filial virtue (Xiao) to prosper the ducal clan, maintained reverence to secure his court position, and through martial virtue (Wu De) shamed the chief ministers. His moral radiance illuminated Jin, assisting his ruler to become hegemon of the central states, bringing ten years of peace without warfare to All-under-Heaven. Should our current ruler extend Wenzi’s achievements to glorify the Zhao lineage, he must emulate Wenzi’s reverence for virtue (De) and adherence to righteousness (Yi) to amplify ancestral glory—this will surely earn praise from all quarters."

"As for the Fan and Zhonghang clans (other Jin noble houses), their inability to exercise restraint led to their ruin—a fact our ruler knows well." Hu Hui sighed: "Master, your words penetrate to the essence! I long to hear more instruction. When opportunity arises, I shall report this to our ruler, that it may aid his reformation." Cheng Ben quoted the Book of Songs: "‘The king wishes to carve you, hence his stern admonitions.’ To correct a ruler’s misguided thoughts and guide him to the proper path—this is the loyal minister’s duty. Strive earnestly in this!"

"I have heard that where mountains harbor fierce tigers, men dare not clear the woods; where rivers tolerate filth, tributaries stagnate. Duke Mu of Qin once believed the scholars of Qin..."

This passage records the dialogues between Master Zihua (a representative figure of Daoist thought) with the rulers of Jin and Qi, primarily discussing principles of governance and personnel selection.

The Jin section recounts the stories of three virtuous ministers: Dou Shuzi was resolute and upright, never neglecting purification rituals (Zhaijiao in Daoist practice) when serving his lord; Shunhua possessed profound knowledge and steadfastly adhered to his principles without wavering; Wuqiu Jiu became renowned for his valor at fifteen, and neighboring states feared him in his prime, as he could effortlessly navigate perilous situations. These three were the elite of Jin who helped stabilize the regime. Yet later, the ruler inexplicably executed Dou Shuzi and drove Shunhua to his death, causing Wuqiu Jiu to flee with provisions to another state. The text criticizes such self-contradictory actions that undermine a ruler's competitiveness, advising trusted ministers to courageously rectify their lord's faults.

When meeting Duke Jing of Qi, Master Zihua presented a unique governance perspective: deliberate pursuit of statecraft actually limits one's vision. He argued that governing resembles the Daoist core concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)"—excessive fixation on control leads to narrow-mindedness. When Duke Jing inquired about governance methods, Zihua replied that a state fundamentally requires no forced governance, as intentional intervention reveals limited perspective. This embodies the Daoist political philosophy of "governing through non-action," advocating alignment with natural patterns rather than forceful interference.

This passage, through the dialogue between Zihua Zi and the ruler, expounds the core principles of statecraft:

Governing a nation cannot rely on narrow-minded or superficial methods. The truly profound art of governance lies in comprehending the Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) — focusing on essential principles without attempting to micromanage every detail, while maintaining inner purity of one's original nature. In this way, even without deliberately addressing every matter comprehensively, peace naturally extends to all directions. The legendary sage-kings Shennong, Yao, Shun, and Yu achieved success precisely because they aligned with the heavenly Dao and preserved humility.

The text pointedly observes: When a ruler considers himself wise while treating subjects as fools, it inevitably breeds sycophancy. When everyone comes seeking instructions, even the most intelligent ruler will become exhausted, ultimately creating a vicious cycle where "above sits a ruler averse to candid speech, below serve ministers who merely go through the motions." This "double obstruction" calamity stems precisely from the ruler's excessive pursuit of active governance.

The author reveres the ancient wisdom of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)": refraining from forceful interference, avoiding arbitrary commands, eliminating subjective assumptions, and calmly observing the essence of things. By establishing clear divisions of responsibility, adopting "not knowing" (maintaining an open mind) as principle, and using "how should we proceed?" (pooling collective wisdom) as the magic key. Just as Shennong inquired how to harmonize all things, Yao and Shun asked how to illuminate all directions, and Yu sought counsel on governing borderlands — these sage-kings all understood the importance of humble consultation.

Finally, Zihua Zi confesses: When he first entered court service, he was perplexed by how Qi's current governance methods differed drastically from those ancient sages' practices. Attempting to govern through superficial forms like ceremonial bells and drums (Zhu Yu refers to ritual instruments) will likely prove inadequate for achieving lasting peace and stability.

This passage depicts a dialogue between Master Zihua (a Daoist scholar) with the ruler and Ji Shen. The sovereign indulges in pleasures while the court is filled with sycophancy. Craftsmen busily manufacture musical instruments yet produce no harmonious sounds, judicial officers abuse punishments, and feudal lords' guests compete in slick flattery. Court officials, aware of the ruler's hedonistic inclinations, even compose ballads to bewitch his mind—all while the ruler remains oblivious.

When offering counsel, Master Zihua observes: "Your Majesty's vision is clouded by desires, making the Dao of governance impossible to implement. Incompetent ministers further exacerbate these deep-rooted malpractices." He asserts that all transformations in creation follow inherent patterns, and statecraft should accord with the natural Dao (the Way). Yet the ruler merely sighs that Zihua's theories are too profound and grandiose for practical application.

Later, Zihua visits Ji Shen, who recounts traveling with Confucius (Zhongni) across kingdoms without settling anywhere—a wandering that exhausted the sage. Perplexed by the world's moral decay and inverted values, Ji Shen wonders where Confucian teachings should turn. Zihua responds: "Confucius resembles the sun and moon in heaven—he cannot contravene natural laws by standing still. As the measuring cord of human affairs, his exhaustive travels, though wearying, constitute the necessary toll for a sage disseminating the Dao."

(Note: The "beaded crown ornaments" (mianliu) symbolize imperial authority. This dialogue highlights the tension between Daoist adherence to natural spontaneity (Wuwei) and Confucian activist engagement—with Zihua's cosmic perspective framing even Confucius' labors as part of heaven's unfolding patterns.)

Ji Shen (possibly the interlocutor's name) respectfully asked Master Zihua (a Daoist figure): "May I ask why you do not participate in government affairs or attempt to hold office?"

Master Zihua replied: "My inherent nature is shallow—how could I live up to your expectations? You are like the square carriage crossbeam fitting perfectly with the round wheel hub, adaptable to all situations without limitation. But I can only act within the bounds of my capability. Since my capacity is limited while yours is boundless, I would rather follow behind you as a student."

This dialogue illustrates the Daoist principle of "knowing one's proper place." Master Zihua recognizes his limitations, acknowledging he lacks the other's ability to respond to worldly affairs with perfect flexibility. Thus he chooses humility over forcibly entering domains beyond his mastery. The metaphor of "square beam fitting round hub" vividly conveys the Daoist wisdom of balancing firmness and adaptability, being both principled and situationally responsive.

In the dialogue between Cheng Ben (Zihuazi) of Jin and Yanzi (the renowned prime minister of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period), they discussed the phenomenon of "hidden retribution" (yinlu) in heaven and earth, though few understand it. Those who comprehend this principle may be approaching the realm of Dao-realization.

Yanzi asked what this meant. Zihuazi explained: Heaven and earth labor with great difficulty to nurture talent—once they bring forth a person, there must be purpose in their existence. To deliberately suppress or bury talent, preventing them from fulfilling their potential, is what heaven and earth most abhor. The sun and moon will illuminate such injustice, the Qi of Yin and Yang will become imbalanced, and spirits will secretly observe. Thus, in the laws established by emperors, those who recommend the worthy are heavily rewarded, while those who fail to nurture talent are punished. The karmic retribution of promoting good and punishing evil ultimately manifests in later generations.

Consider precious materials: gold lies hidden in sand, jade is encased in rough stone, pearls form in swirling abysses, and rare woods like Yuzhang and Piannan (both prized tree species) grow on perilous mountain cliffs. When extracting them, one must carefully separate them with precision—if handled improperly, disasters like attacks from tigers and wolves or landslides and lightning strikes will occur. This is precisely because heaven and earth labor with difficulty to produce such treasures, and once formed, they must serve their purpose. To deliberately obstruct their function is to defy the natural order and blaspheme the divine. Those who defy the natural order, no matter how powerful, will ultimately collapse; what appears prosperous is destined to perish, and entire lineages will decline—this is "hidden retribution."

This covert punishment operates with the precision of a key turning in a lock or a seal pressed onto wax, its retribution arriving as swiftly as an echo. Upon hearing this, Yanzi exclaimed in shock: "Your words are profoundly awakening!" Zihuazi replied: "There’s no need for surprise—what I speak is grounded in evidence. Just as people detest slander yet often commit similar acts themselves..."

This passage discusses the dangers of attachment and the mentality of gain-and-loss in human nature, as well as the proper way to govern and conduct oneself.

When a person becomes excessively attached to something they cherish, it gives rise to an intense desire for possession. Once this possessive urge takes root in the heart, if someone suddenly tries to take away the beloved object, the person will inevitably resist fiercely. If this resistance fails, it leads to despondency and spiritual collapse, which then transforms into seething anger. When such anger fills one's chest completely, it makes a person hostile toward everything.

Heaven and Earth nurture all things with profound meaning—the mentality of excessive favoritism and miserliness is essentially no different from ordinary human selfish desires. Yet most people fail to comprehend this truth, busying themselves instead with scheming and manipulation, slandering and excluding one another, attempting to secure victory through cunning. However, the victories and defeats of the human world hold no significance in the eyes of the celestial spirits (Shen). This narrow-minded mentality will ultimately incur the punishment of Heaven and Earth.

The author illustrates this with an example from Jin State's history: When Minister Luan Wuzi was in office, he diligently attended to governance day and night, correcting contemporary malpractices, thus earning fame among the feudal lords. But his successor was self-willed and domineering, monopolizing power arrogantly, which eventually led to the downfall of the Luan clan. In contrast, Minister Sui Wuzi, though erudite, remained humble and cautious, often saying, "There are things I cannot see, hear, or comprehend." Consequently, he could select talents of all kinds, ensuring his family's prosperity for generations.

This passage reveals two important principles: first, excessive attachment obscures the mind-heart (Xin), and second, the essence of governance and personal conduct lies in humility and impartiality. The laws of Heaven and Earth are clear—those who defy the proper way (Dao) will ultimately reap what they sow.

This passage uses the rise and fall of three prominent Jin noble families (the Fan and Zhonghang clans) to reveal profound principles of governance. When their founding ancestors like Zhonghang Wenzi held power, they excelled at selecting worthy officials, treating talented individuals as their own kin with diligence and prudence, thereby ably assisting their rulers in maintaining feudal alliances.

Yet their successors completely abandoned these ancestral governing principles. These later generations mistook harshness for discernment, deceit for wisdom, cruelty for loyalty, scheming for virtue, and extortion for administrative achievement. They guarded against capable officials as if they were thieves, filling courts with sycophants while pushing upright and virtuous talents to lower positions. Obsessed with consolidating power, these heirs ultimately hastened their own downfall.

The text particularly notes these families were Jin's generations-long chief ministers whose ancestors possessed such profound De (Virtue/Power) they could commune with celestial spirits. But by neglecting ancestral teachings, their descendants severed the temple sacrifices—the fundamental cause being their defiance of heavenly principles through reliance on temporal power, attempting to oppose the Dao with human effort. Like building walls focused solely on height without foundations—however tall, they must collapse; or like covering others' eyes while imagining oneself clever, unaware of becoming blind and deaf first.

The concluding reference to Yanzi's exclamation "How profoundly shocking!" underscores how such governance violations ultimately bring catastrophes worse than what befell Jin's three clans. Terms like "blood sacrifices" (temple offerings) and "profound De" (heaven-aligned virtue) reflect ancient understandings of the relationship between celestial mandate and human affairs.

Yanzi inquired of Zihuazi: "The power of the Qi ducal house (the ruling family of Qi) is daily declining—what should be done?" Zihuazi replied: "When men have aspirations, Heaven will surely respond. Since Qi seeks decline, why worry about not achieving it?"

He illustrated his point: In ancient times, the Yellow Emperor had twenty-five clans, so the Huang lineage's blessings spread throughout the world, and people still remember them today. The Zhou dynasty enfeoffed seventy Ji-surname feudal lords, just as fingers cannot command arms, nor arms control the whole body. Now in Qi, since the times of Dukes Xiang and Huan, there are no more ducal clan members at court, nor public fields among the people. Those armored soldiers bearing weapons no longer belong to the ducal house; those officials wearing silk ribbons are no longer ducal ministers. The descendants of the ducal clan are scattered in all directions, reduced to keeping company with servants. Those now attending the ruler are all men harboring private interests.

Zihuazi quoted the Book of Songs: "Are there no other men? But none compare to one's own kin." Since Qi seeks its own decline, why worry about not achieving it? Nowadays people distribute goods using steelyards and measures—not because these ensure absolute fairness, but to avoid resentment from unfair distribution. Therefore, sages investigate the patterns of Heaven and Earth as their standard, yet still use turtle shells for divination and yarrow stalks for calculation—this establishes public trust. Words and deeds should accord with musical pitch and legal measures, yet still employ compasses and squares for regulation—this establishes public justice. Principles should be clear and penetrating, yet still use documents and regulations for clarification—this establishes public credibility. Virtue (De) should spread widely, yet still employ laws and institutions for restraint—this establishes public righteousness.

But present-day Qi does precisely the opposite: Its governance policies all stem from private interests. Not only that—it makes the ducal house bear the resentment while private individuals enjoy the benefits; it makes the ducal house shoulder empty fame while private individuals reap actual profit. The decline of Qi's ducal house has long been more than a matter of days. Since Qi seeks its own decline, why worry about not achieving it?

Zihuazi (a Daoist philosopher) said: When the ancient sage-kings established laws and institutions, they always adhered to fundamental principles. They valued the essence of things while also considering practical details. The sage-kings followed natural patterns without forced innovation, preserved traditions without reckless changes, and eliminated excessive desires and illusory pursuits. They made governmental decrees operate with the regularity of the four seasons, and laws alternate with the predictability of winter cold and summer heat. Without excessive words, the people were naturally transformed; without commands, the people spontaneously complied. Thus by following nature (Wuwei), they accomplished great deeds; by guarding the root, they secured lasting foundations.

Those who deliberately pursue minute legal details create laws that ultimately damage the true nature of things. Legal systems are but crude instruments for governing society - even in their creation, one must avoid selfish thoughts, let alone when pursuing the great Dao (the Way). Ancient texts record: "By following the movement of heaven and earth, and assisting the natural development of all things, even the harmony of the six directions (the entire cosmos) presents no difficulty." History records seventy-nine generations of rulers - though their specific laws differed, all achieved kingship through this very principle.

(Note: Here "seventy-nine generations" is a metaphorical expression indicating numerous historical rulers; "six directions" refers to the four cardinal points plus heaven and earth, representing the entire universe; "Daoist methods" refers to the principles of both self-cultivation and statecraft in Daoism.)

Yanzi (the renowned prime minister of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period) went to visit Zihuazi (the Daoist scholar Cheng Ben) and said: "A few days ago I had an audience with our ruler, who expressed deep aversion to factionalism among court officials. He asked me how to eliminate this phenomenon, but I didn't know how to respond. I hope you can enlighten me."

Zihuazi sighed deeply: "Alas! For the ruler to speak thus, I fear Qi stands in grave peril. The reason talented wandering scholars (itinerant intellectuals traveling between states) cannot gain footing in Qi's court is precisely because they're falsely accused of forming factions. The more the ruler detests factions, the more his inner circle uses this as pretext to exclude dissenters. These favored ministers enjoy deep trust and entrenched positions—they collude to form unbreakable cliques, spreading through court like an inescapable net. Anyone outside their circle who voices differing opinions is immediately ostracized. How would truly upright scholars ever abandon their clarity to follow such obscurity? They're fundamentally incompatible."

Zihuazi continued: "Thus these inner ministers exploit the ruler's aversion to factions, slandering upright scholars as 'factionalists.' Without proper investigation, the ruler believes these calumnies, leading to exiles and executions. In truth, scholars of integrity need only a thatched hut supported by a few beams for shelter and a basket of rice for sustenance—who would risk their precious lives to provoke the ruler?"

He analyzed further: "When petty men first came to Qi, they merely excluded dissenters; now even those suspected of dissent are purged. Former times saw sycophants struggling for position, yet now they all hold high offices with generous stipends. These changes occurred with terrifying speed—Qi's calamity hasn't yet reached its peak! With the ruler failing to investigate and his ministers pandering to his preferences to suppress wandering scholars' cultivation, Qi's entire court will become their private domain. They secretly build staircases in the palace (metaphor for consolidating power) while the ruler remains oblivious. Ah, for the ruler to speak thus, Qi is truly in danger!"

Zihua Zi said to Yanzi: "There must be principles for governing a state - surely you, my lord, have heard of this?" Yanzi replied: "I would very much like to hear your wise counsel."

Zihua Zi said: In ancient times during eras of great peace, rulers embraced the Dao (the Way) and cultivated De (Virtue/Power); ministers shared the same virtue without divided loyalties. The court had no officials who attained position through luck, and no governmental affairs were neglected. The people farmed according to the agricultural seasons, with irrigation systems properly arranged. Citizens voluntarily observed laws - though legislation was lenient, none violated it. When superiors and inferiors were of one mind, all followed the enlightened ruler's commands. Perverse Qi (vital energy) dissipated, disasters did not arise, and neighboring states ceased hostilities, bringing jade and silk as tribute. What else could this be but the appearance of great peace?

Now observe the state of Qi today: No upright speech is heard, the ruler's senses are blocked. Weeds overgrow the court with none to clear them, fields lie fallow with recurring famines. How far this is from great peace! When subordinates dare not speak, we call it "muteness"; when superiors refuse counsel, we call it "deafness." In such a deaf-mute court, the ruler indulges selfish desires while ministers multiply taboos - this describes Qi's current condition.

He continued with metaphors: To fill a hu measure, one must first accumulate smaller units like sheng, shao and yue; Mount Tai's height wasn't built from a single stone; the surging waves of Bohai Sea east of Langya don't come from one dipper of water. Similarly, governing a state cannot rely on one person's opinions alone.

Now Qi's rulers invert black and white: Calling black white, foxes eagles, confounding right and wrong. The ruler cannot stop this. They form cliques for selfish gain, excluding dissenters, with sycophants daily surrounding the ruler to secure favor through flattery - which the ruler also fails to check. It's like judging horses by coat color rather than strength, leaving no fine steeds in the stable; or valuing jade by size rather than quality, leaving no treasures in the casket. Selecting officials by pedigree rather than ability means no wise ministers like Yi Yin or Guan Zhong will serve at court.

Qi was originally a coastal state with roads extending in all directions, naturally a gathering place for talent. Yet now the ruler favors either retainers of the Bao clan or... (the original text breaks off here, primarily criticizing Qi's nepotistic political failings)

During the reign of Cui Tian and his faction, wandering scholars (itinerant intellectuals) found no place to stand. With nowhere to settle, they had no choice but to depart by carriage. The exodus of these scholars was a clear sign of the state's disordered governance. I’ve heard that in remote villages, people offer mere cups of wine and pieces of meat in their sacrifices to the spirits (congregational shrines), while in a declining state, even the ancestral altars of the land struggle to sustain prayers for blessings. Now that Qi has fallen into deep decline, those who seek to govern it are fewer than half of what the ancients had, and thus its achievements naturally pale in comparison.

You (addressing Yanzi), as a close minister to the ruler of Qi, see the sovereign daily yet remain cautious and self-preserving. Could you not take the initiative to speak out and use your wisdom to revive the state? Such narrow benevolence is unworthy of you. Yanzi replied: Had you not reminded me, I might have forgotten my duty. As a trusted minister of the ruler, I should indeed feel ashamed upon hearing your words.

Yanzi asked Zihuazi: I’ve heard that sages revered frugality—is this recorded in the classics? Zihuazi answered: Indeed it is. Frugality is the sage’s treasure and the fundamental principle for governing the world, highly valued by the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers of antiquity). Yanzi said: I’ve heard that Yao did not disdain earthen steps for their simplicity, and Shun was wary of ornate decorations—is this what it means to revere frugality?

Zihuazi explained: What, sir, is your understanding of frugality? True frugality lies within the heart, not in outward appearances; it resides in oneself, not in external things. The mind must remain in a state of serene emptiness to govern the five senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body). When the vital essence (Jing) flows ceaselessly, spiritual transformation (Shen) occurs naturally. Restraining the indulgence of desires and carefully moderating sensory pleasures allows the spirit to settle and energy to remain undispersed. To perceive things with clarity and act decisively—this is the frugality treasured by sages, the foundation of ruling the world, and the key principle examined by the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors.

As for the frugality understood by ordinary people—measuring expenditures against income, calculating surplus like the granary keeper Yu, scrutinizing accounts like merchants, or rationing grain by household size—these are merely the calculations of petty townsfolk. The Son of Heaven dwells in grand palaces, rules over vast lands, governs all things, and commands the multitudes, drawing upon all resources between heaven and earth. Nothing is beyond provision or preparation. This is the immutable law of rulership, past and present. How can it be measured by the frugality of common folk?

This passage critiques the mistaken views held by pedantic Confucians and common folk regarding the Yao-Shun era. The author points out that claims about Yao living in thatched huts and using earthen steps stem from shallow understandings of ritual propriety. In truth, Yao resided in the majestic Palace of Crossroads, receiving feudal lords in splendid robes, while Shun played the zither on open pavilions, wearing garments embroidered with sun and moon motifs, traveling in carriages adorned with phoenix bells. Their lives fully accorded with the rites proper to the Son of Heaven—far from the crude simplicity of popular legend.

The author emphasizes that the downfall of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang resulted from their cruelty, not extravagance. True ritual propriety advocates moderation—frugality when appropriate, abundance when called for. Were a ruler to deliberately dwell in mud huts with clay-plastered walls to display austerity, he would violate the very spirit of ritual. Such behavior not only demeans oneself but also fails to sustain the ancestral clan or properly honor forebears in sacrifice, reducing one to the level of barbarians.

Concluding with the words of Yanzi (the renowned statesman of Qi during the Spring and Autumn period): "Had I not heard your explanation, I might have been misled by those shallow claims." Here, "changing jade pendants necessitates altering conduct" refers to how ceremonial regalia dictate behavioral norms, while "the tasseled banners and beaded coronets" symbolize the strict hierarchical codes of imperial ritual. The author argues that excessive austerity from those in high positions disrupts the social order of graded distinctions.

Cheng Ben (style name Zihua, a Jin state philosopher of the Spring and Autumn period) expounds the philosophical concept of "Guarding the Center" (shouzhong) in his work Zihuazi: Holding to the Mean. He asserts that sages most highly value the "Middle Way" (zhongdao) - a state of perfect equilibrium without bias - which exemplary persons should steadfastly uphold. This fundamental principle operates like the inevitable center point between the six fingers of a hand; even when the extremities extend, the central position remains immutable.

The author employs natural metaphors: summer's blazing heat (represented by Zhu Ming Chang Ying) cannot persist indefinitely but must yield to autumn's contracting Qi; winter's bitter cold (symbolized by Xuanwu Huyin) cannot endure endlessly but must surrender to spring's generative energy. Such is the Dao of celestial movement - if even Heaven and Earth observe moderation, how much more should humans? Those truly comprehending the Middle Way may occasionally deviate left or right yet remain within reasonable bounds, whereas petty persons indulging desires completely abandon centrality, like stones cast into abysses that never stop until reaching bottom, ultimately resulting in personal ruin.

Ancient gentlemen purified their minds through fasting rituals precisely to maintain this balanced state. The cosmos revolves without crushing its center; yin-yang interactions never disrupt equilibrium; even amidst dazzling sensory distractions, steadfastness can be preserved. Pitiful are worldly fools who chase momentary pleasures, losing the Middle Way unknowingly until nations crumble and households perish - this constitutes incurable folly.

The text concludes with a breathing analogy: Heaven's vital essence (jingqi) follows the rhythm of exhaling three parts while inhaling one. Singular focus cultivates ability; harmonious coordination achieves deeds; transformative practice reaches spiritual wonder. Ancient sages like Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor mastered this "Law of Three" (referring to phased patterns in developmental change), while legendary rulers such as Hexushi and Datingzi profoundly understood these principles.

This passage expounds the Daoist philosophical understanding of the Dao (the Way) and how to realize it through "emptiness" and "equilibrium."

It begins by explaining that all things originate from the One, which divides into Two, ultimately forming Three (referring to the Daoist cosmogony where the Dao generates One, One generates Two, Two generates Three, and Three generates all things). The ancient divination systems of Lianshan, Guicang, and the Great Changes (referring to the Yijing or Book of Changes) were all established upon this principle. Master Zihua states: The Great Dao is omnipresent, level and expansive—anything with feet can walk upon it. This is because the Dao itself is empty and balanced.

"Emptiness" and "equilibrium" are key to realizing the Dao. Only by maintaining an empty mind can one comprehend the Dao; only by preserving a balanced state can one embody it. One must remain impartial, without preferences or aversions, maintaining absolute equilibrium like a balance scale. Though the human heart has limited capacity, when filled with desires and biases, it becomes obstructed like the treacherous Taihang Mountains or Yanmen Pass—unable to hold even a spoonful of water, how could it contain the Great Dao? Desires are like fire, preferences like ice—when ice and fire contend, both are damaged.

The text then uses bodily metaphors: an overextended stomach will rupture; a mind filled with distractions disrupts Qi (vital energy) circulation; prolonged anxiety damages heart Qi. Thus, maintaining emptiness and stillness allows the Dao to manifest naturally; preserving stillness and emptiness enables the Dao to abide constantly.

The second part distinguishes between true rulers and doomed ones. True rulers delight in principle and righteousness, while doomed ones revel in tyranny—different pursuits yield different outcomes. Master Zihua points out: life and death, being and non-being, low and high, loss and gain are all relative. The Great Dao itself has no form, no measure, no name, no substance. Precisely because it lacks substance, it transcends life and death; having no name, it transcends being and non-being; having no measure, it transcends high and low; having no form, it transcends success and failure.

Final metaphors illustrate: though leather is pliable, overstretching will tear it; though ore is hard, persistent hammering will shatter it. All things—whether yielding or rigid, light or heavy, large or small, long or short—ultimately return to dissolution. Like ancient character creation where every character has its flaw, so too with all writings (implying all things have their limitations).

The celestial cycle (the complete revolution of heavenly bodies) consists of 360 days, and the lunar phases also complete 360 cycles—this is the grand numerical pattern governing heaven and earth. The myriad beings of the five directions (east, west, south, north, and center) likewise follow this principle: there are 360 species of scaled creatures, with the Azure Dragon of the Zhen palace in the east as their sovereign; 360 species of feathered creatures, ruled by the Vermilion Bird of the Li palace in the south; 360 species of furred creatures, led by the Qilin of the Dui palace in the west; 360 species of armored creatures, governed by the Hidden Turtle of the Kan palace in the north; and 360 species of bare-skinned creatures, with humanity—filling the cosmos—as their noblest representative.

The human body contains 360 bones, which serve as pathways for the daily and nightly circulation of Qi (vital energy), the pivots of inhalation and exhalation, and the vessels that carry thoughts and intentions. The movement of limbs and the bending of joints all resonate with the grand numerical patterns of heaven and earth, forming a complete and unified system. Thus, among all beings between heaven and earth, humans are the most precious.

Striking a bronze bell weighing thousands of jin, accompanied by the harmonious sounds of six instruments in the courtyard, is meant to express joy. Yet a person burdened with hidden sorrows will only feel deeper grief upon hearing it, for their heart is not attuned to the music. Wandering in melancholy while singing or plucking the strings of a qin in haste is meant to dispel sorrow. Yet a person with a tranquil heart will feel even greater joy upon hearing it, for their mind is not shackled by sadness. This shows that sorrow and joy are external—what governs them is the inner heart. What the heart perceives is like the interplay of red and black hues or the shifting directions of east and west—things the ignorant cannot fathom. Thus, when watching flowing water, the eyes follow its movement, and the mind drifts along with it.

The undivided chaos of the primordial state is the root of the Dao (the Way). The all-encompassing canopy is the vastness of heaven. The radiant fusion of light is the achievement of the Emperor. The Dao shows no partiality, heaven knows no opposition, and the Emperor makes no choices. So where should the heart dwell? The heart is the Dao, the heart of the Dao is the heart of heaven, the heart of heaven is the heart of the Emperor, and the heart of the Emperor is the human heart. The most profound aspect of the human heart is compassion; its most natural expression is forgiveness. Seeing an infant crawling evokes pity—this is the work of compassion. After crossing a river, turning back to wait for those behind—this is the manifestation of forgiveness. Preserving such a heart allows one to serve the Celestial Emperor, commune with heaven, and align with the great Dao. Losing this heart renders one incapable of anything.

This scripture elucidates the relationship between the Dao and the patterns of development in all things. It begins by pointing out that when one deviates from the great Dao, one will face rejection from heaven and earth and punishment from sovereign rulers. The ancient creators of Chinese characters combined "heart" (心) with "this" (兹) to form "compassion" (慈), and "heart" with "as" (如) to form "forbearance" (恕), demonstrating that when the heart-mind is not upright, one loses their original nature and falls into sorrow. Therefore, how could those who govern the people by mastering the Dao possibly neglect these principles?

The text then illustrates through concrete examples that all things have their origins and inherent patterns: the axle is what enables a cart to function, threads (or thoughts) form the basis of interconnection, surnames distinguish clan lineages, while oranges and pomelos each possess distinct flavors. The movement of the cosmos follows inherited laws, just as abundant crops require thriving seedlings, and rainfall depends on accumulated clouds. When the human heart is troubled, it generates agitation, just as an army must maneuver left and right to stabilize its formation.

In conclusion: all things have their roots, all developments are interconnected, and all principles mutually validate one another. Through ordinary phenomena, this passage reveals the universality of the Dao, emphasizing the vital importance of following natural laws.

In the eighth chapter of Master Zihua, Cheng Ben of the Jin State expounds on the nature of the "Great Dao (Da Dao)." The "Great Dao" discussed here has its origin, which is profoundly real and referred to as the "Void-Cavern" (Kongdong). The "Void-Cavern" is not mere emptiness but gives birth to the "Three Primes" (Sanyuan, referring to the foundational sources of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity). These Three Primes coexist within the "Mystery" (Xuan, the profound and unfathomable Dao). Viewed vertically, they form the "Three Poles" (Sanji); applied horizontally, they become the "Three Orders" (Sanji); and when traversing all dimensions, they manifest as the "Three Powers" (Sancai, Heaven-Earth-Humanity).

The "One" (Yi, the unity of the Dao) completes all things, and from it arise the principles of all existence. The "One" governs all things, and within it, all things are contained. "Void" (Kong) means encompassing everything, while "Cavern" (Dong) signifies accommodating all. The origin of the Great Dao is utterly real—all things receive from it, and none are excluded or unenlightened by it. It is vast beyond boundaries, subtle beyond gaps. It gives to all without diminishing and responds to all without depletion. Thus it is said, "To comprehend the One is to accomplish all things."

Master Zihua further explains: Look upward, and the "Mystery" is there; gaze downward, and the "Mystery" is also there. Explore the surroundings, and the "Mystery" is everywhere; look ahead, and the "Mystery" stands before you; turn away, and the "Mystery" follows behind. Therefore, the "Mystery" is omnipresent. If a person can hold fast to the "Mystery," the "Mystery" will protect them; if they fail to hold it, the "Mystery" will depart.

Next, the text discusses the relationship between the Five Phases (Wuxing) and the five organs:

• Fire corresponds to the heart. Fire's nature is to rise aggressively, and its spirit (Shen) is restless and unstable. When people bring calamity upon themselves through impatience, it is the heart that leads.
• Wood corresponds to the liver. Wood's nature is to expand recklessly, and its spirit is rigid and constrained. When people invite misfortune through stubbornness, it is the liver that leads.
• Metal corresponds to the lungs. Metal's nature is unyielding and firm, and its spirit is broad but unrestrained. When people court disaster through inflexibility, it is the lungs that lead.
• Water corresponds to the kidneys. Water's nature is to contract and seek danger, and its spirit lies hidden and inactive. When people suffer from indecision, it is the kidneys that lead.
• Earth corresponds to the spleen. Earth's nature is vast and inclusive, and its spirit is ambitious and grandiose. When people falter due to sluggishness, it is the spleen that leads.

Finally, the text outlines the characteristics of the Five Qi (Wuqi):

• Fire Qi delights in brightness,
• Wood Qi thrives in openness,
• Metal Qi favors discernment,
• Water Qi governs storage,
• Earth Qi fosters growth.

Thus, in serving the heart, one should use filial piety; in serving the liver, one should employ benevolence (De)...

The text from Master Zihua conveys two main layers of meaning.

The first part discusses the Dao of nurturing life. To nourish the lungs, one must uphold righteousness; to nourish the kidneys requires wisdom, while nurturing the spleen demands unwavering sincerity. When these five virtues (humanity, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness) reside in their proper positions—much like officials performing their designated duties—external pathogenic influences cannot invade, and internal Qi (vital energy) will not dissipate. Only then can one achieve perfect cultivation of life.

The second part illustrates philosophical principles through two parables. The first story reveals how people often overtrust their eyes: the same beautiful woman, when wearing a terrifying mask, frightens all who see her into fleeing; yet when adorned in resplendent silks, those who previously ran away will stop to admire her. This demonstrates that visual perception may not reflect reality.

The second narrative features a dialogue between Zhou She and Master Zihua. Zhou She asks: "Why do some who cultivate their character gain no reputation? It's like being surrounded by delicacies yet unable to swallow, or clutching precious jade while still begging." Zihua replies with metaphors: just as a measuring vessel cannot contain what exceeds its capacity, and a ruler cannot measure beyond its reach. The celestial music of nature finds no resting place among flying birds, and temple murals make apes flee—all things follow their inherent natures. He advises Zhou She: "Between heaven and earth exists the purest primordial Qi, yet it manifests only through concrete forms. Beautiful things tend to be fragile, while the ugly prove durable; exquisite jadeware shatters easily, whereas metal resists shaping." Thus, one must not demand perfection but understand each thing's unique attributes. Finally, he observes Zhou She's rigidly uncompromising temperament and suggests cultivating flexibility.

Through dimensions of life-nurturing, perception, and conduct, this passage expounds the Daoist core tenet of "following natural spontaneity" (Ziran). It emphasizes apprehending the essence beyond appearances and practicing adaptable responsiveness—a reminder that all phenomena possess their own intrinsic patterns demanding accommodation rather than forced conformity.

This passage comes from Zihuazi and primarily discusses the importance of the core concept of "Oneness" in Daoist thought, as well as the principles of cultivating Qi (vital energy) and refining the body.

The text first criticizes those who act against others' will and pursue empty fame, pointing out that such behavior is not the fundamental Dao (the Way). It uses the metaphor of the eyes: though they can see clearly a hundred paces away, they cannot see their own backs, nor can they perceive what lies behind a wall.

Zihuazi states that all things share the same essence, making it difficult to distinguish right from wrong or beginning from end. Since we cannot fully comprehend their true nature, we call it "Oneness." This "Oneness" is the root of all things: when the Dao attains it, it is called the "Supreme One" (Taiyi); when Heaven attains it, it is called the "Heavenly One" (Tianyi); and when the emperor attains it, it is called the "Imperial One" (Diyi). The "Imperial One" resides at the center of the cosmos—its sound cannot be heard, its scent cannot be detected, yet it is vast and all-encompassing, seemingly without boundaries. The "Heavenly One" acts without asserting control, accomplishes without claiming possession, and serves as the source of all transformations. The "Supreme One," in turn, gives birth to the myriad things, progressing from one to two, from two to three, and ultimately generating all existence. Thus, the transformations of "Oneness" are endless.

Zihuazi continues by explaining that while natural phenomena like cold, dampness, warmth, and dryness, or light and darkness, undergo significant changes, the transformations of form ultimately have limits. Emotions such as joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness may be fully expressed, yet the transformations of the spirit (Shen) are boundless. The vital energy (Qi) within the human body circulates endlessly, immeasurable in its flow. This upright Qi sustains the spirit, keeping it vibrant and unbroken, while also fortifying the body, preventing decline. Therefore, those who understand the methods of nourishing Qi must realize this: if upright Qi cannot overcome evil Qi, the latter will persistently attack, weakening the former. If this weakening continues unchecked, the upright Qi will ultimately perish.

This passage expounds the Dao of cultivation and life-nourishment. When a person's Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) become gradually eroded by pathogenic influences, the inner self suffers injury while outward complexion changes, causing the Shen (spirit) to depart from the physical form resulting in death. Therefore, ancient practitioners of life-nourishment would establish protective barriers like fortifying walls against invaders, clearing the source to nurture Zhenqi (primordial energy). They dwelt in seclusion undisturbed by external matters, synchronizing Shen and Qi during breathing exercises, anchoring the Hun (ethereal soul) and Po (corporeal soul) to their proper stations, carefully sealing sensory gateways, and maintaining undivided concentration - only thus could primordial energy be preserved. This energy circulates continuously within the body, flowing like water and moving ceaselessly like the sun and moon. Yin energy nourishes the internal organs while Yang energy consolidates bodily functions, creating an endless cycle where energy neither depletes excessively nor overflows while remaining perpetually abundant - this constitutes the secret of longevity.

Master Zihua (a Daoist thinker) said: Human nature resembles water. A water source is originally pure and uncontaminated, but prolonged immersion with other substances inevitably alters it. Once changed, it cannot regain its original purity, making one question whether this was water's fundamental nature. Water changes form according to its container, alters hue according to surrounding colors, modifies sound according to obstructions, adjusts flow according to vessels, and transforms taste according to dissolved matter. These five transformations do not represent water's intrinsic nature, yet water indeed possesses this mutable quality. Therefore, ancient sages were exceptionally cautious about influences that could alter fundamental nature.

Master Zihua further stated: Among heaven and earth's most significant numbers, none surpasses "five" (the number of Wuxing - Five Phases). Five occupies the central position governing all things, much like the stomach serves as the digestive hub and pivotal point of Qi movement. It represents both the origin where things arise and the destination where they return - the efficacy of turtle shell divination and the abundance of spiritual resonance all stem from this. Understanding this principle leads to unimpeded comprehension. In the Luoshu (ancient mystical numerical diagram), two and four ascend circling nine while six and eight descend stepping on one; nine occupies the upper position, one below, three on the left, seven on the right, with five at the central palace. All numerical permutations originate here. Thus among heaven and earth's most significant numbers, none exceeds five nor occupies a more central position than five. Understanding this principle leads to unimpeded comprehension.

Beigong Yi asked Zihuazi: "In ancient times, Heaven did not hoard its treasures - thus the sun and moon shone brilliantly, the Five Planets (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) followed their orbits without deviation, phoenixes descended, divination with yarrow stalks and tortoise shells revealed auspicious signs, sweet dew fell, bamboo bore abundant fruit, and vermilion grass flourished. What cultivation did people practice to achieve such harmony?"

Zihuazi replied: "What I've heard differs from this. Those auspicious omens - their presence makes for good counting, but their absence doesn't hinder governance. Sage kings paid them no mind, noble men didn't discuss them, for true peace never depended on such things. Ancient people dwelt in vast emptiness, possessing little. What they shared with ordinary folk was their discernment of things; what set them apart was their application of spiritual awareness (Shen). This spiritual operation was supremely subtle yet immediately effective, flowing with transformation and shifting with creation's workings. Neither Yin-Yang could alter it, nor the four seasons affect it. It existed in the most minute realms, penetrating the realm of the indistinct - scooping from it didn't diminish it, pouring into it didn't fill it."

"To the sage kings of antiquity, phoenixes and qilin were like domestic animals; sweet dew like irrigation ditches; miraculous fungi and bamboo fruits like garden vegetables; precious jades like chest-stored objects. Thus sage kings ignored them, noble men didn't discuss them - true peace never relied on them."

"Long ago when Emperor Shun plucked his five-stringed zither singing the 'South Wind' poem, his virtue (De) illuminated all directions, penetrating heaven and earth. When the Duke of Zhou assisted King Cheng, simple meals weren't removed nor bells and drums taken down as he chanted the 'Yong' and 'Zhao' poems - all under heaven received his virtuous transformation. Those auspicious signs - their presence makes for counting, their absence doesn't hinder governance."

"Now that sage kings have passed, great disorder fills the world - fathers and sons lose their innate nature, rulers and ministers abandon proper order, worse than ever before. Yet sun, moon and stars still traverse the heavens no differently than in peaceful times. Thus we say the Dao of Heaven is distant, the Dao of humanity near. Seeking fortune through divination stalks and shells is the lowest practice. Stumbling about in desperate prayer yields only meager blessings. Therefore sage kings ignored these, noble men didn't discuss them."

(Note: "South Wind," "Yong" and "Zhao" refer to ancient poetic works; "six domains" indicates feudal states beyond the royal domain in Zhou times; "yarrow and tortoise" were traditional divination tools)

This passage primarily critiques the prevalent malpractices in the political and medical fields of its time.

It first observes how later rulers became obsessed with pursuing auspicious omens, while their ministers flattered them with clever words and charming manners, abandoning proper governance to rely instead on heavenly will. When unusual phenomena occurred, the rulers and ministers would react with exaggerated alarm, celebrating these as divine signs through sacrificial rituals. They even commissioned illustrations to boast to the common people, convinced of their unparalleled achievements. Yet what they regarded as extraordinary marvels were seen by the ancient sage-kings as mundane activities—like tending livestock, dredging ditches, cultivating gardens, or storing provisions. This reveals how far these rulers fell short of the magnanimity befitting true sovereigns.

The discussion then shifts to medical philosophy through a dialogue between Zihuazi and Beigong Yi. Zihuazi asserts: "The art of healing is regulation, and regulation depends on insight; medicine is about unblocking, and unblocking constitutes nourishment." He emphasizes observing the hidden conditions of the internal organs, the flow of Qi and blood, the openness of bodily orifices, and the通畅 (free passage) of diaphragms to anticipate the progression of illness. Medical practice, he explains, involves supplementing deficiencies with surpluses and nourishing depletion with reinforcement. Improper regulation, however, may exacerbate harm. Beigong Yi acknowledges this as beyond ordinary physicians' capabilities but raises a fundamental question: "Isn't relying on subjective judgment inferior to following nature's course? Isn't deliberate regulation less effective than Wuwei (non-action)?" He probes deeper into how human Shen (spirit) interacts with day and night cycles and merges with heaven and earth—how might we comprehend such profound mysteries?

Through these political and medical perspectives, the text expounds the philosophical principle of "following nature's course," criticizing artificial striving and affected behaviors. In medical practice particularly, it emphasizes holistic observation and preventive care, advocating regulation through understanding the body's inherent rhythms.

This passage presents the philosophical discourse of Zihuazi (a Daoist scholar from the Warring States period) on the relationship between the human body and the natural Five Phases (Wuxing). He begins by stating that all phenomena between heaven and earth originate from the differentiation of a single Qi (vital energy), forming the cyclical patterns of the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth). These phases mutually contain one another: Fire represents the yang within yang, Water embodies the yin within yin, Wood constitutes the yin within yang, Metal forms the yang within yin, while Earth occupies the mediating position between yin and yang, harmonizing all directions.

The text then explains the correspondence between the Five Directions (east, west, south, north, center) and the Five Phases: The extreme yin of the north generates cold, producing Water; the extreme yang of the south generates heat, producing Fire; the flowing yang energy of the east generates wind, producing Wood; the contracting yin energy of the west generates dryness, producing Metal; while the central convergence of yin and yang generates dampness, producing Earth. The human body follows this same pattern—only when Qi and blood are harmonized and the five viscera (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys) function properly can a complete human form be maintained.

The passage elaborates on the hierarchical structure of human mental activities: Each of the five viscera and six bowels is governed by its own spiritual entity (Shenling). The interaction of Jing (essence) and Qi generates ten components of mental activity—Jing (essence), Shen (spirit), Hun (ethereal soul), Po (corporeal soul), Xin (heart-mind), Yi (intention), Zhi (will), Si (contemplation), Lü (deliberation), and Zhi (wisdom). Among these, Jing serves as the fundamental life source. The interaction of two Jing elements produces Shen; what follows the movements of Shen is Hun, while what accompanies the flow of Jing and Qi is Po. The heart-mind's function is to perceive phenomena, with memories forming Yi; the retention of Yi becomes Zhi, the deepening of Zhi generates Si, and the decisions emerging from deliberation constitute wisdom.

Finally, using the metaphors of "flowing water never stagnates" and "a door hinge never gets worm-eaten," the text illustrates the principle that life depends on movement: When essence-energy ascends excessively, it stagnates; when spirit-consciousness becomes dull, it lies dormant; when the hun and po souls are constrained, they sink. Only by maintaining the proper circulation of the defensive Ying and Wei Qi (the body's protective systems), ensuring the six bowels properly digest food and bodily fluids distribute yang energy, can lasting health be preserved.

This scripture primarily elucidates the correspondences between the five human organs and the Five Phases (Wuxing), five energies, and five sensory faculties, along with their respective characteristics and functions.

When a person's spirit (Shen) becomes scattered, it depletes the vital energy (Qi). Harboring resentment confounds the mind, while emotional depression leads to stagnation. Chaotic thoughts cause one to lose direction, obstructed thinking brings peril, excessive contemplation results in confusion, and blocked wisdom leads to dullness. Therefore, cultivation means refining these aspects, and nurturing means tending to these elements.

Master Zihua (a Daoist figure) explains: The heart is the sovereign of the five organs and six viscera, the dwelling place of the spirit. The heart belongs to the Fire phase, corresponds to the Li trigram, manifests as red in color, and takes the shape of an inverted lotus. Its divine manifestation is the Vermilion Bird (Zhuque), and it connects with the tongue. The liver belongs to the Wood phase, corresponds to the Zhen trigram, appears green in color, and resembles a hanging gourd. Its divine manifestation is the Azure Dragon (Qinglong), linking to the eyes. The lungs belong to the Metal phase, correspond to the Dui trigram, show white in color, and take the form of a suspended chime stone. Their divine manifestation is the White Tiger (Baihu), connected to the nose. The kidneys belong to the Water phase, correspond to the Kan trigram, appear black in color, and resemble solid stones. Their divine manifestation is the Dark Warrior (Xuanwu), linked to the ears. The spleen belongs to the Earth phase, corresponds to the Wuji center, manifests as yellow in color, and takes the shape of an inverted earthen jar. Its divine manifestation is the Phoenix, connected to the mouth.

Thus, the spleen, kidneys, heart, liver, and lungs respectively govern five faculties: the spleen stores intention (Yi), the kidneys store essence (Jing), the heart stores spirit (Shen), the liver stores the ethereal soul (Hun), and the lungs store the corporeal soul (Po). They correspond to the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) and five energies (cold, heat, wind, dryness, dampness). Water governs moistening, Fire governs drying, Earth governs humidification, Wood governs expansion, and Metal governs contraction—these are their inherent natures. Water's chill, Fire's heat, Earth's steaming, Wood's warmth, and Metal's coolness—these are their energetic qualities. Water resides below, Fire above, Earth at the center, Wood to the left, and Metal to the right—these are their spatial orientations. Water's fluidity, Fire's sharpness, Earth's roundness, Wood's flexibility, and Metal's angularity—these are their forms. Water governs adaptation, Fire governs transformation, Earth governs transition, Wood governs change, and Metal governs resolution.

Through the framework of the Five Phases theory, this scripture systematically expounds the correspondences between the five organs and natural elements, as well as their roles in bodily functions and spiritual activities.

This passage explains the characteristics and functions of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and how harmonizing them leads to physical and mental equilibrium.

Metal possesses transformative qualities by its very nature, while water is suited for irrigation, fire for cooking and smelting, wood for crafting tools, and earth for cultivation and harvest—these describe their practical applications. The cosmos is permeated by these five essential elements, none dispensable nor excessive. What is faint should be nurtured to become manifest; what is weak should be nourished to grow strong; what is impaired should be regulated to recover; what is deficient should be supplemented to reach fullness. Thus, nothing remains unnourished, nothing incomplete.

This state is called "harmony" (he): emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, fear, and contemplation no longer disturb you; senses like sight, hearing, speech, expression, and thought remain unswayed by external stimuli. This constitutes the "realm of great harmony" (dahe zhi guo), where health is maintained without deliberate treatment, and the "custom of great harmony" (dahe zhi su), where beneficial remedies are obtained without special cultivation. When external things cannot disrupt harmony, when desires cannot disturb innate nature, the mind becomes lucid and merges with the Dao; a tranquil heart can bear the great Way.

Maintain stillness and serenity, exhaling the old and inhaling the new. In rest, unite with the closing of yin qi; in movement, unite with the opening of yang qi. By doing so, one aligns with heavenly principles and merges with the three primordial qi of the cosmic beginning (taichu). This method can rectify the mind, cultivate the body, govern the state, and pacify the world—there is no better approach. Here concludes my teaching.

(The "two disciples" mentioned at the end likely refer to the interlocutors.) The two bowed and withdrew, recording these teachings.

In the chapter "Spirit and Qi" (Shen Qi), Cheng Ben (also known as Zihuazi) of the Jin state expounds: The ancient sages who attained the Dao could perceive subtle mysteries and fathom profound truths, aligning themselves with the heavenly Way. Their inner being was pure and luminous, allowing them to resonate with the Celestial Emperor (the supreme cosmic power). Such individuals, when occupying elevated positions, could freely circulate their refined essence—ascending beyond the nine heavens, descending into the nine depths, and expanding to fill the four directions of heaven and earth. Without words, they could transform the masses; without summoning, they received responses, for their influence stemmed from inner cultivation.

In the eras of Fuxi and Shennong, the people lived with childlike innocence and simplicity, following nature effortlessly, thus achieving longevity. During the reigns of the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun, people were unadorned yet principled, laboring diligently without indulging in excess, which kept them from premature aging. But the degenerate age is different: people indulge in empty rhetoric devoid of substance, deceive one another, and grow emotionally estranged, like those who only prepare winter clothes after seeing frost and snow. When human hearts become filled with cunning schemes, deceitful influences invade from without, leading to successive illnesses and deaths among fathers, sons, and brothers. Strange diseases and plagues spread, and the roads fill with blind, bald, and deranged refugees carrying infants. These phenomena all arise from the disruption of the Qi of heaven and earth.

The fluctuations of Spirit and Qi (Shen Qi) are exceedingly subtle: solar and lunar eclipses, white rainbows piercing the sun, planetary collisions, seasonal disruptions, mountain collapses and dried-up rivers, day and night reversing, stones speaking, dogs contracting strange illnesses, frost in summer and thunder in winter—such anomalies appear in unison. These, too, are caused by disturbances in Spirit and Qi. Thus, it is evident that a pathway of resonance truly exists between heaven and humanity.

A disciple who studied under Zihuazi for twelve years, though meeting him daily, never grasped the true essence. Upon completing his studies and bidding farewell, Zihuazi admonished him: The hardest thing in the world to grasp is "timing"—clutch too tightly, and it slips away; hold too loosely, and it vanishes, like trying to grip a round ball with bare hands. True masters understand the balance between swiftness and slowness. Your cultivation now leaves me nothing to criticize, but your aspiration... (The text ends abruptly, hinting that the disciple has yet to reach transcendent realization.)

This passage reveals the pervasive human tendencies toward prejudice and utilitarian mentality through several allegorical stories.

The first tale warns that indiscriminate social connections may invite disaster. Some might dismantle your courtyard wall to build their own palace, commandeer your carriage for joyrides, or even smash your treasured jade disc to claim fragments. The Dao (the Way) fears most being lost to transmission, but even more fears being transmitted through wrong means.

Next is the story of Ziche's sow: The pig bore three piglets—two pure black like herself, and one variegated black-and-white. The sow, despising the dissimilar offspring, viciously killed it by tearing out its entrails, while doting on the lookalike piglets. This illustrates how human preferences are easily swayed by superficial appearances—even to the point of harming one's own flesh over physical differences, let alone strangers.

The third anecdote tells of Song's Chengzi who lost a black garment. Spotting a woman in black clothes, he demanded she surrender them. When she protested they were her own making, Chengzi retorted: "You'd better compensate me immediately! My lost robe was silk damask, while yours is plain cloth—shouldn't you be delighted to exchange plain cloth for fine silk?" This exposes how greed distorts reason, making one forget fundamental truths.

The conclusion reflects: Few today are free from Chengzi's brand of covetousness. When profit beckons, people's hearts become clouded, resorting to any means—much like the sow judging kinship by fur color, or Chengzi seizing garments. Modern individuals similarly betray allegiances over gains, even drawing swords against former allies. Human fickleness differs little from these animals' behavior.

These parables collectively caution how personal biases and material interests can override rationality, leading to transgressions against heavenly principles and human ethics. True Dao cultivators should transcend such attachments to preserve their original heart-mind.

Zihuazi lamented the misfortune of today's scholars. Rivers converge to form mighty seas, just as generations accumulate to shape human history. The Yellow River rushes through Dragon Gate like an arrow from its bow - how fleeting is human life, yet still we strive for achievement.

In the golden age of antiquity, people cultivated virtue (De) as naturally as flesh fills skin, concerned only with insufficient cultivation, never anxious about unearned fame. Like striking bells and drums whose sound naturally carries far and wide, clear and resonant. But now the world has changed: when fierce winds blow, the most splendid trees wither first; when frost descends, the vermilion grass (auspicious herb of legend) perishes instantly. Petty men seize opportunities to slander, trapping noble intentions before they bud, constraining talent before it unfolds. Those with lofty aspirations remain obscure in silence, yearning to act yet dwelling in endless night without dawn. When thunder splits mountains and torrential rain pours down, even the rooster hides in its coop, afraid to herald the day. Life is brief - what can we await? Truly, today's scholars are unfortunate.

Ziliuzi dwelled by Wuyuan Stream, sending his disciple Gongzi Binxu to Qi to visit Zihuazi with this message: "My master sends Binxu with sincere request. Though Wuyuan is the most remote place under heaven, where mornings and evenings hear only flying squirrels and weasels, with no human trace in sight - yet its fertile soil nurtures abundant plants, clear springs irrigate freely, and water-weeds suffice for rituals. Light and shadow dance across cliffs and gorges where clouds and rain transform. Rocks glow like rosy dawn, fragrant blossoms ride the wind. Tilling these banks, drinking these waters, we live in tranquil contentment, chanting songs to mark the passing years. Now my master grows old, his accumulated wisdom finds no outlet. The Fen River region no longer shelters us; dwelling by the sea, we face barren years and struggle for sustenance. Today's feudal lords share adjacent lands and similar virtue - my master's carriage..."

This dialogue records the conversation between Master Zihua (a Daoist figure) and his disciples, along with his admonitions regarding family history.

When someone invited Master Zihua to leave seclusion, he replied: "Return and tell your teacher that though I've kept his entrusted matter in mind, I've heard the highest state transcends worldly affairs, the next best is leaving one's homeland, and the lesser is avoiding crowds. I long ago resolved to depart this land. As I previously stated, after death my bones should be carried across the Yellow River to rest beside our ancestors at Ling Pass. My decision is firm—I cannot accept your request. A true aspiration remains close at hand though physically distant; it stays complete though seemingly fragmented. Even divided territories and severed lands cannot obstruct my will. Henceforth, my spirit shall roam freely among the Five Sources, keeping constant company with my convictions day and night—why undertake distant journeys?"

He then sighed: "Just as I cannot go, your teacher cannot come to meet me. Does the Book of Songs not say, 'You don't come, I don't go—how this grieves my heart'? Your teacher and I shall likely never meet again."

Later, when Master Zihua returned from Qi, he summoned his disciple Ziyuan and admonished: "Come and listen carefully, you younger generations must remember: Our ancestors once held high office in the Zhou court. When the Duke of Zhou established Chengzhou and placed the Nine Tripods at Jiaru (near modern Luoyang), harmonizing Zhou's various factions, our ancestor presented three auspicious signs—the uncarved jade from a well, the self-formed chariot from Mount Tai, and the miraculously twin-eared grain from Prince Tang's (son of King Wu) field. Prince Tang presented this grain to the Zhou king, who bestowed the jade upon the Duke of Lu (eldest son of the Duke of Zhou) and commanded the Duke of Zhou to compose the "Returning Grain" and "Auspicious Grain" texts. Thus our ancestor received the ceremonial cattail-engraved jade disc and participated in drafting legal codes, all recorded in official archives."

"By King Xuan's reign, our ancestor commanded six armies as Tiger Minister (valiant general), rising to Minister of War. This position passed through nine generations before descendants migrated to the Fen River valley. After eleven more generations, our fief was incorporated into the State of Wen."

After the Grand Official (referring to the official position) Xuanwang passed away, he turned his back on his colleagues. Yet the ancestral lord of our clan (referring to the progenitor of the Zhao lineage) bestowed profound kindness upon the Zhao lineage, sheltering descendants like melon vines spreading and growing, allowing us to enjoy the blessings of his benevolence.

Although I have not yet gained the trust and employment of Lord Jian (Zhao Jianzi), the Zhao lineage remains the very root of our branch. The current lord (Zhao Jianzi) is resolute and steadfast, disciplined and measured in upholding the law. He endures humiliation without harboring resentment, remains upright and unyielding yet accepts admonishment—he will surely expand the foundation of the Zhao lineage, surpassing the achievements of his predecessors.

I am advanced in years and fear I may not live to see the day of his great accomplishments. You, the younger generation, must bear this in mind: serve your lord with single-minded devotion. As for funeral arrangements, I have neither been stingy nor extravagant in planning for my ancestors—strive only for moderation. Do not taint my principles of cultivation with the defilement of worldly notions.

As for the standards by which you, the younger generation, should encourage yourselves, let it be that you live up to the expectations of our ancestral lord. In doing so, for me as well, an undying reputation will remain. Young ones, you must take these words deeply to heart.