《抱朴子內篇》Vol. 13

Someone asked: "Among the ancient immortals, did they achieve transcendence through diligent cultivation, or were they born with exceptional innate qualities?"

Baopuzi (Ge Hong) replied: "What kind of question is this! Not a single immortal failed to carry their books and follow their teachers, laboriously accumulating effort, enduring wind, frost, rain, and snow, personally sweeping and toiling. They began with sincere devotion to cultivation and ultimately had to endure trials of danger and hardship. Only those with unwavering resolve, upright conduct, and hearts free from resentment could enter the inner chamber (a metaphor for attaining true transmission).

Some gave up midway due to laziness and weariness; others abandoned the path out of bitterness and discontent. Some were lured back to worldly affairs by fame and profit, while others were led astray by heresies, losing their aspiration for simplicity. There are also those who expected results by morning after practicing in the evening, or who sat in meditation and immediately sought visible effects. As for those who remain unmoved by wealth and beauty, or undismayed by worldly gossip—you’d be lucky to find one in ten thousand. Thus, cultivators are as numerous as hairs on an ox, yet those who attain the Dao are as rare as a unicorn’s horn.

One who draws a strong bow must exert full strength when releasing the arrow; one who crosses a great river must ensure they reach the other shore safely. Digging a well but stopping before reaching water is no different from not digging at all; falling short by a single step is the same as never having begun. A long journey cannot be completed in a moment, and the towering heights of the heavens cannot be scaled with a single basket of earth. What mountain climbers fear most is lacking strength just before the summit; what seekers of the Dao dread most is wavering resolve on the verge of success. Ten thousand bushels of grain are not harvested from a single planting, and a towering tree does not grow in ten days. The unfathomable depths of an abyss begin with a tiny trickle, and the wealth of Tao Zhugong (Fan Li) was amassed bit by bit.

While others retreat, I advance—this is how Yin Changsheng (an Eastern Han immortal) could exhaustively grasp the heavenly Dao. Unwavering persistence—this is the secret by which Xianmen (an ancient immortal) could ride clouds and command dragons. My determination is truly firm—if they could do it, why can't I?"

Baopuzi continued: "Ordinary people not only fail to understand how to nourish life but instead engage in actions that harm it. Finite things cannot endure infinite expenditure; the waters of rivers cannot fill a bottomless vessel. Even common folk struggle when their income is meager and their expenses great—how much more so when there is no income at all but a thousandfold outflow? Whether young or old, all people suffer illness—only the degree varies. Each person’s innate Qi (vital energy) is either abundant or scarce: those with abundant Qi deplete it slowly, while those with little exhaust it quickly."

Those who truly understand the cultivation of Dao first replenish their losses and restore their foundation before seeking further advancement. Just as taking medicinal tonics requires sustained discipline and Daoyin (ancient health-preserving exercises) demands persistent practice, successful cultivation enables one to soar like a bird taking flight. There are no people inherently disbelieving in Dao—the problem lies in their eagerness for quick results after gaining mere fragments of benefit. When setbacks arise before their foundation stabilizes, they blame the futility of cultivation, abandoning elixirs and discontinuing practice.

Thus, achieving longevity is not the hardest challenge—grasping the true Dao is harder; grasping the true Dao is still not the hardest—persistent practice is harder; persistent practice is yet not the hardest—the greatest difficulty lies in carrying it through to the end. Just as a master carpenter can teach the use of compass and square but cannot guarantee everyone becomes skilled, a wise teacher can impart cultivation methods but cannot complete the practice for their disciples. Cultivating Dao is like farming: sowing seeds is the beginning, but harvest is the result. Even with fertile land and ample water, missing the season and neglecting the work will yield no crops, no matter how vast the fields.

Most people neither understand how to gain benefits nor recognize what constitutes loss. Loss is easily noticed and quickly apparent, like an oil lamp consuming its fuel—unnoticed until it runs dry. Benefits, however, are subtle and slow to manifest, like seedlings growing silently into lush greenery. Therefore, self-cultivation demands meticulous care: never neglect small benefits, nor tolerate minor harms. All great achievements stem from accumulated small efforts—the transformation from one to a hundred million hinges on valuing the refinement of subtle details.

Some ask: "In ancient times, were there not those who attained longevity without cultivation?" Baopuzi (Ge Hong) clearly responds: This is impossible. Those who became immortals either followed enlightened teachers, diligently practiced, and obtained transcendent elixirs, or acquired secret formulas to refine them themselves. They transcended worldly attachments—though their names are recorded in history, the methods of their ascension remain obscure. Even the Yellow Emperor (revered as the progenitor in Daoism), born with divine brilliance and able to command hundreds of spirits, owed his attainment to heavenly-bestowed opportunities, not to effortless fortune.

This passage primarily discusses ancient legends of attaining immortality through Daoist cultivation, particularly focusing on the stories of the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi). The author Ge Hong cites various classical texts to demonstrate how the Yellow Emperor ultimately achieved immortality through the Dao (Dao).

The text begins by explaining that successful cultivation cannot be achieved through solitary meditation alone—it requires seeking out enlightened masters. The Yellow Emperor, for instance, ascended Mount Wangwu to receive alchemical scriptures, visited Dinghu Lake to obtain the immortal pearl, journeyed to Mount Kongtong to seek guidance from Guangchengzi (a legendary immortal), served Dawei (an immortal) at Mount Juzi, paid homage to the Zhonghuang Zhenren (a Daoist deity) at Mount Tai (the Eastern Sacred Peak), and entered Golden Valley to learn longevity techniques from Master Juan. His studies were comprehensive: he learned sexual cultivation methods from the Mysterious Maiden (Xuannü) and Plain Maiden (Sunnü), astronomy and calendrics from Shanji and Limu (his ministers), divination from Feng Hou (another minister), medical arts from Lei Gong and Qibo (renowned physicians of his era), military strategy incorporating the five musical tones (an ancient military concept), demon-expelling techniques from records of the Bai Ze (a mythical beast), geomancy theories based on the Qing Niao (a feng shui concept), and metallurgical techniques for treating injuries. It was precisely through mastering these diverse esoteric arts that the Yellow Emperor ultimately ascended to heaven astride a dragon, achieving eternal life with heaven and earth.

The discussion then addresses doubts about the Yellow Emperor's immortality. Some skeptics ask: If he became immortal, why does Qiaoshan Mountain contain his mausoleum? Ge Hong cites Daoist texts like the Jingshan Jing and Longshou Ji to explain: After consuming the elixir, dragons descended to escort the Yellow Emperor heavenward. His ministers, longing for him, enshrined his table and staff in temples or buried his garments in memorial tombs. The Liexian Zhuan records how the Yellow Emperor prophesied his departure seventy days in advance—when the time came, he was interred beneath Mount Qiao, only for the tomb to later collapse suddenly, leaving behind only his sword and shoes. While these accounts vary, they collectively affirm his immortal attainment.

Ge Hong observes that while numerous Daoist texts and philosophical works document the Yellow Emperor's immortality, Confucian scholars—seeking to maintain ritual propriety—deliberately omitted these miraculous accounts, declaring him deceased to prevent commoners from developing unrealistic aspirations. He draws parallels: just as people erected temples for virtuous figures like Zhu Ba, Luan Ba, and Yu Gong after their deaths; just as ancient ministers inscribed their rulers' achievements on ritual vessels; and just as modern communities commemorate departing officials with steles—so too does the Yellow Emperor's temple and tomb simply reflect this commemorative tradition. Their existence cannot prove his mortality.

Someone asked: Peng Zu lived eight hundred years and Anqi Sheng lived three thousand years—lifespans far exceeding ordinary humans. If there truly existed methods for immortality, why didn't they achieve transcendence? Could it be that human lifespans naturally vary in length, and they merely happened to live exceptionally long before ultimately meeting their end?

The Master Who Embraces Simplicity (Baopuzi) replied: According to the Pengzu Jing (Classic of Peng Zu), Peng Zu served as an advisor to Emperor Yao during the reign of Emperor Ku, continuing through the Xia dynasty and into the Shang dynasty as a high official. The Shang king sent palace women to learn the arts of the bedchamber (ancient longevity techniques) from him. Seeing the efficacy of these methods, the king plotted to kill Peng Zu and monopolize the secrets. Peng Zu, sensing the danger, fled—by then already seven or eight hundred years old, and not dead. The Huangdi Shigong Ji (Records of the Yellow Emperor and Stone Lord) notes that over seventy years after Peng Zu's departure, disciples sighted him west of the Flowing Sands. Disciples like Qingyi Wugong and Heixue Gong, seven or eight in total, also lived for centuries before achieving transcendence. How could Peng Zu have died? Liu Xiang's Liexian Zhuan (Biographies of Immortals) explicitly records Peng Zu as a transcendent being.

As for Master Anqi, he sold medicines by the Langya seashore, with historical accounts attesting to his thousand-year lifespan. Qin Shi Huang once conversed with him for three days and nights, astonished by his profound wisdom and vast knowledge. The emperor, awestruck, offered him riches amounting to tens of millions in gold and silver, yet Anqi Sheng left the treasures at Fuxiang Pavilion, taking only a pair of red jade slippers and a message: "Seek me at Penglai Mountain a few thousand years hence." Clearly, he was already a millennium old during Qin Shi Huang's reign and had not died. A ruler as stubbornly skeptical as Qin Shi Huang would naturally disbelieve in transcendence, yet Anqi Sheng convinced him with irrefutable evidence. It's regrettable that the emperor was later deceived by charlatans like Xu Fu and never received the true transmission. Had Anqi Sheng's words lacked substance, three days of conversation would have exposed him—and given Qin Shi Huang's temperament, he would surely have boiled him alive.

Someone asked: "There are people in this world who consume medicinal herbs and practice daoyin (Taoist breathing exercises), yet still cannot escape death. Why is this?"

Master Baopuzi replied: "Without obtaining the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the Taoist elixir of immortality) and relying solely on herbal medicines or minor cultivation techniques, one can at best prolong life and delay death, but cannot truly attain immortality. Some only know to consume herbs without understanding the essential methods of 'returning to youth' (referring to sexual cultivation arts, a Taoist longevity practice), thus ultimately failing to achieve longevity. Others remain ignorant of the importance of wearing sacred talismans (Fulu), observing precepts, visualizing the body's deities (a meditation practice), and maintaining the True Unity (a state of pure consciousness). Such practitioners may prevent internal ailments and ward off rheumatism, but when confronted by malevolent spirits, mountain demons, or water sprites, they perish immediately.

Those who enter mountains to cultivate without proper methods may offend mountain deities and invite calamities—encountering demonic tests, attacks by wild beasts, poisoned streams, or venomous snake bites. Some begin cultivation too late when their bodies are already severely damaged beyond remedy; just as recovery begins, old illnesses relapse—how could such people achieve longevity? Why do some attain immortality despite starting cultivation in old age, while others fail despite beginning young? The former, though aged, possess abundant primordial Qi (vital energy) with minimal damage that's easily regulated; the latter, though young, lack sufficient primordial Qi with severe damage that's difficult to restore.

Consider hibiscus and willow trees—hardy plants that survive when broken and planted, inserted upside-down, or laid horizontally. But if buried too shallowly and constantly carved, shaken, or peeled—even with fertile soil and spring water—they wither because their roots never stabilize, unable to sprout or concentrate nourishment. The human body is far more fragile than these trees, with many harming it and few nurturing it—death becomes inevitable.

Those cultivating Qi through breathing exercises (expelling stale air and taking in fresh) find it impossible to replenish when primordial Qi is severely depleted. Those nourishing blood through herbs cannot replenish it when vitality is exhausted. Panting after running or coughing that injures Qi—these all indicate Qi deficiency. When one finally takes medicine upon seeing dull complexion, erratic pulse, atrophied muscles, and faint breath, it's like digging a well when already parched—too late."

This passage explains the relationship between the decline of Qi and blood in the human body and the onset of disease. When a person's blood is nearly exhausted, replenishing it becomes extremely difficult. Symptoms like shortness of breath after running, coughing, chest tightness, or exhaustion from minor exertion indicate damage to primordial Qi (Yuanqi). A dull complexion, dry skin, chapped lips, weak pulse, and muscle atrophy are signs of depleted essence-blood (Jingxue). When these two sets of symptoms manifest externally, it signifies that the body's foundational life force has already deteriorated—without obtaining the highest grade of immortal medicine, recovery becomes nearly impossible.

Those who fail in Daoist cultivation or health preservation don't lack Qi and blood entirely, but have lost the fundamental capacity to generate them, surviving only on residual circulation. Like embers submerged in water where the fire is extinguished yet smoke lingers momentarily, or a felled tree whose leaves remain green briefly—while appearances suggest vitality, their generative source has already perished. Ordinary people often recognize illness only when severe symptoms appear, mistaking the moment of collapse for the beginning of decline. In truth, wind, cold, heat, and dampness can only harm those already weakened, just as when several people enter freezing conditions, some fall ill while others remain unaffected—this isn't nature's bias, but reflects individual constitutional differences.

The same food makes some sick while others tolerate it; identical alcohol intake intoxicates some but not all; equal heat causes heatstroke in certain individuals; standard medicines provoke adverse reactions in specific cases—none of these occur because external substances are prejudiced, but due to varying personal capacities. Like gales through a forest that first break the withered branches, or waves against cliffs where cracked rocks crumble earliest; like wildfires consuming dry vegetation first, or jade bowls shattering where most fragile. Thus we see: those whom wind, cold, summer heat or dampness make ill were already weakened by insufficient cultivation, their predisposition to disease rooted long before symptoms appeared.

If the ears can maintain upright Qi (vital energy) without decline, with form and Shen (spirit) mutually protecting each other, nothing can harm you. For Dao cultivators, what's most feared isn't a low starting point but beginning too late. Those who rely on youthful vigor to excessively deplete themselves become afflicted with various illnesses, their lives as fleeting as morning dew. Without obtaining precious elixirs, merely consuming common herbs may make one slightly better than ordinary people, yet cannot break through the limits of lifespan. Thus the Immortal Classics state: The foundation of nurturing life lies in not harming oneself—this is supreme truth. Shennong said: "How can those afflicted with hundreds of ailments attain longevity?" How profoundly correct this is!

Someone asked: Are you referring primarily to sensual indulgence when speaking of harm? Baopuzi replied: Far more than just that! The crux of longevity lies in methods to reverse aging. Superior practitioners who master these can prolong life and dispel illness; those of middling attainment, if they understand preservation in youth—supplementing the brain with Yin elixirs, gathering the essential Qi of heaven and earth—may live to three hundred years without elixirs, though they cannot achieve immortality. Those ignorant of these methods are like using ice cups to hold boiling water or wrapping fire with feathers, as the ancients metaphorically said.

Ways to harm the body are numerous: forcing thoughts beyond one's capacity harms it; straining to lift unbearable weights harms it; excessive grief harms it; unrestrained joy harms it; insatiable greed harms it; prolonged talking and laughing harms it; irregular routines harm it; overdrawing bows harms it; drunken vomiting harms it; sleeping immediately after eating harms it; panting from excessive running harms it; uncontrolled weeping or laughter harms it; even prolonged abstinence harms it. When such harms accumulate to extremity, they cause premature death—which fundamentally contradicts the Dao of nurturing life.

Thus the essential techniques for nurturing life include: don't expel phlegm too violently; don't walk too rapidly; don't listen with excessive concentration; don't fix gaze too long; don't continue sitting or lying until exhausted. Add clothing before feeling cold; remove layers before becoming hot. Don't eat only when starving—and never to fullness; don't drink only when parched—and never to excess. Overeating causes food stagnation; overdrinking generates phlegm-dampness. Avoid both overexertion and excessive ease; shun sleeping in; prevent profuse sweating; resist oversleeping; eschew racing chariots or horses; refrain from extreme visual straining; abstain from craving raw and cold foods; never drink alcohol facing wind; avoid frequent bathing; and don't constantly yearn for distant heights.

In the Dao of nurturing life, one should not seek excessive refinement when building a dwelling. In winter, it need not be overly warm; in summer, it need not be excessively cool. Avoid sleeping under the open sky, beneath the stars, or facing harsh sunlight at midday. Extreme cold, extreme heat, strong winds, and heavy fog should all be avoided.

Regarding diet, none of the five flavors—sour, bitter, pungent, salty, or sweet—should be consumed in excess. Too much sourness harms the spleen, too much bitterness injures the lungs, excessive pungency damages the liver, overabundant saltiness weakens the heart, and excessive sweetness harms the kidneys. This follows the natural principles of mutual generation and restraint among the Five Phases (Wuxing). These harms do not manifest immediately, but their cumulative effects will shorten one's lifespan.

Those who truly understand the art of nurturing life align their daily rhythms with the changes of the four seasons and maintain regular routines. They practice specific postures (such as bending and stretching) to exercise the muscles and bones, employ breathing techniques (exhaling and inhaling) to prevent illness, and master methods of supplementing and draining to regulate Qi and blood (where "Rong-Wei" refers to the circulation of Qi and blood). They balance work and rest, knowing when to restrain and when to relax. They restrain anger to preserve Yin energy and suppress excessive joy to nourish Yang energy.

Nurturing life should follow a step-by-step process: first, use herbal medicines to replenish physical deficiencies; then, ingest the Golden Elixir (Jindan, the advanced elixir of Daoist cultivation) to seek longevity. This is the fundamental principle of prolonging life. If someone stubbornly clings to their own views, believing they have seen through fate, indulging in desires and unwilling to pursue longevity, then these principles of nurturing life will be like wind past the ears or lightning before the eyes—impossible to heed. Such people, even if they exhaust their essence (Jing) in indulgence, will do so willingly. How could they possibly listen to the Dao of nurturing life? Not only do they reject it, they may even dismiss it as deceptive nonsense. It is like showing a mirror to the blind or playing music for the deaf—utterly futile.