《清和真人北遊語錄》

The Record of Northern Travels by the Pure Harmony Master documents nighttime discussions between a Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist master and his disciples. During the seventh lunar month's autumn chill at Huayang Temple in Beijing, the Pure Harmony Master advised his followers:

"Now that nights grow longer with the cooling weather, don't retire early—remain ready for evening teachings. Our conversations needn't always dwell on profound doctrines. Discussing historical successes and failures, or worldly good and evil, equally illuminates the Dao's principles. When hearing of virtuous deeds, let your heart lean toward them; when hearing of wickedness, feel repelled. This natural inclination toward virtue and aversion to vice, when nurtured within, gradually guides conduct toward goodness. Such discussions greatly benefit cultivation—awakening both speaker and listener.

Indifference to moral distinctions makes one drift with the currents, eventually sinking into depravity unknowingly. Though not the highest form of practice, these reflections far surpass gluttony and sensual indulgence. Three great obstacles hinder the path: craving for food, sleep, and lust. Overeating induces drowsiness, which in turn fuels desire. True cultivators must first subdue these three—the gateway to the Dao. While all know this principle, few achieve it, for willpower restrains desires, yet impulsive Qi (vital energy) often shatters discipline. Without steadfast resolve, one becomes Qi's puppet.

To conquer these cravings, begin by reducing daytime sleep—progress gradually without haste. This naturally dispels mental dullness, making practice increasingly effortless. During my Shandong retreat, I followed this method: whenever drowsy, I rose to move about. After twenty-some days, it became habit, leaving my mind crystal clear. You should cultivate likewise.

Even if unable to immediately attain cosmic communion, becoming a disciplined gentleman is worthwhile. Remember—all sages ascended through such training. The world mistakes license for joy, unaware that mastering one's heart brings eternal bliss.

Lately I've preferred silence, but as your teacher, instruction is my duty. During my Shandong abbacy, I witnessed how profoundly these teachings benefit humanity."

Cultivate the path of magnanimity and tolerance, using this principle to teach others. If one can persist for over a decade without quarreling with others, while in the monastic community (conglin) exhorting all to honor the virtuous and uphold harmony, this truly accumulates blessings through virtuous deeds. At times, when one or two unruly individuals appear among the Daoist community—those whom nine out of ten would find intolerable—I still treat them with forbearance. My only concern is that such people might degenerate and cause harm, so I inevitably offer mild reproach, yet always with skillful means to help them accept correction. This approach neither troubles my own mind nor makes it difficult for the wrongdoers to reform.

Once, the abbot (fangzhang) of Baihe Temple gathered with his disciples in a circle when someone presented freshly picked plums. As they shared the fruit, the abbot recounted an anecdote from the Sui dynasty: In that era of unified empire, the imperial palace had constructed sixteen courtyards modeled after the Three Mountains, Five Lakes, and Four Seas, each planted with exotic flowers and fruits. In the western courtyard stood a waxberry tree (the imperial surname Yang being that of the Sui rulers) that grew luxuriantly overnight, its branches shading an entire mu of land, while the eastern courtyard housed a jade plum tree that likewise flourished suddenly. Yet the waxberries proved sour and astringent, while the plums were sweet—prompting everyone to abandon the former for the latter. Later, a giant carp marked with the character "king" (wang) appeared in the pond. Only after the Sui's fall, when power passed to the Tang (whose imperial surname Li means "plum"), did people understand these omens. Thus we see that rise and decline follow predetermined patterns, inevitable manifestations of the Five Phases' cyclical energy (wuxing qiyun).

All beings and events shaped by yin-yang transformations are bound by destiny's design. Only the celestial realm knows no division between yin and yang—it is the domain of pure yang. Gazing down from that height, the sun and moon's revolutions, the seasons' alternation, and dynasties' fortunes all lie beyond the sway of cyclical energies. Humans dwell within yin and yang, governed by their fluctuations, yet remain unaware of the true self that transcends these dualities.

Practitioners of the Dao neither contend with external matters nor react intensely to events. Facing fortune and misfortune, longevity and premature death, the transformations of life and demise—all are met with unshaken equanimity. Thus they transcend yin-yang's constraints to reach heaven's pure yang state. When the mind maintains ordinary awareness, all phenomena naturally become equal. Roaming freely amidst the myriad things yet undisturbed by them, one must first achieve mental liberation to perceive all existence with impartiality. Hence the profound significance of Zhuangzi's opening chapter, "Free and Easy Wandering" (xiaoyaoyou). A disciple once asked: "Is ordinary mind itself the Dao?"

Master Qinghe once taught: The ordinary mind is the true constant Dao (the Way). When the heart can respond to myriad changes without being swayed by external things, maintaining constant tranquility, one gradually enters the true Dao. The saying "ordinary is Dao" holds, yet ordinary people often fail to achieve this ordinariness because their minds lack steadfastness, their emotions are pulled by external things, and their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) dissipate amid the seven emotions and six desires.

What Mencius called "zhi" (will) refers to the mind's command over Qi. If one can use the will to command Jing and Qi, preventing their dissipation, they transform into radiance, accumulating into the realm of great illumination. Our master (Qiu Chuji) once used the metaphor "great illumination enveloping the golden lotus"—the lotus symbolizes the heart-mind, the abode of Shen (spirit). To reach this state, one must first cultivate the ordinary mind. Confucius' "Doctrine of the Mean" also embodies this ordinary mind. Buddhists say "all beings inherently possess Buddha-nature," and the effort of the ordinary mind is where enlightenment lies. Without understanding the constant Dao, reckless action invites disaster; grasping the principle of constancy brings clarity of mind.

A disciple asked: Is the Buddhist teaching different from our Daoist teaching? The master replied: In fundamental principle, there is no difference. Buddhist teachings, Daoist teachings, and even worldly words all contain profound truths. The key lies in whether one's heart-mind can realize them—then the true meaning becomes naturally apparent. At this stage, even the concept of "heart-mind" need not be clung to; only by reaching the state of no-mind and no-nature can one attain true spiritual wisdom.

The master added: When transmitting the Dao to others, one must consider the recipient. If their mind is closed, even the finest words cannot penetrate.

During the memorial ceremony for Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) on the ninth day of the seventh lunar month, disciples set up ancestral tablets for the patriarch and the Seven Perfected Ones at Fanggui Hall in Baihe Temple. After the ceremony, discussing contemporary affairs, all expressed gratitude for the Daoist community's current peace and tranquility.

The master reminded them: Today we enjoy secure dwellings, ample food, and diligent cultivation—we must recognize the source of these blessings. They stem entirely from our patriarch (Wang Chongyang), whose extraordinary natural gifts accumulated vast merit, enabling him to awaken to the Dao himself before teaching others. Subsequent masters successively transmitted this teaching, guiding more people to illuminate their hearts, perceive their nature, and understand cause and effect. Only through enduring countless hardships and accumulating virtue has the Daoist community reached its current flourishing state. Master Changchun once said: Never in a thousand years has the Daoist path thrived as it does now—though in humility, he might have said it has never been so prosperous since the times of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. This is due to the turning of celestial cycles, and also because the world's moral decline makes the preciousness of the Dao all the more evident.

This scripture records the discourses of Master Qinghe (a disciple of Qiu Chuji) during his travels in northern China, focusing on the relationship between spiritual practice and the changing nature of human hearts.

In ancient times, sages and worthies used the Dao (the Way) to guide the people. As the world gradually declined, they turned to "benevolence and righteousness" to govern. Later, when social morals deteriorated further, Buddhism entered China, employing teachings about heaven and hell to encourage virtue. It wasn't until the emergence of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) patriarch Wang Chongyang that a simple and direct method was used to universally deliver sentient beings. However, Buddhism, with its profound practices accumulated over more than twenty generations, had already deeply influenced China. Unfortunately, later generations failed to inherit its essence, leading to its decline. This is because when people enjoy blessings for too long, they tend to create negative karma.

Today, many practitioners indulge themselves in comfort and blessings, gradually straying from virtuous conduct—this is the beginning of negative karma, taking them further from the Dao. In truth, human nature is not inherently distant from the Dao, but it becomes obscured by desires accumulated over lifetimes, making it difficult to return. As Confucius said, "By nature, we are close; by habit, we grow apart." If one can carefully choose their habits, remain unburdened by external things, and focus on emptying the mind (maintaining inner stillness), the teachings they hear will naturally be understood.

The teachings I received were all orally transmitted by my master, and I have practiced them diligently to this day. It’s not that I don’t wish to pass them on, but few are sincerely willing to receive them. Even if some hear them but do not practice, it is no different from never having heard them at all. Teachings are like Fulu (talismans and registers)—they work when followed but remain empty words when ignored. Barefoot Master Liu once reminded me, "Master Tan (Tan Chuduan) should have attained the Dao sooner." We often went on alms rounds together, and every morning and evening, he would reflect on his thoughts and intentions without fail.

My master once said: Ma Danyang (Ma Yu) attained the Dao in two and a half years, Liu Chuxuan (Changzhenzi) in five, and Wang Chuyi (Changshengzi) in seven. I, with little virtue, endured hardship for eighteen or nineteen years before reaching the state of penetrating heaven and earth. The sages and worthies would sometimes grant a glimpse of enlightenment, only to withdraw it quickly. These are all things I heard firsthand. As for accumulating merit and enduring trials, even the most stubborn and strong-willed would be moved. Though my disciples today have not yet amassed enough merit....

This passage particularly emphasizes that cultivation must be genuine and verified through practice—one cannot merely enjoy blessings without striving for progress. By comparing the time it took different practitioners to attain the Dao, it illustrates that while innate capacities vary, true cultivation is essential for all. Finally, it suggests that spiritual progress requires long-term accumulation and cannot be rushed for quick results.

This scripture teaches that spiritual practice must be grounded in earnest effort, not mere pursuit of blessings. If one constantly keeps the Dao in mind or diligently serves and assists others, such accumulated virtuous deeds can offset karmic obstacles. Otherwise, one risks losing the very foundation of cultivation. We who are born in the Central Land (China) and encounter Orthodox Daoism, having freed ourselves from worldly entanglements—if we fail to practice diligently and merely rest on our blessings, how could we possibly attain the opportunity to enter the Dao in future lives?

Excessive indulgence in blessings deepens karmic obstacles until even human form may be lost—is this not the very definition of losing one’s foundation? The ancients said, "What is summoned in the next life brings dissatisfaction"—this is the principle at work. Virtuous deeds accumulate into blessings, and evil deeds accumulate into karmic obstacles; neither forms overnight. People often dismiss minor virtues as insignificant and neglect to perform them, or dismiss minor evils as harmless and fail to correct them. Yet over time, these accumulate into irreversible calamities. Just as dripping water wears through stone and tiny streams fill vast vessels, how can we not be cautious?

The patriarchs, united in heart and virtue, established this tradition, viewing all under heaven as one family. Within our school, honor and disgrace are shared—one person’s progress in cultivation brings glory to the entire tradition, while one person’s misstep becomes a burden to all. Above all, we must avoid the actions of those punished in the hells, for harboring evil thoughts is tantamount to harboring hell within. The Buddhist Avīci Hell (the "Uninterrupted Hell") and our Daoist Fengdu (the underworld of Daoism)—these are not mere scare tactics.

A Daoist named Nianhe once asked: "I’ve sought guidance from fellow practitioners on cultivation methods—some urge rigorous discipline, others advise following natural spontaneity. Which approach is correct?"

The master replied: The Great Dao cannot be transmitted through words; one must first awaken within the heart to enter its gate. Even the patriarchs cannot bestow the Dao directly—they can only teach the accumulation of merit as the foundation for entering the Way. Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) once said: "The depth of realization between me and Master Danyang (Ma Yu) differed, so our attainment of the Dao came at different paces. Danyang directly penetrated life and death, so he attained the Dao swiftly. I realized the illusory nature of all things, so my attainment was slower. One who penetrates life and death immediately regards themselves as already dead—just as the fiercest person can no longer act violently once deceased. But one who realizes illusion has not yet reached the realm of death; their mind still calculates and schemes, hence the disparity." This principle is not obscure—it simply reflects the varying depths of individual realization, which depend on the thickness of accumulated virtue. Thus, the ancients did not lightly discard even a needle’s worth of goodness, just as the saying goes: "Every sliver of time is worth treasuring."

Master Qinghe (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist adept) emphasizes that the foundation of Dao cultivation lies in diligent practice and taming the mind. He states that idling all day makes even the food one eats undeserved. Learning the Dao must begin with fundamentals—small efforts accumulate into great achievements. Those with strength contribute labor, those with sincerity devote their hearts. Managing affairs and harmonizing relationships are themselves cultivation practices. Only then can one's clothing and meals be received without shame.

He shares a personal experience: While in Weizhou, a military officer supported their group of over ten people. Within ten days, others grew restless—unable to settle even while playing chess or music. Yet he remained perfectly at ease because he never engaged in mental calculations, gathering his Shen (spirit) without external attachments. He didn't even notice the attendants' appearances or names, and never overate.

The crux lies in "what the heart desires": Ordinary people always have preferences—the issue is their direction. If fixated on external things, whether beautiful or ugly, one falls into deviant paths. If wholeheartedly devoted to the Dao, the entire mind becomes upright. With this uprightness, external influences naturally fade until even the notion of "loving the Dao" dissolves, reaching the true emptiness beyond existence and non-existence. How could one attain this without mind cultivation? Therefore, spiritual practice prioritizes mastering the heart.

Understanding this principle requires seeing worldly pursuits inversely. Then the body's Qi (vital energy) harmonizes naturally—meridians clear, temperament stabilizes, lifespan strengthens, and immortality draws near. Contemporary Dao practitioners ignore this logic, speaking immediately of mystical wonders while often sinking into empty theorizing. None achieve success this way, yet they mislead others. All admire immortals but refuse genuine practice—like praising steamed buns while unwilling to plow fields. Telling people to eat dirt instead of grain—isn't this absurd?

This passage records the cultivation teachings of Qinghe Zhenren (Pure Harmony Perfected Person) Yin Zhiping of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, primarily expounding on the core concept of "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu).

Cultivation is like farming crops—there's no harvest without tilling the fields. Beginners often misunderstand the true nature of xing (nature) and ming (life), mistakenly taking daily speech and actions as "xing" and the breath as "ming," both of which are incorrect. Xing and ming are two aspects of one reality. First, one must penetrate the original face before parents were born to comprehend the heavenly mandate. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "Exhausting principle and fully manifesting one's nature leads ultimately to comprehending the Mandate of Heaven"—this is precisely the meaning.

Humans are born with characteristics of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)—such as Wood's benevolence or Fire's emphasis on propriety—yet none of these are our original nature. Only by transcending the constraints of the Five Phases can we perceive true nature. The ancient Perfected Persons appeared easygoing, yet when receiving a single meal's kindness, they would silently repay it with ten scrolls of scriptures. How could later cultivators not pay attention to such details?

The text mentions how Qinghe Zhenren visited Youxian Abbey and consulted Abbot Li Zhishao about doubts regarding the Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality). During nighttime meditation, he remarked that Zhang Boduan (courtesy name Pingshu) spoke with profound mystery because of his accumulated virtue. He then cited three Xijiangyue lyrics:

The first describes the movement of heaven and earth and the transformations of yin-yang as turning wheels, emphasizing the subtlety of "extraction and replenishment" (choutian, a Neidan term referring to fire regulation). Cultivation requires continuously reducing distractions while treasuring the root of life.

The second uses "the maiden" (a metaphor for mercury) and "the youth" (a metaphor for lead) to illustrate the harmonization of the Five Phases in internal alchemy. Repeated refinement ("Dinggong" refers to fire regulation) is necessary to achieve the Golden Elixir (jindan). The "River Chariot" (qi circulation) must never cease until reaching Kunlun (the crown of the head).

The third states that the Golden Elixir is the supreme treasure for transforming the physical body, yet one must further investigate the true source of nature to realize the wondrous function of birthlessness. Like the Dragon Girl in Buddhist lore who attained sudden enlightenment, such realms are difficult for later practitioners to reach.

Finally, it notes that while Elder Li and Zhang Boduan both attained the Dao, their teachings differed: one emphasized ming cultivation, the other xing principles. In truth, xing and ming are fundamentally one—it's just ineffable and can only be transmitted when encountering a truly awakened person. Hence the saying: "When someone comes asking about the Dao, speak only to those who understand."

Note: The text contains numerous Neidan terms like "extraction and replenishment," "River Chariot," and "the maiden"—all using external metaphors for the internal cultivation process of jing (essence), qi (vital energy), and shen (spirit).

This scripture elucidates the essential principles of attaining Daoist enlightenment through vivid analogies. It begins with the ancient sage-kings' abdication stories: Yao passed the throne to Shun, who in turn entrusted it to Yu, because they embodied sublime virtue (De) and meritorious achievements. The transmission of Daoist cultivation follows the same principle—it cannot be lightly obtained by all. If Patriarch Wang Chongyang had indiscriminately taught disciples at Mount Zhongnan, everyone could have attained the Dao. Why then would he journey eastward to the sea in search of genuine inheritors?

The text meticulously records the varying durations required for the Quanzhen School's "Four Perfected Masters" to achieve enlightenment: Ma Danyang took two and a half years, Tan Chuduan five years, Liu Chuxuan seven years, while Master Qiu Changchun (Qiu Chuji) spent eighteen or nineteen years. This disparity arises from differences in individual aspiration, cultivation, and accumulated merit—just as the ripening of spiritual fruits varies in timing. It resembles purchasing priceless goods: one must first amass sufficient wealth. Mere desire without accumulation remains futile fantasy.

When Patriarch Wang Chongyang resided in Dengzhou, an official surnamed Jie frequently hosted the Daoist community with charitable deeds. Later, Jie pleaded repeatedly to renounce worldly life, yet the Patriarch refused each time. He explained: This is like constructing a grand hall—if one prepares all materials, craftsmen will naturally arrive; but if another hasn't even leveled the foundation, craftsmen will depart after one glance. Or consider farming: fertile land yields abundant harvests through diligent tending, while barren soil bears little despite utmost effort. This illustrates how enlightenment remains impossible without foundational merit. The passage concludes mentioning a Daoist Liu west of Hangu Pass, though...

This passage recounts the recollections of Master Qinghe (a renowned Daoist of the Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] school) about the teachings of his master, Master Changsheng (Wang Chuyi), emphasizing the crucial importance of timing in spiritual cultivation.

There was once a practitioner who endured sixteen days without food, refusing to entertain any distracting thoughts as he weathered this trial. Sixteen years later, when Master Changsheng mentioned this incident, while admiring the man's ascetic dedication, he pointed out his violent temper—how he would fly into rage over trivial matters. Later, when this man stayed at Yuqing Temple and I met him twice during his two-year return to his hometown, I noticed his condition deteriorating, his speech becoming increasingly incoherent. Sure enough, nearing sixty, he abandoned monastic life. The root cause was his failure to establish a solid foundation in practice.

In the past, those who practiced alms-begging or solitary retreats had already attained some awakening, though not yet reaching purity—thus they needed quiet cultivation to realize the true Dao (the Way). Nowadays, many young people imitate these practices of begging and sitting meditation without truly understanding the essence of emptiness, often falling into vain speculation. This is truly lamentable.

Now that the gates of Daoism stand wide open, genuine cultivation lies in daily practice: maintaining devout sincerity, treating others with humility, eliminating selfishness, and sacrificing oneself to benefit others. Persist in this, and Dao-nature will manifest naturally. Modern people are quick to judge: seeing someone perform good deeds, they say "he has the Dao-mind"; noticing someone's faults, they declare "he lacks the Dao-mind." Such judgments themselves reveal ignorance of the Dao.

Once, when Master stayed overnight at Tongxian Abbey on North Mountain (near Zhenxian Camp), someone recited a poetic line about "the celestial cycle of the jiazi year arriving." Half-jokingly, Master remarked, "The jiazi celestial cycle has already passed." Seeing everyone perplexed, he explained this was Master Changsheng's frequent teaching: spiritual practice must heed proper timing. The previous jiazi year (a sixty-year cycle) had been a propitious celestial epoch; missing this golden period makes cultivation exponentially harder. In his youth, Master had been skeptical, but through years of practice, he came to deeply appreciate timing's significance.

Just as when Master Changsheng first assumed leadership, practitioners quickly attained insights through quiet cultivation, yet in his later years, despite equal effort, few achieved realization. This resembles sowing seeds in the dead of winter—no matter the toil, harvest remains unlikely. All things under heaven must follow their proper seasons.

Who can defy the law of worldly rise and fall? My master said the essence of Confucian Dao lies entirely within the Analects and Mencius. In my youth, reading these texts, I grasped their underlying meaning; later, when I entered Daoist cultivation, I comprehended their principles. Confucius once told Yan Yuan: "When employed, I act; when set aside, I withdraw—only you and I can achieve this." Did the sage favor Yan Yuan alone? Truly, others had not yet reached this state. What is this state? It is knowing when to advance and when to withdraw—advancing when one should, withdrawing when one must, persisting when required, acting swiftly when needed, without rigid rules. Between movement and stillness, one does not cling to fixed views but fully aligns with the circumstances, ensuring both action and inaction accord with the great Dao. Thus Mencius praised Confucius: "He completes what he begins, synthesizing all achievements to become the most timely sage among sages." Whether advancing or withdrawing, whether acting or practicing wuwei (non-action), the principle remains the same. Mencius also said: "Yu the Great, Houji, and Yan Yuan walked the same path; had their positions been exchanged, each would have made the same choices."

In my youth, I once asked my master: "Yao and Shun achieved towering merit through actively governing the world—this is youwei (action). Yet Xu You rejected Yao's abdication, indifferent to worldly affairs—this is wuwei (non-action). Why are both called sages?" My master replied: "Youwei and wuwei share the same essence; they are one in the Dao. Consider cultivators—some abandon worldly affairs entirely to focus on refining the heart (wuji), while others accumulate merit through virtuous deeds (youwei). Cultivating the heart is superior; next comes accumulating merit—both originate from the same source. If cultivators fail to understand this, they cannot grasp the unity of the great Dao, often clinging to one extreme and debating endlessly, unaware that movement and stillness are two sides of the same coin. Not only are movement and stillness one—so too are yin-yang, day-night, life-death, brightness-darkness. Understanding the principle of life, death becomes the same; penetrating the truth of light, darkness follows suit. What room remains for doubt? Thus, when Zilu asked about serving ghosts and spirits, Confucius said, 'You cannot serve the living—how then serve the dead?' Asked about death, he replied, 'You do not understand life—how then know death?' Zilu should have realized this supreme truth from these words, yet such principles are only accessible to the wise. Therefore, when masters encounter intelligent disciples, they guide them patiently, never lightly abandoning them—just as Master Danyang treated the young adept Sun Penglai. This child displayed extraordinary wisdom from youth, mastering all disciplines as he grew, attaining profound literary accomplishment..."

This scripture primarily discusses the mental cultivation and spiritual attitude required for Daoist practice. Master Qinghe (a renowned Quanzhen Complete Perfection Daoist) observes that some individuals, though highly skilled in medicine or erudite in scholarship, prefer solitary living and refuse to follow a master's guidance. While intelligent, such people tend to be emotionally volatile and easily influenced by external circumstances, making it difficult for them to maintain inner purity.

The text cites Du Fu's poetic line "At midnight I rise, besieged by countless thoughts" to illustrate how clever minds often become entangled in chaotic thinking. Those with genuine spiritual aptitude may possess extraordinary talents, but if they cannot restrain desires, they will still fall into samsara. However, if such intelligence is wholly devoted to Dao cultivation—completely eliminating selfish desires and maintaining infant-like purity—one may attain the realm of true immortality.

Regarding human nature's origin, various schools debate endlessly, with Mencius' theory of innate goodness standing as the most profound. This understanding can only be truly comprehended and practiced by the wise. Human intelligence doesn't emerge from nowhere; it results from accumulated virtue (De) and meritorious deeds across multiple lifetimes.

Now is an opportune time to widely propagate the teachings and accumulate spiritual merit. Yet some hear the Dao without believing, or believe without practicing—indulging in laziness and dissipation. Such people inevitably degenerate.

The Master (referring to Qiu Chuji) taught: "Some Dao practitioners possess extensive knowledge but constantly waver between gain and loss, calculating advantages. This mentality undermines sincere devotion to the Dao. Conversely, seemingly dull-witted individuals often attain the Dao more easily through single-minded concentration." Excessive calculation leads to impure hearts; impure hearts lack sincerity; without sincerity, how can one enter the Dao?

Finally, the text notes how the Master's truthful words often seemed commonplace to people. When urged to display supernatural powers to gain credibility, he responded: "In fifty years, I've learned only one word—'genuineness.' I'll never abandon it for sensationalism." This demonstrates that truly realized beings never resort to extraordinary displays to attract attention.

This resembles how worldly people treat wealth—hoarding possessions securely and refusing to use them even in emergencies. Thus, those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) appear as if they possess nothing, yet their inner depth is profound, revealing not the slightest trace. They may even feign madness or foolishness to blend into the mundane world, fearing that others might recognize their true cultivation.

If someone sees through their true nature and develops reverence for them, it can actually harm their practice. Take, for example, the story of Master Chou (a renowned monk of the Northern and Southern Dynasties) who mediated a conflict between tigers—this act caused him to lose attainment of the third fruition (a stage of spiritual achievement). These are concrete truths.

Sadly, people often believe that displaying supernatural powers or miracles is proof of attaining the Dao. They fail to realize that genuine cultivation requires the long-term accumulation of virtue (De). Only when one’s practice reaches profound depth does the mind naturally become clear, and external responses manifest spontaneously—these things unfold naturally, like water flowing in its course. If one deliberately seeks supernatural responses, they will inevitably fall into artificiality and pretense. The consequences—harming one’s innate nature and depleting one’s blessings—are truly beyond description.

This account records a discussion between Master Qinghe and his disciples during a moonlit gathering at Qizhen Abbey on the Mid-Autumn Festival, concerning the sacred spring of Fanshan. Legend holds this spring as the holy birthplace of the Yellow Emperor, where an extraordinary tree grows beside its waters—the very tree upon which the Yellow Emperor's mother once dried clothes, causing its trunk to grow bent with branches naturally sheltering the spring. Local elders say that whenever the ancient tree nears death, new shoots emerge beneath it, growing into identical replicas of their predecessor, a cycle continuing through countless generations.

Someone asked: "If this is such a sacred site, why hasn't it been grandly developed to manifest its holiness?" Master Qinghe explained that he'd seen a small Tang dynasty stele recording how a county magistrate once donated his salary to develop the site, but construction halted when the area fell under Khitan territory after the Song unification. The master observed that whatever flourishes extravagantly must eventually decline greatly, whereas maintaining ordinary appearances ensures lasting preservation. Though over 3,600 years have passed since the Yellow Emperor's era through countless dynastic changes, this sacred site remains perfectly intact for pilgrims precisely because it has maintained its natural state.

Master Qinghe, profoundly learned, often expounded on the Yellow Emperor's virtuous deeds (De). He clarified a particular point: "The Yellow Emperor wasn't banished from heaven, but voluntarily descended to the human realm. During celestial deliberations in the heavenly court, finding no pressing matters there, he chose to descend and benefit humanity." In his first incarnation as a commoner, he exhaustively performed every deed that could help people; in his second incarnation as an official, he established numerous public works; and in his third as sovereign, he left eternal legacies. This demonstrates celestial beings must first accumulate merit in the human world—only when their earthly benefits become inexhaustible can they return to heaven.

Abbot Zhang, the temple master, inquired: "Legends speak of five cosmic epochs before the Yellow Emperor when all people possessed sage-like virtue (De) and lived ten thousand years—is this credible?" Master Qinghe replied: "Though lacking written records makes it seem fantastical, reasoning through principle (Dao) confirms its likelihood. Primordial humans were born through the purest Dao-Qi (vital energy of the Way), transforming as this Qi waxed and waned. When heaven and earth first separated, the Dao-Qi remained utterly refined—human hearts were then as pure as infants', sustained by this Qi to surpass ten thousand years. As the Dao-Qi gradually dispersed, divine mushrooms grew upon the earth, and those who consumed them could still live a thousand years."

The Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth disperses to nourish all grains, and humans select the most refined portions to consume. Upon tasting these delicacies, various desires arise. Viewed this way, isn't it perfectly reasonable that human lifespan seldom exceeds a hundred years? In principle, this observation holds true.

In my youth, I read the Buddhist Lotus Sutra, which described the sun's vastness, the moon's dimensions, the nine celestial layers (in Daoism called the Nine Heavens [Jiuxiao]), and the nine terrestrial strata (in Daoism called the Nine Earths [Jiulei]), each with precise heights and depths. At first, these claims seemed absurd, but later, through Daoist cultivation, I grasped their meaning. For instance, the Nine Heavens refer to realms of emptiness—where there is void, there must be corresponding substance. Thus, the division of earth into nine layers follows the same logic. Consider the gold, silver, copper, and iron hidden underground: people see only their tangible forms, yet these metals are actually nurtured internally by the Qi of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), with their essence manifesting outwardly as material. This is the process of transformation from nothingness into being. Though metals appear solid, over time they inevitably return to their origin.

Once, a guest boasted that he used hundreds of gold ingots daily for clothing and ornaments, never imagining that even hard gold could deteriorate. This made me realize how few understand the cyclical laws of the Dao—all things must return to their source. This isn't forced but a natural principle. When gold lies buried underground, does it intend to serve human use? By exploiting it endlessly with cunning methods, humans harm the primordial Qi of heaven and earth. Though these metal objects may now decay, their Qi has already reverted to its original state. Without this return, the endless generative cycle of the cosmos would break.

This principle of perpetual regeneration applies not only to metals but to all things—water, fire, earth, and wood alike. Once, while traveling with my master past the deserts north of Yin Mountain, we encountered a vast forest. Though untouched by axes, every tree, large or small, withered naturally because the foundational Qi sustaining them had waned. Yet beside the dead trees, new shoots sprouted—this is the ceaseless Dao of heaven. Thus, the flourishing and withering, life and death of plants follow nature's rhythms.

Human fortunes—wealth or poverty, honor or disgrace, longevity or early death—are likewise ordained by heavenly mandate. If one refuses to accept fate, exhausting body and mind in relentless greed, not an ounce can be added to one's allotted span. Worse, with impure intentions, one accumulates karmic offenses, incurring incalculable harm—bringing not benefit but injury. Hence, aligning with nature is the true Dao.

In this age of moral decline, ordinary people struggle to comprehend these profound truths. Thus, the heavens send forth great sages and worthies to deliver humanity. Through both teachings and personal example, they illuminate the principles of Heaven, Earth, and Humankind, helping people restore their original true nature. The founding patriarchs of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition established their school precisely for this purpose.

Master Qinghe (Qiu Chuji) taught: When ordinary people suffer deception, humiliation, or even murder without apparent cause, these are karmic debts from past lives. Only those who truly understand the Dao would never deceive others. They dare not slight any being even in thought, and guard every word and action lest they wrong another—preferring to be wronged than to wrong others. To deceive another is to deceive oneself; to harm another is to harm oneself, like cutting one's own flesh with a knife.

During an assembly, when discussing how many exploit the weak to serve the powerful for personal security, Master Qinghe sighed: What delusion! Take from the people to serve the people—seek no security for yourself, and security comes naturally. Those who pursue comfort without compassion invite danger instead, failing to understand the Dao of loss and gain. Thus it is said: "What seems loss may be gain; what seems gain may be loss"—a truth worldly minds seldom grasp.

On the seventeenth night after the Mid-Autumn Festival, the community sat beneath the stars at Qizhen Abbey. Sculptor Wang Cai inquired about crafting Daoist images. The Master replied: Of all statues, Daoist images are most challenging—not only to create but even to discuss. One must first master liturgical traditions and physiognomy before attempting them. The vast Dao of Xiyi (the formless mystery) cannot be seen or heard. Though sights and sounds appear before us, true perception means not letting the Shen (spirit) scatter outward while maintaining inner awareness. Total insensibility belongs to corpses; uncontrolled outward focus makes one a slave to phenomena.

The essence of Daoist sculpture lies in depicting outward engagement with senses while preserving inward contemplation—this is the difficulty. The wealthy and powerful are easily portrayed: their ruddy complexion, full figure, and heavy jaw convey material abundance but also dullness. A Daoist image must balance transcendent refinement with noble bearing, expressed chiefly through the brow, eyes, and the "sun-moon angles" of the forehead. The back should suggest a ship bearing ten thousand measures—symbolizing profound capacity. Grasp these points, and the image nears completion. Yet remember: capture the inner spirit first; formal likeness matters less.

This passage discusses the difficulty of cultivating the Dao and the varying levels of attainment among practitioners. Worldly riches and honors, even imperial thrones, can be obtained through political maneuvering, but the true Dao must be sought beyond such mundane methods. While external achievements can be perfected through skill, inner cultivation cannot be attained by technique alone.

The inner state of Dao cultivators inevitably manifests through their outward behavior, for actions reflect the underlying "principle" (cosmic law). By observing a person's conduct, one can infer their level of cultivation. Daoist masters often remain hidden, like the philosopher Liezi who lived unknown in the state of Zheng for forty years. Though the patriarchs of Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoism established schools and taught publicly, their true attainment remains beyond ordinary reach.

The text contrasts ancient and modern practitioners: the ancients possessed keen insight but rarely encountered true masters, while modern students meet masters yet struggle with enlightenment. As the old saying goes, "A sage appears once in a thousand years, a worthy every five hundred years"—making the simultaneous emergence of Quanzhen patriarchs truly extraordinary. Though we can no longer meet these perfected beings, their teachings endure. These seemingly plain words contain profound meaning; judging them by literary standards misses their essence.

Realized masters like Changzhen Zhenren (Tan Chuduan) expressed true wisdom naturally without deliberate study. His spontaneous poetry and commentaries on Three Teachings classics flowed directly from his original mind—perhaps unadorned in language but profound in principle. This resembles master craftsmen whose exquisite skill unconsciously aligns with the Dao, though they may not realize it.

The passage concludes with an architectural metaphor: all things emerge from emptiness. Those who understand this principle transcend formal pursuits to grasp the essence directly.

This scripture expounds the fundamental philosophy of Daoism. It begins by revealing that the divine statues in temple halls are actually manifestations of human consciousness, while human nature itself originates from the primordial source of the Dao (the Way). Though the myriad things between heaven and earth appear countless, they all emerge from emptiness—just as the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) generates the two polarities (Yin-Yang), which in turn produce the four phases (lesser Yang, greater Yang, lesser Yin, greater Yin), and then the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), endlessly transforming through mutual interaction.

Quoting the Daode Jing, it states: "The Dao gives birth to the One, the One gives birth to the Two, the Two gives birth to the Three, and the Three gives birth to the ten thousand things." It further explains that all things ultimately return to their source, and this silent state of homecoming represents the restoration of original nature. Humans originate from the Dao, and returning to the Dao means preserving one's true eternal nature. The sages left countless scriptures not to teach people to pursue immortality through ascension, but to help everyone maintain this authentic nature and realize that life, death, and all transitions are within one's own mastery.

The text recounts how the Ancient Perfected (early Daoist patriarchs) once asked disciples: "What in our teachings comes closest to the Dao?" One answered "neither coming nor going," but the master smiled and said this was merely doctrine—the true Dao should be "clear distinction between coming and going." Later, Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji) posed the same question during his journeys in Jiaoxi and the desert, approving the answer: "Responding to circumstances freely, arriving without obstruction."

Regarding "thoughts" in cultivation, it clarifies that humans cannot exist without thoughts—the key lies in discerning their purity. Thoughts that deplete Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) are impure, yet some practitioners mistakenly believe they must sever all thoughts, thereby becoming lifeless and incapable of realizing the Dao. Like those who lock themselves in small rooms, avoiding external contact and suppressing thoughts—how could they possibly awaken to the Dao?

The conclusion offers vivid metaphors: one should treat heaven and earth as the practice ground, wandering freely among the ten thousand things—this is the true way to comprehend the Dao. Just as clouds come and go while the sky remains serene, or flowers bloom and fade following nature's course, the Dao reveals itself precisely within these natural rhythms of transformation.

This passage records dialogues between Master Qinghe and his disciples, primarily discussing principles of mental cultivation and proper conduct in human affairs.

Regarding mental cultivation, the text employs the moon as a metaphor: The moon is inherently clear and bright, capable of illuminating all things, yet often becomes obscured by passing clouds. The human mind operates similarly—every person possesses this originally lucid nature (the "mind-moon"), but it becomes clouded by selfish thoughts and distractions. By maintaining inner purity and refraining from unwholesome thoughts, one can remain perpetually radiant like the celestial moon.

In terms of spiritual practice, the text contrasts approaches: Earlier cultivators would openly acknowledge their negative thoughts to eliminate them through self-reflection, while some contemporaries boasted of minor virtues while concealing major faults. Master Qinghe pointed out how such hypocrisy ultimately prevents genuine progress toward goodness.

Concerning etiquette, he emphasized sincerity over formality: In daily interactions, excessive deference appears artificial. True gentlemen should "dwell in reverence" (maintaining respect in daily life) and "respond with righteousness" (acting according to moral principle when situations arise). Just as the four seasons change unpredictably, human behavior should adapt flexibly rather than clinging to rigid patterns.

The text also mentions the strict precepts established by Master Danyang (Ma Yu) during the school's founding: To curb worldly desires, he limited spiritual companions to three persons and dwellings to three thatched huts. Even ancestral halls (main halls for venerating patriarchs) were restricted to three bays, with disciples prohibited from recreational hill-climbing as needless indulgence.

These teachings embody Quanzhen Daoism's core principle of "rejecting extravagance for simplicity"—restoring humanity's true nature through desire-restraint. Master Qinghe reminded disciples that these seemingly simple daily disciplines actually contain profound truths of the Dao.

Those who wish to cultivate the true Dao must not indulge their emotions as described in the Dao De Jing as "ascending a terrace in spring." When one climbs high in spring to gaze afar, seeing all things flourishing, the heart feels delight—yet this very delight can stir desires. When beautiful scenery intertwines with carnal longing, one easily falls into the realm of greed and attachment, gradually losing oneself beyond redemption. Visiting famous scenic places, in truth, depletes one's accumulated merit.

I recall when my master, Qiu Chuji, first entered the Changchun Temple and saw the magnificent carvings and lavish furnishings of the Baoxuan Hall. He stood gazing for a long time but did not take a seat. Someone, knowing it was improper yet deliberately inviting him, urged him to sit, and so he complied without resistance. This illustrates a principle: when circumstances are unavoidable, and one has no intention to participate, yet others contrive a situation to draw one in, then yielding is permissible—the key lies in maintaining a mind free of attachment. But if one harbors cunning in the heart, even if outwardly refusing, inwardly there remains fault.

The master once recounted: In the early years, when Patriarch Wang Chongyang resided on Kunlun Mountain, the twenty-three-year-old Qiu Chuji had already followed him for three years. Recognizing Ma Yu (Danyangzi) had accumulated profound virtue from past lives, the Patriarch often discussed profound mysteries with him, while considering Qiu’s cultivation insufficient and assigning him only menial labor. One day, the Patriarch shut himself in with Ma Yu to discuss breath-regulation techniques, and Qiu eavesdropped outside the door. Later, he realized: breath regulation is subtle work, entirely opposite to ordinary exertion. From then on, he practiced diligently whenever he had spare time.

In his final three years, the Patriarch rigorously tempered his four disciples, demanding they accomplish in a single day what would normally take a thousand, while constantly facing reprimands. Qiu privately wondered: after years of following the Patriarch, he still did not know what the true Dao was—everything he learned seemed unrelated to cultivation. He hesitated to ask, fearing the Patriarch’s severity, yet his longing for the Dao pressed him onward. Finally gathering courage, he inquired, only to receive the reply: "Beyond your original nature, there is nothing else," with no further explanation. In the last winter before parting, the Patriarch had his disciples purchase vast quantities of firewood and charcoal, igniting a roaring blaze in his chamber.

This account describes the final instructions given by Wang Chongyang, the founder of the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) school, to his disciples before his passing, along with stories of their spiritual cultivation.

At that time, Wang Chongyang resided in an extremely small hut. He instructed Ma Yu (Danyang) and Tan Chuduan (Changzhen) to stand inside the dwelling, yet they felt no heat; while Liu Chuxuan (Changsheng) and Wang Chuyi (Changchun) stood outside without feeling cold. In this extraordinary state, those inside dared not come out, and those outside dared not enter. Liu Chuxuan could not endure this severe ascetic practice and eventually fled.

On the fourth day of the first lunar month, when Wang Chongyang was about to undergo yuhua (the Daoist term for an enlightened master's passing, called "ascension"), his three disciples stood by his bedside. Wang said: "Ma Yu has attained the Dao, Tan Chuduan has comprehended the teachings—I have no worries about them. But Liu Chuxuan and Wang Chuyi have not yet reached this stage. Wang Chuyi must henceforth follow Ma Yu's guidance, while Tan Chuduan shall be responsible for instructing Liu Chuxuan." He then specifically addressed Wang Chuyi: "You have one major fault that must be corrected. You once thought 'whatever my master teaches me is unimportant,' not realizing these seemingly trivial matters embody the Dao's manifestation. When my master spoke these words, I initially found them uninteresting, but later understood they contained supreme truth."

Wang Chongyang explained that worldly matters appearing important are actually "realms of attachment" that delude people, while seemingly insignificant matters contain the genuine Dao. Humans often become trapped in these "realms of attachment" and fall into negative paths. The world inherently contains both good and evil—the key lies in human choice: persisting in virtuous practice leads one away from negative states toward ultimate purity; whereas persistent wrongdoing causes virtuous thoughts to vanish.

Later, after completing a zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) at the Qizhen Temple, Wang Chongyang sat in prolonged meditation. When disciples requested teachings, he said: "It's not that I wish to conceal anything, but no one truly comprehends. If I speak and none listen, or they hear but don't practice, it benefits no one. When I suffered stroke in Binzhou, I reflected: having been fortunate to encounter a true master in this life and receive profound transmission, I should pass this to future generations. Dying from illness would betray my master's expectations. Now leading this religious community, I must not withhold anything. Followers trust me because I received authentic transmission—how could I not wish to share true teachings? I remember in Weizhou when following my master..."

At that time, the Qinghe Zhenren (a revered master of the Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] school of Daoism) journeyed north to propagate the teachings, followed by many devoted disciples. For half a month, everyone hoped to receive his spiritual guidance, yet their wish remained unfulfilled. One day, Elder Xiao, representing the assembly, requested the Zhenren to offer some instruction. The Zhenren replied: "Have I not been teaching according to circumstances? Like a bell that rings when struck—if someone strikes it with great force, its resonance can shake heaven and earth without difficulty. This is my personal realization."

The Zhenren recounted that he was born in the ninth year of the Dading era (1169) of the Jin dynasty. A decade later, Patriarch Wang Chongyang passed into immortality, so he never received direct instruction from him. However, he subsequently served all the other enlightened masters personally. The Tai’gu Zhenren, Hao Datong, specially expounded to him the profound principles of the Yijing [Book of Changes], revealing secrets unheard of in the mundane world; the Yuyang Zhenren, Wang Chuyi, once held his hand while discussing the mysteries of the Dao; and the Changchun Zhenren, Qiu Chuji, imparted teachings too numerous to recount. Now approaching seventy, with his time of return nearing, how could he be unwilling to transmit the true teachings to later generations? All his words stem from genuine practice and realization—it’s just that people often crave the extraordinary and thus fail to truly listen. Only Chen Xiuyu wholeheartedly embraced the Zhenren’s teachings, once remarking: "The reason I revere Qiu Changchun Zhenren is precisely because he embodies authenticity."

The Zhenren once discussed the distinctions among the Three Teachings: Both Daoism and Buddhism skillfully employ expedient means (flexible methods of teaching according to circumstances), while Confucianism alone does not—only one who deeply understands the Dao could speak thus. This is because Daoism and Buddhism establish teachings as skillful means to guide those of middling or lesser capacity, a temporary strategy of the sages. As Confucius said: "Those above average intelligence may be taught higher truths; those below average may not." Thus, the sages accommodate people’s capacities, guiding them step by step to make entry easy, yet ultimately pointing to the same supreme goodness. How could the sages’ hearts harbor distinctions? Their sole wish is for all beings to turn toward goodness.

Now I share with you these true principles—they are not my personal views but the transmission of generations of enlightened masters. When people first resolve to cultivate the Dao, all are diligent, yet many soon slacken because they pursue illusions. Seeing no tangible results, doubts arise, and they abandon the path halfway. The sages established teachings to be handed down so that people might relinquish delusions, recover their true nature, prevent desires from disturbing the heart, and maintain an ordinary mind—this is the very root of entering the Dao. Do the sages lack emotions? They simply remain unshaken in their fundamental heart-mind. Just as heaven and earth cycle through the four seasons’ heat and cold, and thunder, wind, and rain transform endlessly, yet the true, constant substance of the Taixu [Supreme Void] remains unmoved.

When a cultivator reaches the state of comprehending "ordinary daily life," that is true attainment of the Dao (the Way). What we call ordinary is precisely the essence of the Dao - one must first maintain this ordinary mind, for all accumulated cultivation depends entirely on oneself.

Though the manifestation of Dao cultivation and the realm of sages relate to heavenly destiny, we must first fulfill our own responsibilities. When virtuous practice reaches a certain level, the Dao's methods will naturally reveal themselves. Forcing progress deliberately will only lead one into delusion.

When I followed my master (referring to Qiu Chuji) to Xianzhou, there was a county official who stayed by the master's side day and night. One day he seized an opportunity to ask: "I've devoted myself to Dao cultivation in quiet practice for fifteen years. Others say I've achieved purity and stillness, but I know I'm still far from it." At first the master only smiled without answering, then after a long pause said: "Purity and stillness have inner and outer dimensions, with distinctions between wuwei (non-action) and deliberate effort. Your practice remains external striving. Marriage between men and women is ordinary worldly principle - for someone like you, such cultivation is indeed rare, but not yet true purity and stillness. Only wuwei naturalness constitutes genuine purity and stillness, the realm attainable by sages."

Some practitioners today focus on methods like cunxiang (visualization practices) and tuna (breathing techniques). Though these methods are good, they rarely yield true results. It's like demanding flowers to bloom in winter or cultivating plants in perpetual shade - seemingly miraculous, yet ultimately fruitless. Only wuwei purity and stillness represent the highest realm, verified by the standard of preserving essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi) without leakage: three years without leakage causes the lower dantian (energy center) to consolidate; six years consolidates the middle dantian; nine years consolidates the upper dantian which then transforms into the Niwan Palace (upper dantian). When the three palaces' true Qi rises and falls in infinite variations, one may even manifest countless emanations.

How to reach this state? The key lies in maintaining an ordinary mind. When the mind is calm, the spirit (Shen) stabilizes; when the spirit stabilizes, essence condenses; when essence condenses, Qi harmonizes - all naturally manifesting in one's countenance and limbs. All this takes the ordinary mind as its foundation. Practitioners must exert their utmost effort while understanding heavenly destiny cannot be forced. Through continuous accumulation of virtuous merit, accomplishment will come naturally.

My master often said: Those in our school today who cultivate with utmost sincerity all established profound karmic connections with Zhengyang Zhenren (Zhongli Quan) and Chunyang Zhenren (Lü Dongbin) in past lives. People should understand this principle - through constant accumulation of virtuous deeds, one may attain extraordinary progress.

This scripture expounds the principles of spiritual cultivation and accumulating merit (De). Just as imperial officials are ranked in nine grades with promotions and demotions based on their achievements and faults, practitioners must also advance through actual virtuous deeds. By nature, spiritual practitioners already stand one grade above ordinary people—akin to the lowest ninth-rank official. Through persistent accumulation of merit and virtue, they may ultimately reach the highest grade. Yet some fail to understand this principle, unwilling to cultivate diligently while vainly hoping for instant enlightenment. How could this ever be possible?

Consider the enlightenment journeys of the patriarchs: Patriarch Danyang (Ma Yu) attained the Dao in just two and a half years; Patriarch Changzhen (Tan Chuduan) took five years; Patriarch Changsheng (Liu Chuxuan) seven years; while Patriarch Changchun (Qiu Chuji) endured nearly two decades of austere practice at Panxi and Longmen. His will penetrated heaven and earth, his virtue moved sages and worthies—only then was his enlightenment recognized. Yet even afterward, he entered a period of obscurity because his practice remained incomplete. If even the patriarchs faced such arduous paths, how much more so ordinary people? Practitioners should steadily accumulate merit without rushing for results—when the work is done, attainment follows naturally.

The author then recounts his own extraordinary gifts: by age three, he could memorize everything he saw and heard; at five, he entered school and within three months could recite the Classic of Filial Piety and Analects, mastering a thousand characters daily with energy to spare. His ancestor, skilled in Yin-Yang studies, demanded he first memorize the sixty Jiazi (ancient calendrical cycle) before teaching him. Persisting in study, he could recite it by sunset. The author’s family, originally a prominent clan in Cangzhou, migrated to Donglai during the Song dynasty, producing many jinshi scholars who rose to provincial governors. By the Dading era (Jin dynasty), family traditions remained strong—even three-year-olds participated in ancestral rites. At five, during the Cold Food Festival, while a hundred relatives feasted and reveled after the ceremony, he alone pondered the ancestors’ whereabouts, bewildered by life and death, sitting in contemplation beneath a great mulberry tree.

(Note: The mentioned patriarchs—Danyang, Changzhen, Changsheng, and Changchun—are renowned Quanzhen masters: Ma Yu, Tan Chuduan, Liu Chuxuan, and Qiu Chuji respectively.)

This passage recounts a cultivator's spiritual journey from childhood to attaining the Dao. From a young age, he was fascinated by observing the natural rhythms of heaven and earth, often becoming so absorbed in contemplation that he would lose track of time until his family noticed at nightfall. At seven, he met Master Wang of Guanxi (a Daoist adept), with whom he felt an immediate kinship. By fourteen, when he wished to renounce worldly life under the guidance of Danyang Master, his strict father forbade it—even confining him at home until nineteen.

During these years, he silently prayed toward the Northern Dipper (an important Daoist celestial deity), sometimes prostrating himself a thousand times daily. Once, overhearing Military Officer Liu discussing the Dao outside the central gate, he knelt listening so intently that his knees sank into the gravel unnoticed. After multiple attempts to escape worldly ties, he finally succeeded on his third endeavor.

Even while living conventionally, he remained detached from mundane affairs. At a hermitage west of Changyi County, he would meditate alone beneath a peach tree, often losing awareness of dawn's arrival. One night during the fourth watch (1-3 AM), he encountered an immortal whose very being radiated golden light and jade-like luminescence. Recognizing this as an authentic "Perfected Being of Longevity," his mind became utterly still. The immortal then tested him—first beheading him (his mind remained unmoved), then ten days later extracting his heart through his chest, and after another ten days, overfeeding him with oil cakes before removing them surgically. These were initiatory trials to purge his worldly habits, particularly arrogance.

Reflecting later, he observed: "Utter sincerity can move the divine. With single-minded cultivation, the realm of sages lies within reach." These experiences, never previously shared, were disclosed to encourage earnest practice over empty words. The account originated during nighttime discussions at Jianzhou's Kaiyuan Temple, where the assembly pondered the rise and fall of human affairs.

The Master of Clarity and Harmony (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist master) once expounded in his discourse: To observe the patterns of the Heavenly Dao and act in accordance with them—this alone suffices. Yet lamentably, ordinary people often fail to perceive the subtle workings of the Dao—how then can they follow its course? The Heavenly Dao is profoundly mysterious, so let me illustrate with examples:

When we say "a hundred ke make a day," this is merely a general expression. In truth, a day contains slightly fewer than a hundred ke (an ancient timekeeping unit). Only through the mutual interactions of the Ten Heavenly Stems and Twelve Earthly Brances does infinite transformation emerge. If each day were exactly one hundred ke, with the hours perfectly corresponding to the stems, everything would become rigid and unchanging. It is precisely because of these variations that the Dao can endlessly give birth to the myriad things.

All living creatures, though born from primordial Qi (vital energy), follow cycles of flourishing and decline determined by temporal fortune. Consider the five grains and countless varieties of plants—when a particular species encounters favorable conditions in a given year, it thrives exceptionally. This demonstrates the workings of temporal fortune. Thus all things flourish according to the shifts of circumstance—if even insentient plants follow this pattern, how much more should humans, who embody the spiritual essence connecting Heaven and Earth?

Just as physical phenomena wax and wane, human affairs experience rise and fall. From nations to religious schools, none are exempt. Buddhism's transmission into China spans over a millennium—had it not encountered the right timing, how could it have spread so widely? Similarly, its decline too will come with time. Though the flourishing and fading of all things depends on celestial timing, the Heavenly Dao itself remains eternally constant precisely because it operates without conscious intent (Wuwei, non-action).

Those who fail to comprehend this principle become mired in anxious grasping and forced action, led astray by external things until they lose their original nature beyond recovery. Therefore, realized beings maintain this state of "no-mind"—unmoved by any transformation before them, for they understand: human nature originates from the Heavenly Dao, shares its substance, and thus all actions should emulate its ways. Only when Dao cultivators attain this realization can they truly begin their practice.

At Jade Void Temple in Chuanzhou, devotees would attend their masters with such devotion that even late at night they couldn't bear to depart. The Master of Clarity and Harmony then quoted a verse by the Master of Eternal Spring (Qiu Chuji): "White-haired, aged visage not yet immortal / Wandering mountains and waters while lingering on. / Not minding celestial bureaucracy's burden / Only fearing worldly attachments' strong pull." He explained how mundane entanglements hinder cultivation, for worldly people chase superficial glamor—the very opposite of Daoist practice. This clinging reluctance represents attachment; where there's affection, aversion follows, and all emotional fluctuations become fetters. If one cannot transcend these bonds of sentiment, how can they possibly enter the Dao?

This passage discusses how practitioners can transcend worldly emotions to attain unity with the Dao.

The story of Dongmen Wu illustrates that truly enlightened individuals remain undisturbed by gain or loss. When his son died, he felt no grief because he understood there was ultimately no difference between having or not having a son. Daoist cultivators should regard all elders as their parents and all children as their own offspring, maintaining equal compassion for all things. As Zhuangzi said, "Perfect benevolence shows no partiality"—if one favors certain people, they inevitably become indifferent to others, which reflects worldly discrimination.

Practitioners must follow the opposite approach: not excessively craving what the world pursues, nor strongly rejecting what the world despises. While they still experience emotions like joy and anger, they maintain moderation to avoid harming their inner harmonious Qi. Ordinary mind is enlightenment itself—Buddha-nature has always been present, and sentient beings were never truly lost. The essence of Dao lies in Wuwei (non-action), with the key being to illuminate the mind and perceive one's true nature.

Just as farming requires clearing debris and thorns before sowing seeds in season—without forcing sprouts, crops grow naturally—so too with Dao cultivation. Maintaining an ordinary mind allows the Dao to manifest spontaneously. Even历代祖师 (successive patriarchs) who attained the Dao had to temper themselves repeatedly to subdue their minds. Although human nature originates from the Dao, incarnation into physical form brings entanglement with desires. The physical body, derived from parents and composed of Yin-Yang energies, naturally follows cycles of movement and stillness. Even virtuous thoughts often become overpowered by physical impulses and fail to manifest in action.

Thus, genuine practitioners understand: since mind and nature arise from the Dao, one must prevent physical energies from overpowering their aspiration. Through perseverance, they can transform these energies and restore their original, innocent nature. This is achieved by calming the mind and harmonizing Qi—when the mind is peaceful, Shen (spirit) becomes tranquil; when Shen is tranquil, Qi flows smoothly, and the Dao naturally appears. Hence the saying: "When form and spirit both attain subtlety, one merges with the Dao in truth." Without relinquishing emotional attachments, this state remains unattainable.

This scripture primarily discusses the progressive stages of Daoist cultivation and the principle of adapting teaching methods according to circumstances. It first distinguishes three innate capacities among people: Those with superior capacity are naturally free from emotional desires; those with inferior capacity are too dull-witted to be taught; while those of average capacity can transform through learning—they improve through virtuous teachings but degenerate when influenced by bad habits. Hence Confucius said, "By nature, men are nearly alike; by practice, they get to be wide apart." Most classic teachings are established primarily for those of average capacity.

Teaching methods resemble medicine for curing illness—their purpose is to help people understand principles they couldn't originally comprehend. Once genuine realization is attained, even the teachings themselves may be set aside. But before reaching this stage, propagating the teachings, benefiting sentient beings, and accumulating merit remain essential foundations for cultivation. Only by transcending the constraints of formal teachings can one enter the realm of "abandoning learning to be free from sorrow," where the Dao spontaneously manifests as naturally as the seasons revolve and all things grow.

The text further explains how teachings must adapt to changing times. For instance, Patriarch Ma Danyang (foremost of the Quanzhen Seven Masters) advocated governance through Wuwei (non-action), while Patriarch Qiu Chuji (the Eternal Spring Master) practiced nine parts purposeful action with only one part non-action. Just as farming requires proper timing—millet sown in winter won't thrive despite strenuous effort—the same teaching yields different results in different eras. Contemporary methods emphasize purposeful action not because Wuwei is entirely abandoned, but because it's temporarily inapplicable. This resembles knowing not to plant millet in October but waiting until spring—the key lies in understanding the principle of adapting to the times.

This scripture elucidates the dialectical relationship between "action" (youwei) and "non-action" (wuwei) in Daoist cultivation. When I first began studying the Dao, I believed all phenomena were illusory and sought to attain wuwei through relentless reduction of desires. Only after studying with my master did I understand the importance of comprehending the principles of creation and seizing the right timing.

I remember Master Yuyang (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen tradition) once grasped my hand and said: "Seven golden lotuses bore fruit, today ten thousand jade lotuses bloom—yet these are all illusory flowers." This reveals that while the Dao's methods are fundamentally natural, they must be attained through conscious practice. By accumulating virtuous deeds and merits (de) progressively, when external merit reaches perfection, what we cease striving for comes to us naturally.

Some claim that "the crimson golden elixir (jindan) can be achieved in a single day," leading practitioners to mistakenly believe enlightenment can be instantaneous. The true meaning is this: when one's merit and practice reach a certain level, the heavenly Dao is bestowed, bringing sudden inner awakening—hence "achieved in a day." If enlightenment could be attained without cultivating merit, why would the patriarchs have labored so diligently to teach cultivation methods?

Master Yongjia (a Tang Dynasty sage) said: "The nature of ignorance is Buddha-nature, the illusory body is the Dharma-body." Yet why do some still fall into hell? One must thoroughly refine ignorance and illusion before nature (xing) and life (ming) can unite. Therefore, Daoist practice must begin with youwei.

Wuwei and youwei are ultimately two sides of the same coin—the key lies in mastering timing. Confucius told Yan Yuan: "When employed, act; when cast aside, withdraw," speaking precisely of harmonizing with circumstance. Governing a nation requires both civil and martial arts: civil methods for peaceful times, martial methods for chaotic times—the approach varies but the principle remains constant. So too must we understand timing in cultivation.

Master Changchun (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen Longmen lineage) taught us: The Dao of wuwei cannot be seen or heard, yet he maintained utmost humility, boundless compassion, and never spoke extravagantly. This shows that cultivation requires both understanding wuwei's supreme state and grounding practice in youwei, applying methods flexibly according to circumstance.

This passage discusses the importance of spiritual cultivation and accumulating merit (De). Master Qinghe (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist) observed that while the path to longevity appears simple, true cultivation proves remarkably difficult to fully achieve. Rather than pursuing unattainable states, one should focus on sincere accumulation of virtuous deeds.

The most effective cultivation method lies in benevolent treatment of others: feeding the hungry, providing rest for the weary, and offering comfort to those suffering from cold or heat. Such accumulated good deeds create immense merit. Maintaining this sincerity over time invites the subtle protection of divine beings (Shen), though such spiritual resonance often transcends verbal description.

He shared personal insights: claim only the merit you've actually earned—exaggeration voids previous merits, while unspoken good deeds double their virtue. As the Dao De Jing states, "True virtue appears as if stolen" ("建德若偷"). When charitable acts meet misunderstanding, non-argument amplifies their merit. Practitioners should remember we constantly communicate with the divine (Shen)—why concern ourselves with human recognition?

The narrative then recounts Patriarch Ma Danyang (one of the Quanzhen Seven Masters). Before ordination, Ma was a generous drinker yet already cultivating. Upon first meeting Patriarch Wang Chongyang, he immediately recognized his extraordinary nature. Asked "What is Dao?", the Patriarch answered: "Where the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) don't reach, before parents gave birth"—pointing to the primordial source beyond elemental constraints.

Master Qinghe explains through Yin-Yang and Five Phases theory: one's present temperament and destiny reflect past lives. Those who cherished benevolence manifest Wood-phase traits (kindness); lovers of propriety show Fire-phase (passion); the justice-minded exhibit Metal-phase, while the intelligent display Water-phase. Scattered preferences create impure elemental mixtures, producing discordant appearances. This "resonance of habitual nature" mirrors Buddhism's karma—all present blessings and social standing operate within the Five Phases' spiritual mechanics.

This passage explains how practitioners can attain transcendent states by eliminating habitual tendencies and maintaining purity of mind. The core teaching is that human nature is originally pure and untainted, but acquired habitual patterns of thought and behavior obscure our fundamental awareness.

The practice begins with recognizing that our current attachments and cravings stem from habitual tendencies accumulated over countless lifetimes. To eliminate these tendencies, we should start with the most stubborn ones, gradually clearing them all until reaching the state of "forgetting both mind and form" (letting go of both consciousness and physicality), where one suddenly enters the celestial realm. This resembles the scripture's description of "dream-wandering in immortal realms."

A single deluded thought arising in the mind is like a wisp of cloud obscuring clarity. To achieve the state Zhuangzi describes where "the perfected person's breath reaches their heels" requires genuine cultivation. Ordinary people's breath barely reaches their throat—it doesn't even reach the middle Dantian (the heart center), let alone penetrate to the heels. As the master explains, the state of a perfected person isn't merely about breath reaching the heels, but rather the entire body becoming radiant with light, like "a great luminous canopy covering a golden lotus" (the lotus symbolizing original mind).

When facing adverse circumstances, practitioners must not allow the slightest disturbance in their awareness. As Chan Buddhism teaches: even if an iron wheel spins above your head, your meditative stability and wisdom remain complete and unshaken. One must repeatedly temper oneself until habitual tendencies become soft as cotton, while the aspiration for the Dao remains firm as metal and stone. The mind should constantly abide above all phenomena, untouched by any worldly matter.

Cultivation must be rooted in Dao and De (Virtue). External phenomena are ever-changing illusions—though we may respond skillfully to circumstances, the inner true nature (the lucid fundamental essence) remains unmoved. Like gold shaped into various objects: though forms change endlessly, gold's essence never alters. This is the state where "response manifests instantly, completely unobstructed."

For those who don't yet understand these principles, they should accumulate merit and persist in practice. When merit reaches sufficient depth, spiritual resonance will naturally arise. Unless Dao practitioners reach the stage of communicating with divine consciousness, they cannot truly perceive the Dao. These are authentic teachings—all should remember them well.

From Volume 3, Section 9 of The Recorded Sayings of Perfected Qinghe's Northern Travels: In the tenth month of the guisi year during winter, Perfected Qinghe had his disciple Guo Zhiquan expound the first chapter of the Dao De Jing at Tongxian Abbey in Yizhou. When Guo reached the phrase "mystery upon mystery" (玄之又玄), he interpreted it as "the wonder of the limitless."

Perfected Qinghe then gave this teaching: Repeated phrases in scriptures often carry profound meaning beyond mere repetition. Just like expressions such as "timely indeed, timely indeed" (时哉时哉), they point to the wondrous state where heaven exists beyond heaven and principle contains further principle. All people are born endowed with primordial Qi (innate life force), and their fundamental nature contains the complete heavenly Dao. If everyone could awaken to their original mind and act in perfect accordance with the Dao, there would truly be no need for scriptural teachings. But worldly people remain deluded by desires, hence sages established teachings to awaken and deliver them.

Practitioners should use scriptures to investigate ultimate truth, with the emphasis on personal cultivation. When practice becomes mature, one naturally moves in effortless harmony with the Dao. Yet it's equally mistaken to abandon study before achieving genuine attainment. Some claim people endowed with clear Qi become wise while those with turbid Qi remain foolish—this view is dangerously partial. If true, it would imply fixed destinies that sever the path of cultivation.

I once heard my master say: The Dao's Qi transforms to create heaven and earth, nourishing all beings. Its most refined essence forms sages. Those who attain the great Dao become sages; those receiving lesser portions become ordinary people; beasts and birds obtain only partial nature. The principle is clear: though all things differ, their origin is one. Since all stem from the Dao, all possess Dao-nature. Humans, as the most spiritual creatures, particularly retain the potential to return to the source. Only through prolonged delusion by habitual tendencies have they lost their original nature.

Now through scriptures illuminating truth, one should awaken immediately to dissolve accumulated habits. Without forcibly seeking the Dao, the Dao spontaneously appears. The Yin Fu Jing describes three levels: "immortals embrace the One" (the wuwei state of unity with Dao), "enriching the state and pacifying the people" (accumulating merit), and "strengthening armies to achieve victory" (using the Dao-mind to conquer material desires). The latter two influence each other, but only those with unwavering resolve can use the Dao to master desires.

The Daode Jing states that "those who force themselves are determined," and also that "those who overcome themselves are strong." This means that being able to restrain one's personal likes and dislikes, reflect on one's faults, endure hardship for the benefit of others, willingly humble oneself, and remain indifferent to mistreatment—these are the methods of self-mastery. At first, one must compel oneself to act this way, but with time, it becomes natural, ultimately leading to a state where desires are purified and one's innate nature becomes clear and luminous. Buddhists call this "emptiness and stillness" (kongji), while we Daoists refer to it as "clarity and tranquility" (qingjing).

Yet this is not the highest state. One must reach a condition where even the concept of "stillness" no longer exists—only then does one approach the Dao. However, even at this stage, without genuine cultivation, one still cannot penetrate the profound mysteries of creation. Only by truly attaining the Dao can one perceive the "Heaven" (the embodiment of the Dao) within one's nature—this is what is called the "mystery beyond mysteries" (xuan zhi you xuan). Upon reaching this state, every word and action naturally exudes profound subtlety, which is why the Daode Jing later speaks of the "gateway to all wonders."

In the chapter discussing "what all under Heaven know," six pairs of concepts are analyzed. When it speaks of the sage "acting through non-action" (wuwei), it is crucial to understand that this is not non-action in opposition to "action," but rather the state of "non-action yet nothing is left undone." The story of Yao abdicating to Xu You illustrates this: superficially, Yao appears to be acting, while Xu You seems non-acting. Yet from the perspective of the Dao, Yao is also non-acting, and Xu You is also acting. Though Yao governed the world, he treated it as a temporary dwelling, never claiming it as his own. Thus, no amount of power could burden his heart—his abdication was precisely an expression of non-action.

Xu You declined, saying, "You have governed the world, and it is already at peace. I do not seek empty fame, for fame is but the shadow of substance." Hence, he refused. But if the world had not been at peace, what would Xu You have done? He would surely have acted. Yao and Xu You are fundamentally the same, differing only in circumstance. Thus, it can be said that Yao was not without non-action, nor Xu You without action. Because both could adapt to the moment, aligning with the Dao without deliberate calculation, they are both called sages.

The master said: In learning the Dao, one must distinguish the primary from the secondary. The Dao is primary; all other concerns are secondary. In all interactions, worldly affairs, and cultivation practices, the Dao must remain central. There is nothing one cannot do—but one must not cling. The moment one clings, one strays from the true path. Nowadays, many accumulate merit, yet...

This passage primarily discusses the proper mindset for spiritual cultivation and daily affairs. The core message conveys that true masters act without claiming merit or attachment, as naturally as farmers till their land or craftsmen practice their trade. Though appearing busy externally, their minds remain unattached to outcomes.

Practitioners should embody "having traces of effort yet no mind of striving" — while engaging in daily cultivation, the heart remains unbound by formalities. Like treading through void space to transcend dualities (the "six pairs" refer to various binary concepts), one reaches the Buddhist realization that "all conditioned things are impermanent, all phenomena are empty." Only then can one return to the primordial state before the birth of all things. This parallels the Chan Buddhist description of "where the Five Phases cannot reach, before parents gave birth" — that transcendent state.

The text further illustrates how governing a nation and cultivating oneself share the same principle: the mind resembles a sovereign while the body serves as subjects. When the mind is properly regulated, the body naturally follows. During the Dading era (a Jin dynasty reign period), when the master transmitted cultivation methods, he considered visualizing the lower Dantian (a Neidan practice) useful yet merely preliminary. Recently, a certain Master Wang taught this as the ultimate method, but such deliberate striving ultimately diverges from true Dao. It resembles forcing flowers to bloom in winter through artificial means — they ultimately bear no fruit.

Finally, the passage clarifies that when studying scriptures, one should understand: though different traditions use varying terminology (like Daoism's "dragon and tiger," "infant and maiden" or Buddhism's "doctrinal" and "Chan" schools), their underlying principles interconnect. The key lies in inner transformation — all methods become tools for awakening. The principles governing statecraft and mind-cultivation are identical, both requiring grasp of the fundamental essence.

Master Qinghe's Discourses from Northern Journeys elucidates the essential principles of Daoist cultivation. He refutes the common misconception that one should "focus solely on spiritual nature while neglecting life cultivation practices." True practitioners maintain mental clarity, remaining unburdened by external distractions, thereby accumulating virtue (De) throughout all twelve daily hours. There's no need to forcibly pursue abdominal fullness (referring to Neidan practice), as this state naturally arises through proper cultivation.

The path involves progressively reducing distracting thoughts until reaching a thoughtless state. At this stage, though willpower appears diminished, one's physical constitution actually strengthens (manifesting as internal essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi) consolidation). These phenomena all demonstrate the natural workings of the Dao. As for the more advanced "life cultivation" practices (refining Jing, Qi and Shen), these transcend ordinary comprehension.

Most practitioners begin with strong determination but often abandon their practice midway. The root problem lies in impatient expectations - when immediate results aren't visible, doubts arise. This resembles critically ill patients seeking treatment: if the first physician's methods prove ineffective, they change doctors; after repeated failures, they eventually distrust even renowned physicians. Such individuals never examine whether their foundational life force (Ming) is sufficiently developed.

Those who attain the Dao may appear to achieve realization in this lifetime, but in truth have accumulated merits over five, ten, or even a hundred lifetimes. Consider how various patriarchs demonstrated advanced cultivation foundations before formal practice: Master Yuyang recounted how Patriarch Taigu, while working as a fortune-teller in Shandong at twenty-eight, composed poetry containing insights only achievable through profound cultivation. After encountering his master and entering the path, he remarked "cultivation isn't difficult," attaining realization after just forty days of practice beneath the Wozhou Bridge. Without merits accumulated over multiple lifetimes, how could such swift attainment be possible?

Master Qinghe recalled witnessing the celestial gates open during his practice at Yuqing Temple. When consulting his master about this vision, he was told it represented but a minor phenomenon - the true mystical states of realization defy verbal description. At that stage, Dao-energy (Daoqi) fills the body completely, creating a suspended state akin to the "leaping dragon in the deep" described in the ninth line of the Qian hexagram from the Book of Changes (Yijing). One further experiences radiant illumination enveloping golden lotus blossoms. These experiences, initially incomprehensible to him, later revealed that all beings inherently possess this potential.

When Patriarch Danyang first began teaching, he emphasized only the ease of cultivation. His disciples maintained sincere devotion, yet after three or four years without visible progress, they gathered to question: "Master speaks of cultivation being easy, yet we observe that realization comes only through multi-life practice, not single-life effort..." (Though the dialogue remains incomplete, it highlights the necessity of persistent long-term practice.)

Master Qinghe (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist master) suddenly widened his eyes and exclaimed sternly: "Since you already know the method of cultivating the Dao, why haven't you begun practicing immediately?" His disciples were all deeply moved by his words. He continued: "What's most crucial now is to harbor no doubts in your hearts. When encountering adverse circumstances in daily life, maintain inner tranquility. Every act of forbearance is a victory in spiritual cultivation."

He warned solemnly: "Never muddle along or procrastinate in your practice, for such accumulated transgressions will become the root of downfall. My words are by no means empty." When explaining the chapter "The Valley Spirit Never Dies" from the Dao De Jing, he synthesized commentaries from various schools. After finishing, disciples requested further guidance.

Master Qinghe responded: "All commentaries have their merits. But Master Heshanggong (the renowned Han dynasty Daoist scholar) was an enlightened being—his annotations provide detailed instructions for internal cultivation while being relatively concise about external matters. Other commentators seldom address internal practice. For cultivators, Heshanggong's commentary is most practical."

Regarding the "Valley Spirit Never Dies" chapter, he pointed out: "This represents the most profound realm of Dao cultivation. If beginners attempt to apply this method prematurely, they'll stray from the path. I believe one must first practice the essential teachings of the first five chapters before studying the Valley Spirit method in chapter six."

Master Qinghe reminisced: "I remember when our Patriarch (referring to Wang Chongyang) stayed in Weizhou, he often rested in the garden pavilion. I attended him there along with Zhao Xujing, Elder Xiao, and the Longhu Commander. The Patriarch once transmitted this chapter's essence, saying: 'During the Dading era when I had an audience at court, after hearing my teachings, the emperor earnestly sought instruction. I intended to transmit the Valley Spirit chapter to him—considering his sincere pursuit of the Dao as emperor and his genuine virtue, he qualified to receive it. But I required seven days of precept observance first; he couldn't comply. Reduced to five days—still impossible. Then three days—even this proved difficult for his attendants, so we had to abandon the transmission.'"

"I studied under our Patriarch simultaneously with Ma Danyang (one of the Seven Quanzhen Masters). The Patriarch assigned me various menial tasks without respite. One day, I happened to overhear the Patriarch secretly teaching Ma Danyang the breath regulation method of 'The Valley Spirit Never Dies' behind closed doors. From then on, after completing my duties, I diligently practiced this method. Though we exerted equal effort, Ma Danyang attained realization in two and half years, while I required eighteen or nineteen years of arduous cultivation. The Patriarch transmitted the same methods—why such difference in attainment speed? Simply because each person's accumulated merit varies in depth, hence realization comes sooner or later. Ma Danyang's rapid achievement couldn't have resulted from practice in this lifetime alone."

This scripture elucidates the core principles of attaining the Dao through cultivation. It first states that when one has accumulated sufficient virtuous deeds (merit being complete), combined with practicing the method of the Valley Spirit (a Neidan/internal alchemy technique), rapid progress can be achieved. Conversely, without adequate merit, forced cultivation will prove fruitless.

A genuine practitioner must relinquish worldly attachments (completely abandoning mundane affairs) while cultivating all virtuous actions (simultaneously perfecting ten thousand practices), ultimately reaching a state of inner purity and tranquil emptiness. When merit reaches perfection, blessings will naturally manifest. At this stage, the mind suddenly becomes illuminated, perceiving the primordial radiance of heaven and earth (the root of creation). Here, the Yin and Yang energies spontaneously harmonize. Through continuous, unbroken cultivation methods that nurture genuine Qi, one may attain the state of immortality.

The text cites Zhang Pingshu (a renowned Northern Song dynasty Neidan master) who said: "Just as an alchemical furnace without true seed-material can only boil an empty cauldron with fire and water." The Daoist path follows strict sequential stages—it requires accumulated virtue, maintained purity, and gradual advancement. Nowadays, some refuse to diligently cultivate blessings and virtuous conduct, indulging instead in empty discussions of the great Dao, which will inevitably lead to failure.

The scripture then illustrates with the example of a wealthy Shandong merchant: Even after receiving oral transmission from Lü Dongbin (Zhengyang Zhenren) himself, one must renounce riches, temper worldly desires, and focus on accumulating merit. Flaunting such attainments invites loss. This demonstrates that even with authentic transmission, establishing merit as foundation remains essential.

Finally, it explains the meaning of "emerging into life, entering death": Heshang Gong (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) annotated this as referring to the thirteen crucial points in the human body (the ten and three), including the nine orifices and seven emotions/six desires. Following the natural Dao brings life; indulging desires leads to death. Ordinary people, in craving life, ironically court death, while true masters of nurturing life never enter perilous situations. Those who accumulate negative karma inevitably reap misfortune, just as debts must be repaid. Those free of karmic debt naturally harmonize in all interactions—this harmony isn't mere superficial courtesy (face harmony) but profound spiritual resonance (spirit harmony).

This scripture elucidates the principle of karmic retribution. Master Qinghe (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist patriarch) illustrates through daily examples: when you treat others with kindness, they respond in kind; if you act harshly, the same harshness will be returned—this is the natural order of things. Even minor conflicts or favorable circumstances inevitably yield corresponding consequences, let alone malicious acts that harm others.

Master Yongjia (an eminent Tang Dynasty Buddhist monk) taught: the truly enlightened perceive karmic obstacles as illusory, while the unenlightened must repay karmic debts. Both virtuous and wicked deeds generate corresponding effects. Human karma (the causal force generated by actions) originates from this physical body. Where there is a body, the seven emotions and six desires arise. Under such internal and external assaults, even with utmost restraint one cannot completely avoid creating karma—how much more so when indulging in willfulness?

Master Yuyang (one of the Quanzhen Seven Masters) spoke with piercing clarity: those who wish to cultivate must see through this illusory physical form. It is precisely this body that perpetuates karma and binds beings to the cycle of birth and death. Only Master Danyang (Ma Yu, the second patriarch of Quanzhen Daoism) truly severed all roots of karmic entanglement.

The text employs astrological metaphor: if one's destiny chart shows thirty percent malefic stars, it indicates thirty percent unrefined negative tendencies from past lives. When encountering external circumstances, these residual negative patterns will correspondingly manifest. Like shadows following forms and echoes responding to sounds, karmic cause and effect permeate all existence. When ignorant people face unwarranted malice from others, they often seek only to eliminate the offender, unaware that this very intention multiplies their own negative karma manyfold—far exceeding the original transgression.

The essence of spiritual practice lies in self-correction. Whether in solitude or among crowds, one must focus on inner cultivation. Understanding this truth demands immediate practice—otherwise, the same cycles will repeat in future incarnations.

Human habits carry innate predispositions, what we call "seed nature." Someone asked: "Master often says that people receive the characteristics of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), all formed through the conditioning of acquired habits. Is this the same principle?"

The master replied: "Exactly so. If one can transcend these habitual tendencies, one attains the state of mastering heaven and earth, grasping Yin-Yang, where even the Five Phases can no longer constrain. Thus, the ancient masters said: 'Simply shatter that single point of attachment in the heart, and you will transcend the sea of suffering.' Practitioners must reach a state where the mind is entirely free of obstructions to achieve completion. If even one matter remains unresolved, cultivation remains unfinished. When the ancient masters first began cultivating the Dao, they made a resolute vow to break all attachments in their hearts. Even the most stubborn habits could be cleansed completely through a hundred days of steadfast practice."

The master once recounted: "I faced tigers without fear, yet felt dread before the clay statues in temples. So I deliberately visited temples often, sometimes staying overnight, persisting for three years until the fear dissolved. This shows there's no obstacle in the human heart that cannot be overcome—what matters is unwavering determination. With the resolve to break through, no habit is unconquerable; the only fear is lacking that resolve."

When discussing the "Carrying the Hun and Po" chapter of the Dao De Jing, someone sought the master's guidance. The master said: "The works of Laozi and Zhuangzi are concise yet profound. Those who haven't attained the Dao struggle to grasp their subtleties. Chan Buddhist teachings are as cryptic as riddles, not by design, but because some truths truly defy expression." Zhiquan remarked that Chan teachings closely resembled Lao-Zhuang thought.

The master explained: "Chan specializes in elucidating the mysteries of the mind's original nature. Its essence does not depart from what Lao-Zhuang expressed. Thus, it borrows their words to convey truth—without such language, expression would falter. The samadhi of language (the state of conveying truth through words) can be appreciated by all, but without realization of the Dao, genuine understanding remains elusive. Moreover, are all who attain the Dao necessarily enlightened through scriptures? In eras without scriptures, were there no realized beings? Masters like Yuyang studied the Dao De Jing only after attaining the Dao. Yet to explain the classics, we must still rely on words."

This "Carrying the Hun and Po" chapter is like guiding cultivation hand-in-hand. I recall when Sick-King Scholar pursued the Dao, his resolve was unshakable—forgetting form, transcending worldly dust, eating without discrimination, merely to sustain himself. After four years of such practice, his cultivation perfectly aligned with this chapter's essence. During my meditation, I once felt Qi brimming within, as if extraordinary signs manifested above my head..."

The practitioner experienced a sensation as if the crown of his head had split open, followed by the descent of sweet saliva within his body. Yet, after this, no further extraordinary signs appeared for a long time, which led him to doubt. He went to seek guidance from his master—though disciples were usually scolded for asking questions, as seekers of the Dao (the Way) were expected to be free of doubts. However, recognizing the sincerity of this disciple, the master made an exception and offered an explanation.

Quoting the Daode Jing, the master said, "Have you not read the passage about 'the opening and closing of the Heavenly Gate (referring to the Baihui acupoint in the body)'?" Later, seeing that the disciple indeed made no further progress, the master arranged for him to serve at a Daoist temple, receiving devotees to accumulate merit (De). This illustrates that relying solely on arduous cultivation without accumulating merit will ultimately hinder the attainment of the great Dao.

Master Yuyang (Wang Chuyi) maintained celibacy in his youth while still a layperson and strictly observed monastic precepts after ordination. Once, at Tiezha Mountain, he suddenly broke his vows and wept so bitterly he nearly contemplated suicide. Later, he received a divine infusion of Chonghe Qi (primordial vital energy), and it took three days for his mind to settle. Through countless trials thereafter—kneeling for prolonged periods on gravel until his knees were worn to the bone, walking barefoot over jagged rocks and thorns, earning him the name "Iron Feet"—he endured three years of such rigorous cultivation to fully exhaust his karmic obstacles from past lives.

Someone once asked: Why do some who accumulate great merit fail to receive corresponding blessings? The master explained: Just as one who earns money while spending it will never become wealthy, those who perform good deeds while indulging in pleasures disperse and exhaust their blessings.

The master also recounted: When Master Yuyang saw the temple horses, he sighed, "A horse may have been human in a past life, just as a human may be reborn as a horse. In my twenty-seventh kalpa, I was once an ox, which is why I am dull by nature and illiterate in this life. A cow once appeared in a dream, begging me to deliver her soul." While Buddhism teaches that the enlightened can deliver parents across three lifetimes, Daoism holds that one can deliver countless ancestors.

Master Changsheng (Liu Chuxuan) was known for many instances of prescience. For example, he once inexplicably summoned Elder Ji, who passed away days later; similarly, Official Zhu was abruptly called and died seven days after. Ji Shangang, originally a geomancer, abandoned his family to become a monk, secluding himself in Shenshan for fifteen years, detached from worldly affairs. Once, Master Changsheng asked, "Who is the wealthiest in Laizhou?" The locals named the richest man in the region.

Master Gang, who cultivated on Mount Ji, had attained the state of serene non-action (Wuwei). Such a man's spiritual attainment couldn't be exchanged for all the gold and jewels in the world—is this not true wealth? Though Squire Zhu hasn't yet reached this mental state, his cultivation of virtue and merit (De) has already grown profoundly deep.

When expounding the chapter on "Favor and disgrace seem alarming," the master gave this revelation: Let me explain in the simplest terms—one must relinquish attachment to illusory things. Since we know the body is but a temporary illusion, we shouldn't cling to it excessively, lest we lose our fundamental truth. The saying "having no self" doesn't mean abandoning the body, but rather not treating it as permanent property. If even the body isn't clung to, how much less should worldly possessions matter? The sage doesn't discard the world either—he merely regards it as something temporarily entrusted to him.

Guo Zhiquan mentioned the story from Liezi about the man from Zheng who found a deer: A Zheng man accidentally obtained a deer but later doubted it was a dream, and truly lost it; another man found the deer based on his sleep-talking. Both mistook illusion for reality. The judge ruled they should split the deer, illustrating how accidental gains and losses are as illusory as dreams—why then be alarmed by favor, disgrace, gain or loss?

The master further explained: People often fail to recognize what is dreamlike. The patriarch said: "One who sees through the dreaming self within a dream is one who transcends to the other shore." Dreams have their root—this root is human thought. Thoughts have truth and falsehood, as do dreams—like shadows following form. It's not just nighttime dreams that are dreams—every thought is a dream. What distinguishes true from false? Only what doesn't harm Dao, virtue (De), spirit (Shen), or vital energy (Qi) is true—all else is delusion.

Even sages have thoughts, but when facing countless thoughts they never lose their fundamental truth, because true nature is their root. The master once said: "When thoughts arise, simply follow them naturally without obstruction, for there is an inherent root." Those who truly understand the Dao (Way) remain unmoved within, regardless of praise, blame, favor or disgrace, precisely because they see through these as dreams, illusions, bubbles and shadows. As the verse says: "In dreams, the six realms of rebirth appear vividly; upon awakening, the great cosmos is utterly empty." The story of the Zheng man gaining and losing the deer illustrates gain and loss within delusional states—the ultimate teaching is to relinquish the clinging mind.

The Master of Clarity and Harmony (a renowned Quanzhen Daoist master) used farming as a metaphor to explain spiritual cultivation. He said that millet, from sprouting to growing leaves and forming ears, is always called millet—but only when it produces full grains can it be harvested, stored as food, or saved as seed. This is the true value of millet. However, some sprouts fail to form ears, and some ears bear no grain, either because weeds were left to choke them or because reckless pulling harmed their growth. All this stems from violating natural principles.

The same applies to spiritual practice. From initial entry to attaining the Dao, each stage may be called cultivation—but only genuine alignment with the essence of the Dao (Dao) counts as true accomplishment. Some abandon the path midway; others rush for quick results. Even without these flaws, if one cannot conceal their light and instead boasts about minor experiences, it’s like an unripe ear of grain that ultimately bears no fruit. This echoes the teaching in the Daode Jing chapter on "looking but not seeing."

Regarding our school’s methods, Patriarch Ma Danyang (foremost of the Quanzhen Seven Masters) strictly followed the ancient gate of Wuwei (non-action), while Patriarch Qiu Chuji advocated "accumulating merit through conduct—outwardly active yet inwardly Wuwei." This adapts ancient principles to contemporary circumstances. As the Daode Jing states, "To know the ancient beginning is called the thread of Dao." Cultivators must first grasp the root of Dao-nature, then accumulate merit to respond to varying conditions.

Patriarch Ma Danyang said: "From Wuwei in the heart arises compassion; true merit and virtue (De) all flow from this." When merit is complete, enlightenment arises naturally, and sages will bestow the Dao. Yet most practitioners cling to the idea of trading merit for spiritual attainment. Only by relinquishing such功利心 (utilitarian intent) can one truly embody "acting without claiming" (wei er bu shi). Consider how masters attained the Dao through diverse circumstances: Ma Danyang realized it while begging for alms, Liu Chuxuan on a journey, and Wang Chuyi after seven years of seated meditation in Luoyang’s tile market. This shows genuine skill emerges through daily tempering—not from mere passive sitting.

The third volume of Discourse Records of the Perfected Qinghe's Northern Travels documents the teachings of Yin Zhiping (Daoist name: Perfected Qinghe), a prominent Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) master. This section primarily records his dialogues and spiritual instructions during his travels preaching in northern China, covering core doctrines such as Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and mental cultivation. As a direct disciple of Qiu Chuji, Yin's teachings inherit the Quanzhen tradition of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu), emphasizing the realization of the Dao through serene and Wuwei (non-action) practice. The text includes both practical guidance for daily cultivation and profound interpretations of Daoist philosophy, reflecting the development of Quanzhen thought during the Jin-Yuan period. Presented in a question-and-answer format, these discourses employ plain yet insightful language, serving as a vital resource for studying Quanzhen cultivation practices.

Duan Zhijian, a disciple of the Qinghe Zhenren (Perfected Person of Clarity and Harmony), recorded two cultivation stories shared by his master. The first concerns Xu Shenweng: For three years he worked at a tavern, using all his wages to support his mother while eagerly taking on the hardest tasks. One day, a guest painted cranes on the wall. When Xu came out to look and exchanged glances with the stranger, he received the true transmission. He then sat silently among crowds for seven days, forgetting his physical form, and ultimately attained enlightenment. The Qinghe Zhenren remarked that without Xu's accumulated great merit (De), how could such an opportunity arise? The crane-painting guest was actually an incarnation of Lü Dongbin (Chunyang Zhenren).

The second story tells of Ma Ziran: He began ascetic practice early but had no achievement by age sixty-four. One day in despair, he nearly drowned himself—when suddenly a man appeared saying, "Your cultivation is complete; only the final step remains." Continuing his practice, he attained the Dao within a hundred days. Through these stories, the Qinghe Zhenren illustrates that while cultivation methods differ between "non-action" (Wuwei) and "active practice," both depend on perfecting one's virtue.

The master also shared his own experience: During early meditation, he could enter profound stillness undetectable even by spirits. Yet distracting thoughts would suddenly arise, uncontrollable by any means. He attributed this to incomplete merit—when virtue is sufficient, sages naturally appear to offer guidance.

Finally, he emphasized that practitioners must emulate the "skilled scholar" described in the Daode Jing: Those who attain the Dao should conceal it like precious jade. Flaunting it invites disaster; one must tread as cautiously as crossing winter ice—fearing both the loss of attainment and others' awareness. The Qinghe Zhenren cited an elder Wang of Xianyang, expert in scriptures, who once lectured flawlessly on the Huayan Jing. Yet the master observed he merely recited texts without grasping their subtle function. This chapter warns against the great pitfall of clinging to the Dao while refusing concealment—for revelation brings harm.

This passage discusses the proper mental attitude and outward demeanor that Daoist practitioners should maintain during cultivation.

The cultivator's external appearance should be as dignified and cautious as a guest, never acting recklessly—this is outward prudence. Internally, the mind should be as pure as melting snow, as simple as uncarved wood, and as open as an empty valley—this is inner refinement. One must be careful in both external conduct and the guarding of one's inner nature, yet remain in this seemingly unrefined state, without rushing for quick results. Only then can one ultimately achieve great attainment. Thus, the Daode Jing says, "The greatest vessel is the last to be completed."

Today, some who study the Dao (the Way) become complacent after minor achievements, eager to show off lest others remain unaware. They fail to maintain this seemingly unrefined state—this is what Master Yuyang called "wild blossoms" (referring to superficial and insubstantial displays). At the outset, learning the Dao seems easy, but the deeper one goes, the harder it becomes to grasp its true essence. In the past, when distant Daoists traveled to Shandong seeking the Dao, people revered them before meeting, imagining them as lofty masters. Yet upon acquaintance, they appeared no different from ordinary folk, and reverence waned. Little do people realize that the more profound one's cultivation, the harder it is for ordinary eyes to discern.

The master (referring to Qiu Chuji) often spoke with people about mundane matters for days on end. Outsiders would be startled at first, finding such trivialities too worldly. Yet the master attended to every matter personally, even tasks as simple as stripping hemp. Some skeptics asked, "Is this fitting for the Great Elder Qiu?" I replied, "One should not judge an enlightened person by their words or trivial affairs. Those whose Dao-nature is fully realized may speak of worldly things all day, yet remain inwardly unbound by them. Once spoken, they return to their true nature—is this not the principle of 'turbidity, long stirred, slowly clears; stillness, long held, slowly stirs to life'? How different from ordinary folk who force lofty words while their minds remain mired in worldly thoughts."

Those who study the Dao differ from ordinary people—they dedicate themselves to the Dao yet adapt to worldly affairs with ease, enduring hardship without complaint. Since one cannot avoid eating, one cannot avoid worldly tasks; these, too, are part of cultivation and should not be passed to others. Yet once done, they must be completely released, returning to the heart of cultivation. To dwell on such matters is what Buddhism calls "attachment to form" (zhuxiang). With a steadfast Dao-heart, no external circumstance can overwhelm. Cultivating in this way naturally aligns with the essence of the Daode Jing's five thousand words. Its eighty-one chapters can merge into one; one chapter can condense into a single phrase; a single phrase can distill into a single character—all to help one glimpse the Dao.

This passage records several profound stories about the "original source of nature and life" (性命本源) and the teachings of the Pure Harmony True Man (清和真人):

Regarding the origin of "nature" (性, one's innate disposition), a Daoist Li from Shandong once asked: Does human nature come from the father or the mother? This question proves difficult to answer. Daoist Li remained troubled by this doubt until age fifty-eight, eventually returning to secular life. This illustrates that while Daoist cultivation requires truth-seeking, excessive attachment can be counterproductive—like becoming lost amid the complexity of myriad things.

Two miraculous rebirth accounts follow: While recuperating from illness, a certain Master Meng encountered a pregnant woman drawing water and predicted he would be reborn as her daughter. The prophecy came true—the girl bore a crown-shaped birthmark and was named Mengxian (孟仙, "Meng the Immortal"). Another story tells how the teacher's uncle dreamed of a celestial realm where a young boy showed deep affection toward him. Later, a son was born to the family who grew up detesting worldly affairs and eventually took monastic vows under Ma Danyang (马丹阳, a patriarch of the Quanzhen/Complete Perfection tradition).

The Pure Harmony True Man used these examples to explain the profound mystery behind human nature's origin—it might derive from either parent, enter before or after conception, or even manifest through extraordinary signs like the ancient sages whose mothers conceived after encountering supernatural phenomena (such as stepping into a giant's footprint). These are all natural transformations, and obsessing over specific causes and effects proves futile.

The teaching culminates with this insight: For Daoist practitioners, understanding the concept of "detachment" (闲) is crucial—maintaining a transcendent mindset without forced striving allows natural alignment with the Dao. As the master said, excessive attachment only disrupts the original purity of one's heart-mind.

Cast aside all doubts and persevere in cultivation while accumulating merit—the great Dao (the Way) naturally resides within. Neither deceive heaven nor wrong others. Form deep and sincere connections with those who have attained the Dao, nurturing these bonds with utmost sincerity.

Master Qiu Chuji (known as the Clear and Harmonious Perfected Being) once recalled: My karmic connection with our Patriarch (Wang Chongyang) was exceptionally profound. During my practice at Panxi, the Patriarch was extremely strict—he forbade even the consumption of salt and would not permit me to sleep before midnight. Every minute detail of my training was personally guided by him. One night, while in deep meditation, I saw the Patriarch holding an infant about a hundred days old on his lap. Upon awakening, I immediately understood: this revealed how shallow my Dao-nature still was. Half a year later, in another meditative state, I beheld the same vision—only now the child had grown to about two years old, showing me that my Dao-nature was gradually maturing. Later, when no wicked thoughts arose in my mind, the child in my meditation had reached three or four years of age, able to stand and walk independently. Then the vision vanished completely. From this, I realized the Patriarch's guidance continues until a disciple becomes self-sufficient.

An ordinary person who sincerely seeks the Dao will inevitably encounter enlightened masters. But without genuine practice and real cultivation, such opportunities will never manifest. With each accumulation of virtuous merit, a cultivator gains deeper inner peace. One must learn to "dissolve" all circumstances—even honors and humiliations unbearable to ordinary people, or situations others find intolerable, become effortless for true practitioners to endure with patience and acceptance. This is the blessing of authentic cultivation.

A crucial lesson for Dao-seekers: never force understanding through intellect alone. If mere intelligence could lead to enlightenment, wouldn't all strong-willed individuals attain the Dao? Clearly, this isn't so. When explaining the three chapters of the Daode Jing (Scripture of the Way and Virtue) that discuss "abandoning sageliness and discarding wisdom," Master Qiu clarified: Every character in these scriptures contains profound meaning, but listeners must first have corresponding realization within their hearts to grasp the subtleties. These chapters originally illustrate how, as the Dao's vital energy (Qi) declines, sages establish teachings according to circumstances—after losing the Dao, they speak of Virtue (De); when Virtue weakens, they turn to ritual. These are all temporary expedients. Just as within the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition, Master Ma Danyang's methods differed from Master Qiu Changchun's—both adapted to their times. Confucius taught humanity, righteousness, and ritual wisdom, yet is his Dao limited to these? Sages embody the Dao in their hearts yet don't discard these teachings precisely because they meet temporary needs. Once these expedient means have served their purpose, they become like rafts after crossing a river—no need to cling to them further.

The practitioner must preserve their innate authenticity (original nature) within the heart-mind. When facing worldly circumstances: if practicing benevolence (ren), focus wholly on benevolence; if performing righteous deeds (yi), devote yourself completely to righteousness; when following ritual propriety (li), concentrate on upholding it; when applying wisdom (zhi), focus on clarity—yet never lose your fundamental authenticity. Even amid the chaos of mundane life, one can maintain the purity of ancient cultivators. Those who study the Dao need only guard their innate authenticity within, responding to all affairs without attachment.

Though I, the Zhenren of Qinghe, dwell in the secular world, I have never abandoned safeguarding my innate authenticity. Even in dreams, I wear monastic robes, performing humble tasks and begging for alms. Those who leave home inevitably encounter worldly karmic conditions, but so long as they never forget their original nature of cultivation, they will surely accomplish the Dao. If one dedicates this life wholeheartedly to the Dao, even if reborn again in the cycle of reincarnation, they will still become a true practitioner. Nowadays, some who have left home fail to understand this principle, always seeking to elevate themselves above others, fearful of losing the false appearance of virtue—posing with closed eyes and folded hands in public as if in profound "sitting in oblivion" (a Daoist meditative state), yet acting recklessly in private. Though such people claim to cultivate the Dao, how can they be considered genuine practitioners?

When discussing the chapter "Abandon Learning and There Will Be No Sorrow" from the Daode Jing, the Zhenren of Qinghe said: Acquiring knowledge is not difficult—what is difficult is transcending knowledge. I recall Patriarch Ma Danyang (one of the Northern Seven Perfected of Quanzhen Daoism) composing the Ten Exhortations, the fourth of which states: I urge you to study widely, yet remain unburdened in the heart, letting go of emotional attachments, severing false views, and ceasing outward seeking. If you can do this, whatever comes to hand will be nothing but the Dao. Forgetting emotions and views naturally ends the chase after desires. It is precisely because of emotional attachments that biased views arise—either chasing external things or craving states of attainment.

The Daode Jing says, "Manifest plainness and embrace simplicity, lessen selfishness and diminish desires": "Plainness" refers to one's fundamental duty—understanding this duty allows one to preserve simplicity; "selfishness" is ego-attachment, and "desire" is craving. Selfishness cannot be entirely eliminated, but reducing it naturally weakens desires. The ancient sages repeatedly expounded these principles, hoping people would unite knowledge with practice. Sadly, some neither study nor understand, remaining confused their whole lives; others study but cling to the words without applying them—how far apart are such "wise" people from fools? "Excess" and "deficiency" are both deviations.

Those who do not understand the classics often resent scholars, and upon hearing "abandon learning and there will be no sorrow," they reject study even more. In truth, the sages did not oppose learning—they warned that the problem lies in studying principles yet failing to transcend the bondage of knowledge. When encountering meanings that are temporarily unclear, it is better to set them aside; forcing understanding makes enlightenment harder, but in due time, realization will come naturally.

This passage discusses how Daoist practitioners should properly handle the relationship between "knowing" and "not knowing." Confucius said, "To know what you know and know what you don't know—this is true knowledge," warning us against pretending to understand what we don't. The classics state that "only by abandoning worldly learning can one be free from worry," reminding us that clinging to knowledge can instead create afflictions. Yet this doesn't mean we should abandon learning altogether—otherwise, why would the sages have left behind the five-thousand-character Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue)?

Master Qinghe recalled his teacher Qiu Chuji testing his disciples: "Which part of the scriptures comes closest to the Dao?" Brother Shan offered his understanding first, while I responded with the chapter "The Appearance of Great De (Virtue)." The principle of "the valley spirit never dies" is profound and difficult to grasp, but this chapter can be practically applied. Though the Dao is mysterious and invisible, it manifests through De. When virtue is expressed in conduct toward others, it becomes meritorious action—yet all such actions trace their origin back to the Dao. Dao, De, and meritorious action are fundamentally one; true virtue cannot exist apart from the Dao-mind.

Even beginners in cultivation can clearly discern who possesses the Dao-mind and who doesn't, for all good and evil naturally reveal themselves. The scripture says, "Within it there is essence (Jing), and this essence is utterly real." This Jing (primordial vital essence) has remained undiminished since ancient times—it is what gives birth to all things. Therefore, practitioners dare not entertain even a speck of worldly thought, fearing the dissipation of their spirit. There's a Chan Buddhist story: a monk stared at a passing woman, and suddenly her carriage grew heavier—because the monk's spirit had been carried away with it. Master Yuyang put it more bluntly: excessive attachment to external things destroys one's true nature. Our teacher also said that after death, a person's Jing-Qi clings to the coffin and may transform into a spirit-monster after many years—doesn't this prove Jing-Qi truly exists?

Human Jing-Qi scatters when drawn to external things. Like pouring one bowl of water into a hundred others—each bowl gets wet, but the original water is gone. Our vital essence must not be dissipated: when Jing-Qi is abundant, the mind expands; when deficient, the mind contracts. We must use this inner radiance to illuminate all things, not let it be pulled apart by external distractions.

If one can completely abandon pretense and turn inward to reflect upon oneself, then luminous wisdom is already present within. Only those with genuine resolve can grasp this radiance and prevent it from dissipating. Yet without authentic cultivation practice to complement it, true transformation ultimately remains unattainable.

Once someone asked the master about methods of Daoist cultivation. The master replied: "Externally, accumulate hidden virtue (performing good deeds without recognition); internally, safeguard your spirit (Shen)." This shows that even with spiritual refinement, without actual merit-based practice, one cannot ultimately attain the Dao. However, when performing virtuous deeds to benefit others or all beings, one must not harbor any attachment to these merits. The master once composed a verse: "Don't inquire how celestial mechanisms manifest—just persistently cultivate hidden virtue. The ever-changing affairs of human life all present opportunities for cultivation; handle daily matters with full effort. The slightest thought of relying on merit is called 'dwelling on form,' which ironically diminishes the merit."

Understand that "non-action" (Wuwei) and "action" have no fixed boundary. What we call Wuwei, if performed with attachment, becomes action; while action performed without clinging is precisely Wuwei. How could there be immutable standards for these?

The master often said: "People frequently use their own light to illuminate others' faults with perfect clarity, yet rarely turn that light inward. If one could reflect upon oneself, one wouldn't dare focus on others' shortcomings." Whenever the master noticed someone's faults and wished to instruct them, he would first say, "We all share the nature of sentient beings," before pointing out the error—meaning both parties share ordinary human nature, and he, having awakened first, seeks to awaken those who follow. Such was the thoroughness of his teaching methods.

For those of middling or lesser capacity, the master would provide explicit guidance; but for spiritually gifted individuals, he would merely offer hints for their own realization. Since following the master, I've observed that his every action and word served to instruct disciples—the key lies in whether seekers can comprehend. With sincere contemplation and investigation, daily progress naturally follows. Contemporary practitioners should engage in frequent self-reflection rather than fixating on others' faults; persistent practice will inevitably bear fruit.

The master said: "I've heard that teaching others requires skillful adaptation, using expedient means to liberate beings. Yet this inevitably deviates somewhat from the constant truth." Every word the master spoke was grounded in this constant truth. He remarked: "In my heart I understand expedient means, but cannot articulate them." I once discussed this with Mr. Wanyan: initially we might speak of expedient means, but over time this becomes habitual, turning into daily speech without our awareness—until even our minds follow suit. This is something practitioners must be particularly vigilant about.

The essence of cultivation lies in a single thought. The arising of one mindful thought marks progress, while a moment of laxity signals regression. Only through continuous advancement does true cultivation occur. Consider craftsmen mastering their arts or people handling daily affairs—both require preparation and arrangement. Yet cultivation differs; it demands no deliberate planning. Simply maintain inner purity and diminish desires—one may practice anytime, anywhere. Whether walking, sitting in stillness, sleeping, enduring seasonal extremes, in company or solitude, nothing hinders the path.

Practitioners must embody the teachings immediately. Ancient masters would implement a single true phrase upon hearing it, while others perpetually defer: "I'll begin at some appointed time," or "I'll comprehend it later." Days slip by, willpower erodes, and ultimately nothing is achieved. The Daode Jing chapters "Those who stand on tiptoe cannot stand firm" and "There was something formless yet complete" speak precisely to this truth.

All phenomena follow natural principles, yet most remain unaware. Those who truly understand never act contrary to nature. Reality and illusion coexist—one must discern clearly. The deluded often mock falsehood with falsehood, unaware they themselves are blinded. Cultivators must first distinguish truth from falsehood in their own minds. Whatever insights arise must be verified against the classics. Only when mind and scripture unite can one avoid lifelong confusion.

Master Yuyang (Wang Chuyi) initially never studied texts, yet his speech resonated with the classics—this was his grasp of the root. Today some parse scriptures profoundly yet miss the fundamental principle, clinging to ancient words until confusion arises. Remember: the ancients' words were ultimately "wordless words." If one admires verbal dexterity but fails to attain wondrous function in their own nature, all is meaningless.

Cultivation's supreme matter is recognizing the original mind, perceiving true nature, and realizing the Vacuous Truth (ultimate reality beyond form). The Changsheng Zhenren (Liu Chuxuan) composed 120 Ruizhegu poems, stating: "When the mind lacks verification, delusions swarm like demons—the more you grasp, the more proliferate." Danyang Zhenren (Ma Yu) countered: "Firm seizing generates five-colored radiance." These statements mutually illuminate. The Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuji) emphasized transcending attachment—before realizing Vacuous Truth, grasping breeds more delusions; after realization, the mind expands naturally, making "firm seizing" meaningful. Hence "firmly grasp and capture to generate five hues."

This scripture elucidates the different stages and essential points of cultivating the Dao. Practitioners must first undergo rigorous refinement of "body and mind through a hundred temperings" before attaining the "celestial treasure of innate nature" (referring to awakening one's fundamental nature). Yet even upon reaching this stage, one still requires the guidance and assistance of divine immortals to truly transcend the cycle of birth and death.

The text employs the six lines of the Qian hexagram from the Book of Changes (Yijing) as metaphors for progressive cultivation: initially one must immerse in practice like a "hidden dragon" (first nine), then gradually manifest illumination (second nine), advancing diligently day and night without respite (third nine), until achieving communion with spiritual beings (fourth nine). Only upon reaching the "flying dragon in heaven" state of the fifth nine can one attain boundless transformation. However, all this presupposes undergoing strict physical and mental discipline.

Master Yuyang (a Quanzhen patriarch) recounted a cautionary tale: a practitioner who refused diligent cultivation while using "Wuwei" (non-action) as pretext for self-indulgence ultimately incurred misfortune. The text further clarifies that both "seeing one's nature" (awakening to fundamental nature) and realizing "true emptiness" (state of liberation) have dual levels: initial realization merely marks the beginning—one must perfect it through practice to attain genuine awakening; preliminary understanding of emptiness is just the starting point—only when both virtue and practice reach completion will the Dao-Qi (primordial energy) flow unimpeded.

At the highest stage of cultivation, the body's nine orifices (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, etc.) naturally close—this constitutes authentic spontaneous freedom. Any forced closure through deliberate intent would instead disrupt the Qi mechanism. The passage concludes by describing the liberated state of Dao attainment as "gateless and doorless, open in all directions"—the true condition of returning to primordial origins (the source of Dao).

This scripture primarily discusses how practitioners should maintain humility, accumulate virtue (De), and the importance of resolve in spiritual cultivation.

Human nature inherently possesses luminous wisdom, yet many fail to understand the necessity of humility. The moment they gain even slight attainment, they become prideful and self-satisfied, always seeking to appear extraordinary—yet this prevents them from achieving true wisdom. Just as water flows downward to gather into deep pools, the accumulation of virtue follows the same principle. When one truly attains insight, it should be concealed deeply; flaunting it carelessly leads to loss, much like worldly wealth painstakingly gathered can vanish entirely through a single misstep.

Practitioners must realize that apart from their original mind and true nature, all else is illusory. Just as excess food or superfluous growths are regarded as filth, one must truly recognize the ugliness of these attachments. If, instead, such illusory things are treated as treasures and flaunted, it is as absurd as adding another head atop one’s own. Such individuals will find it exceedingly difficult to comprehend the natural Dao.

Master Yuyang (one of the patriarchs of the Quanzhen [Complete Perfection] tradition) once said: "The spirit of a worthy person does not perish after death, while the foolish are carried away by material desires." True worthies demonstrate virtuous conduct in life, and thus, though they die, they remain as if alive. Only those who can conquer themselves are truly strong, and only those with resolve can persevere in cultivation. Practitioners must take unwavering resolve as their foundation. Those without resolve cannot even endure food that disagrees with their taste—this is because the many spirits within the body (Daoism holds that the human body is inhabited by numerous deities) refuse to accept it. Yet those with resolve remain unaffected even by coarse fare, for when resolve is firm, all spirits submit, and even the flavor of food transforms accordingly.

The spirits within the human body require resolve to command them, just as an army needs a general. When resolve is steadfast, the entire body’s Qi (vital energy) will assist, and nothing is insurmountable. Mencius said, "Resolve is the commander of Qi"—a principle that proves especially potent in spiritual practice. Like the story of Zichan (a renowned minister of the Zheng state during the Spring and Autumn period) instructing the gamekeeper to rear fish, the key lies in finding the proper method and position. Practitioners must understand their fundamental role; only by guarding the root can they endure.

This scripture primarily teaches the importance of maintaining the Middle Way in spiritual practice, avoiding rigid attachment to literal interpretations. The text often appears deliberately paradoxical—at times stating "the forceful have ambition," while elsewhere advising to "weaken one's ambition"; sometimes condemning study, yet elsewhere declaring the rejection of study equally misguided. This rhetorical strategy prevents practitioners from falling into extremes of either excessive effort or neglect, using apparent contradictions to guide seekers toward balanced cultivation.

The text references the "Great Image" (referring to the essence of Dao), describing it as bland and flavorless—something that cannot be fully grasped through sight or hearing. Those who master this supreme Dao find unimpeded success in all endeavors. By contrast, governance techniques like music and fine cuisine may temporarily attract people like wayfaring guests, but such methods lack enduring power.

Master Qinghe (the Pure Harmony Realized One) observed that true scripture masters understand Dao's fundamental nature, thus requiring minimal explanation. As Zhuangzi illustrated, virtues like humaneness and righteousness resemble ancient emperors' temporary thatched lodges—not meant for permanent attachment. Many contemporary Daoist external practices, akin to detaining travelers with music and delicacies, should not become objects of obsession; practitioners must return to the foundational Dao embodied by past masters.

Commenting on the chapter "Highest Virtue (De) is not virtuous," Master Qinghe clarified: The noblest virtue never proclaims itself virtuous—this constitutes true virtue, while those anxiously guarding their virtue actually lack it. Accumulating merit secretly during cultivation without seeking recognition embodies "highest virtue"; virtue that demands visibility forfeits its authentic nature.

Master Qinghe concluded by stressing that understanding these principles proves far easier than embodying them. Recalling his early monastic days, he witnessed predecessors living these virtues before discovering their scriptural validation. Contemporary cultivators enjoy privileged conditions—free from worldly sufferings and able to focus wholly on practice—all stemming from one cause: steadfast devotion to Dao study and cultivation. This root principle, he emphasized, must never be forgotten for even a single day.

This scripture primarily discusses how practitioners should properly handle the relationship between merit and virtue (De), as well as the fundamental methods of Daoist cultivation.

Regarding the cultivation of virtue, true virtue remains enduring precisely when it is humble and unassuming. If one rushes to make good deeds known to others, such virtue can only be considered "lower virtue" (xia De), as others' admiration will gradually deplete one's accumulated merit. Using merit to pursue fame will ultimately lead to its loss; only by merging merit into the great emptiness of the Dao can it truly become one's own lasting attainment.

Master Qinghe (a revered Daoist adept) pointed out that the principles of sages are inherently simple, yet few practitioners truly comprehend them. The problem lies in their inability to relinquish the self—their daily actions remain tainted by personal habits. Only by completely letting go of the self can one align with the Dao of the sages. It is akin to the highest stage of Chan (Zen) practice: if meditative stability is insufficient, other problems may arise instead. As Master Shao Yong once said: "On a bitterly cold night with howling winds, who can stand firmly unmoved?"

The master also cautioned that overly abstruse teachings are unsuitable for public dissemination, as ordinary individuals may easily misunderstand them. For instance, some may grasp the study of mind-nature yet disregard precepts, acting as they please. When questioned, "Won't this lead to hell?" they retort, "What does this have to do with Daoist cultivation?" Such responses stem from erroneous interpretations.

Regarding the chapter "Governing people and serving Heaven, nothing surpasses frugality" (from the Daode Jing), the master explained: "Frugality" (se) means treasuring and cherishing—one must cherish the Dao. For practitioners, this character "se" is the most essential in daily life. "Ingestion" (fu) refers to the Daoist practices of consuming qi and medicinal substances—one must early on apprehend the true flavor of the Dao. By continuously accumulating virtue, restraining oneself to benefit others, one ultimately attains the state of governing human affairs and serving the Heavenly Dao, thereby connecting with the cosmos. Thus, Daoist cultivation must take virtue accumulation as its foundation; only with genuine virtue can one truly experience the wondrous function of the Dao. What Daoists call "enjoyment" (shouyong, the experiential fruit of practice) is known by practitioners as a state of unclouded mind and harmonious qi—yet few genuinely taste its flavor because they neglect the accumulation of true merit.

Without genuine merit as a foundation, no matter how intensely one contemplates or practices for decades or centuries, nothing will be gained in the end. When true merit accumulates to a certain degree, attainment comes without seeking. What constitutes true merit? It is performing good deeds without claiming credit or considering oneself remarkable.

This passage elucidates the true meaning of "De" (Virtue/Power). Master Qinghe, a renowned Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) Daoist adept, taught that responding to resentment with virtue is the way advocated by sages, yet the most challenging practice for ordinary people. If one can repay even hatred with virtue, how much more should one apply De in all other matters?

Modern people fail in this regard, constantly repaying resentment with more resentment, creating endless cycles of enmity that cannot resolve misfortune. Sages sought to fundamentally sever this vicious cycle, hence they deliberately left such teachings. If practitioners truly comprehend this principle, how could resentment ever arise in them?

Regarding the chapter stating "Those who are brave in daring will be killed; those who are brave in not daring will survive," various interpretations exist. Some say bravery in restraint brings benefit while bravery in aggression brings harm. Su Ziyou (Su Zhe) synthesized this: Restraint leads to life while aggression leads to death—this is the natural law. Yet sometimes aggressive people survive while restrained ones perish, but these are merely exceptional cases. Ordinary people often cling to wishful thinking, valuing these exceptions while ignoring universal principles. Like viewing the sky with limited vision—one only sees partial curved trajectories but not the complete celestial patterns, thus doubting whether heaven's net has gaps. Only by observing the entire process from beginning to end can one understand that the Dao of heaven, though seemingly lenient, never lets anything slip through.

Master Qinghe found Su Ziyou's interpretation profoundly insightful. He further explained that karmic retribution may appear sometimes beneficial and sometimes harmful—even sages find it difficult to fully comprehend. Yet this "difficulty" doesn't imply doubt, but rather reflects the profound depth of karmic law. In Daoist teachings about retribution: When someone performs one unit of good deed, if their karmic obstacles (hindrances from past misdeeds) remain unexhausted, immediate blessings may not manifest. Yet after hundreds or thousands of lifetimes when obstacles dissolve, that unit of merit will inevitably bear fruit. The same applies to negative karma. Viewed macroscopically, like heaven's vast net, good and evil will always receive their due—seemingly loose yet never failing to catch anything.