《峴泉集》Vol. 12

The "Song of the Bellows Master" from Volume 12 of Xianquan Collection is a seven-character extended poem composed by Celestial Master (Tianshi) Zhang Yu-chu during the Ming Dynasty. With magnificent imagery, it depicts the Daoist cosmological view and spiritual cultivation realms.

The opening presents a grand cosmic panorama: The boundless Supreme Void (Taixu, the origin of the cosmos) — how did the dual forces of Yin-Yang first begin their operations? The supreme Dao (True Sovereign) holds the pivotal mechanism of creation, generating all things like the movement of a bellows (tuoyue). All beings share the same origin; the Mysterious Ancestor (referring to Laozi) unveiled the celestial mysteries, leaving behind a million subtle teachings yet remaining profoundly silent. Before heaven and earth took form, all existed in nameless, imageless purity, following complete spontaneity.

The poem describes essential cultivation techniques: The hundredfold refined golden essence (a Neidan term denoting purified Yang Qi) returns to true liquid (primordial Qi), where dragon-tiger (symbolizing lead-mercury, Yin-Yang) and crow-hare (sun-moon essences) intermingle. Since ancient times, few perfected beings have comprehended this Dao, its secrets transmitted across countless kalpas. Descendants of Zhu Rong (fire deity) acquired extraordinary arts — clad in hemp robes, they knock at thunder caverns, claiming mastery over weather and command of lightning.

The poet recalls his past at the Golden Horse Gate (imperial court), honored by nobility, yet resolutely abandoned worldly glory to roam the Supreme Void like wind and thunder. Having witnessed splendor reduced to ashes, he disdains banquet hall debates. Returning to recognize the True Master (Dao's origin), he recluses like Master Ghost Valley, sweeping fallen petals, sipping pure water, whistling freely through forests — utterly transcending mundane concerns.

The latter section shifts to tangible scenes: The poet remembers his hometown's Celestial Crown Altar long fallen to ruin, now rebuilt with carved beams. Among cliffs stands a majestic imperial palace; stone chambers and cloud beds accumulate thunderstorm power. He too seeks mountains to build a thatched hut, gazing afar at Pipa Peak's jade-like beauty. He advises: Alchemical work must begin early — once the Golden Elixir (Jindan) forms, its light illuminates the void, making Dongting and Poyang Lakes seem insignificant as yellow cranes never return. Emphasizing lead-mercury's (Neidan reagents) inverted application is no trivial matter — it concerns the essence of heaven-earth.

Finally, he questions "grotto-heaven" claims: Who says grotto-heavens hold secret texts? Heaven within caverns is fundamentally emptiness. Neither written by ancient immortals nor spoken by Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun), he urges: "Stir the bellows (metaphor for truth-seeking), return primordial chaos to the Supreme Origin."

Appended Inscription on Immortal Fanghu's Painting "Snow Clearing on Peculiar Peaks": Depicting Min Mountain and Emei's eternal snows, Kunlun's peaks surviving myriad kalpas — Immortal Fanghu's brush transforms them into jade-like icy scrolls.

Inscription on the Painting "Transmitting the Dao Beneath Pines"

This painting depicts an immortal cultivating the Dao at Mount Gou, a sacred peak in Daoist tradition. The Daoist dwells in a cloud-wreathed nest east of the Jade Grove, where hundred-foot pines stand before his hall—their roots coiled like iron and stone, their branches twisting like coiling dragons. He claims to be an ancient adept who practiced the Mud Ball (a term for the upper Dantian) method, having received the Dao’s transmission at Mount Qiong. The scene resembles resting on white stones by a spirit altar, with long vines swaying in the autumn wind. Above, one may touch the clouds of the nine heavens; below, the celestial radiance of the Three Sacred Mountains (Penglai, Fangzhang, and Yingzhou) connects to the earth. The Mud Ball practice transcends time and space, allowing one to witness the primordial state of heaven and earth alongside the evergreen pines.

The poem recalls how the immortal of Mount Gou once rode a crane across the peaks, playing the sheng flute while roaming the famous mountains by the Min Sea. Friends honored him as "Uncle Zhong," often resting with him in the plum pavilion by the stream where gulls and egrets dwelled. During the Jiading era, his profound writings were like a hundredfold-tempered elite army, his subtle words carrying the wisdom of ancient figures like Dongfang Shuo. Now, the literary brilliance of the Daoist mountains grows quiet; only by soaring on high can one reach the "whale’s horn" (symbolizing the highest realm). The poet remembers mooring his boat by the stream, drinking beneath the pines on moonlit nights, watching fish shadows ripple, and hearing the yu pipes echo through the evening mist. The sparse bamboos and ancient trees defy depiction, stirring melancholy reflections on past and present. Even master painters like Bi Hong and Wei Yan would acknowledge that only a "gourd immortal" (a Daoist adept) could follow the traces of the ancients. The "cloud descendants" (later generations) should cherish their legacy, gazing at the emerald streams and forested peaks in twilight. Only frost-enduring trees become pillars of the hall; only pines on shadowed cliffs withstand wind and snow. The poet laughs at himself, singing freely among orchids, wishing to gather pine blossoms to brew spring wine and invite the immortal elders Chen Tuan and Bai Yuchan to share drunken revelry amid the sea of clouds.

Inscription on the Painting "Immortal’s Palm Peak of Mount Hua"

This poem describes the wonders of the Great Hua Peak in the Western Sacred Mountain. This ancient peak gathers the primal Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, its roots extending to the western reaches, standing equal with Mount Song and Mount Tai. Ten-thousand-foot cliffs lean against the sky; the Immortal’s Palm Peak resembles a mirror hanging askew like a crescent moon, as if the Milky Way pours down from the azure void. The sky-scraping ridges stand like screens, dwarfing the surrounding mountains. Through images like "roots coiling in the western extremes" and "cliffs towering ten thousand feet," the poem conveys the majestic aura of Mount Hua as a Daoist grotto-heaven and blessed land.

This poetic passage depicts the magnificent scenery of a Daoist sacred mountain, blending mythological legends with cultivation imagery. It opens with the towering Lianghuo Mountain as the backdrop, describing an emperor's inspection tour passing by an abandoned ancient temple, with broken bridges suspended amidst clouds and mist. Here resides the legendary immortal Wangzi Qiao (Crown Prince of King Ling of Zhou, a famous Daoist immortal), whose abode is guarded by tigers and leopards with massive stones as doors, showcasing the mystery of the celestial realm.

The poet mentions how the current prosperous era sends Daoist priests (feathered immortals) to establish jade altars for rituals, with golden gates (heavenly gates) opening wide to welcome sacred intentions. This is contrasted with the extravagant Fengshan sacrifices performed by Qin and Han emperors at Mount Liangfu, emphasizing instead this mountain's divine waters where river deities (Chuanhou) manifest auspicious signs. The giant spirit god cleaves boulders to form rivers, while the Starry Jade Maiden (a Daoist female immortal) dwells in the immortal Danqiu Mountain. The Yellow River appears to spiral down from the celestial edge, bathed in the golden light of the White Emperor (Celestial Emperor of the West).

The latter part shifts to cultivation experiences: the poet holds a nine-section staff (a Daoist ritual implement), walking shoulder-to-shoulder with the immortal Hongyazi (music master of the Yellow Emperor era who attained immortality), feeding on morning mists when hungry and drinking dew from jade-well lotuses when thirsty. By chance, he encounters a purple-robed, crimson-haired immortal and borrows his thatched dragon (a celestial steed) to roam the heavens. The white hair of the Gourd Immortal (referring to Hugong, an Eastern Han medicine-selling immortal) inspires awe, while the legacy of the Bixi (dragon's ninth son, a tortoise-shaped pedestal spirit) endures forever. Riding the clear wind across ten thousand miles in an instant—why bother drunkenly admiring the Emei moonlight?

Supplementary quatrains portray other immortal scenes:

• The Fanghu celestial realm remains untouched by worldly cosmetics; washed clean of mundane dust, only mountain peaks remain, embodying the Daoist truth of "flavorless" purity (referring to ascetic detachment), casting aside worldly filth to meditate beneath pines.
• In the withered-tree painting by the Western Realized Being (possibly a Western immortal), the ferry's sunset connects with emptiness, as cold crows and fallen leaves adorn the ancient path.
• Cloud-girt hermitages nestle among emerald cliffs and crimson valleys; when unrolling scrolls by sunlit windows, wisteria flowers drift down with autumn rain.
• Bamboo leaves from Fanghu's immortal crags, brought back to the mortal realm by an immortal, suggest celestial realms mostly hide within "empty azure" (Daoist term for heavens or elixirs), revealing only fragments to worldly eyes.
• At the Immortal-Gazing Pavilion, one may trace divine footprints (lingzong), mounting phoenix-borne whirlwinds (luánbiāo) to ascend—here the southern peaks rival heavenly rafts (celestial ferries).
• On the Alchemy Crag, mercury and lead (elixir ingredients) have transformed into golden sand; moss-covered grottoes serve as alchemy chambers, while gazing into white-cloud depths reveals the Great Return Elixir (highest-grade immortal pill) sprouting like numinous herbs.
• The Thunder Grotto (abode of thunder deities) hints at the hidden workings of cosmic creation.

The poems in Xianquan Ji depict the sacred mountain landscapes and cultivation insights from a Daoist practitioner's perspective. The first poem describes a stone cave veiled in mist where numinous herbs (immortal plants) have grown for years. In deep meditation, one seems to hear thunder stirring beneath their feet, as if transported to an otherworldly paradise.

The "Dragon Pool" section portrays a cliff-encircled abyss: steep bluffs embrace rocky shoals, while a frigid pool nourishes emerald moss. The poem alludes to hidden dragons that once rode divine chariots (immortal processions) to summon clouds and rain—an allegory for nature's mysterious forces.

"Scholar's Pavilion" depicts an ornate tower once inhabited by transcendents of luminous talent, whose brilliance scattered like pearls across the mortal realm. Their writings transcend millennia, with "Purple Mystery" (zixuan) symbolizing the Dao's supreme arcane wonders.

"Star-Worship Altar" portrays adepts performing the ritual steps of the Dipper (Daoist ceremonial footwork) atop cloud-piercing peaks, as if riding the wind. Touching the mountain crags, boundaries between heaven and earth dissolve; at night, only the Northern Dipper (Xuanshu) glimmers through the ethereal darkness.

"Jade Courtyard Hall" reveals an elixir-light (neidan radiance) illuminated paradise: within spacious grounds sit practitioners pure as lotuses. Mortals vainly venerate the Realm of Luminous Understanding (Daoist ideal world), unaware that cranes already circle overhead, listening to the celestial hymns (buxu, Daoist chantings).

"Star-Gazing Tower" describes a spire piercing the clouds, where star-rafts (immortal boats) carry only gossamer robes. Autumn nights cleanse the Milky Way's traces; deep in the night, one returns atop cranes accompanied by jade flute melodies—painting the scene of feathery ascent to immortality.

"Gazing at Numinous Peaks" compares sacred mountains to jade-carved lotuses, inhabited solely by transcendents. The poet yearns to emulate Wu Gang felling the lunar cassia, plucking a fragment of emerald from the lotus peak—expressing detachment from worldly dust.

"Cassia in the Moon" borrows the lunar tree to voice longing: its autumn fragrance spills through moonlight, casting shadows on ice-silk radiance. As if dwelling in the Clear Void Paradise (Daoist celestial realm), one needs no magpie bridge for celestial meetings.

"Cloud-Wilderness Painting" reveals a cultivator's transcendent mind: at the mortal world's edge, one quietly hears half-heavenly music. Upon grasping the unstrung zither's (Daoist metaphor for supreme simplicity) truth, their vision transcends mere pines and drifting clouds.

"Chess Summit" depicts mist-shrouded cliffs and stone platforms, noting that immortal chess differs from the Four Elders of Shangshan (legendary recluses)—their moves instead resonate with the profound numerology of the River Chart (ancient mystical diagram).

"Eye-Cleansing Pool" speaks of adepts who've contemplated mountains and wilds; though their robes are worn, no worldly dust clings. A half-gourd of celestial water suffices to wash away kalpic turbidity—a metaphor for the Dao's purifying power.

The concluding Qinyuanchun·Ascending to Truth expounds Daoist cosmology: Heaven-Earth began in the primordial Wuji state before differentiation. As Yin-Yang parted and Qian-Kun stabilized, the eternal True Sovereign (Dao) presides over cyclical movement and stillness. That single point of spiritual luminosity illuminates all realms, perfectly fused beyond wisdom or folly. Severing worldly ties, the mind becomes a moonlit jade pool reflecting infinity. Through the long night, maintaining a heart like the "ice-jar" (symbol of pristine clarity) embodies the Dao's ultimate truth.

The Jade Nectar (referring to the saliva produced during cultivation) and the pure state of Su Zheng (representing the refined state of practice) merge the True Lead (the body's original essence) into the True Mercury (the mind's spirit), much like the interaction between the Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) trigrams. The Fire Dragon (heart fire) and Water Tiger (kidney water) harmonize, their interplay resembling the rhythmic bellows of breath. When the White Snow (lung qi) condenses and the Yellow Sprout (genuine qi in the Dantian) fills the alchemical cauldron, thunderous vibrations shake Mount Kunlun (the crown of the head), resonating through the Great Void (the cosmos). Once the practice is perfected and the Sacred Embryo fully formed, the spirit (Shen) ascends to the celestial realms.

Shuidiao Getou · Dharma Ocean Chapter speaks of the primordial state—formless and imageless—where the original face before one's parents' birth manifests alone. This eternal radiance is the source of spiritual nature. Even when external senses are withdrawn, the internal Yin-Yang cycles naturally, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) reverse and intertwine, gathering Qi to nourish the Three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers). When the "killing mechanism" (a transformative moment in practice) activates, thunder and lightning shake the boundless void. This is neither ordinary thought nor fixed doctrine, nor is it the stillness of meditation. Its profound and subtle mysteries cannot be bought with gold, nor are they lightly transmitted. Do not cling to talismans or diagrams—directly grasp the Mysterious Pass (the crucial point of cultivation), for the ancestral transmission lies in the completeness of one's own spirit and Qi. Even gravel and wild grass, in the hands of an enlightened one, can aid liberation.

Feng Ru Song · Inquiry on Learning depicts a decade of diligent study by lamplight, the passage of seasons hastening age. How often has the rhino-horn brush been set aside by the narrow window? Tattered scrolls and old texts are thoroughly read, yet when plum blossoms burst defiantly amid wind and snow, how many grasp their true essence? Mastering ten thousand volumes of classics suffices to weave heaven and earth; the scholar's ambition embraces all phenomena. Between the Celestial Root (cosmic origin) and the Moon's Abyss (lunar essence), the path of literature conceals countless detours. Only by quieting restless thoughts and maintaining clarity can one, leaning on a staff of goosefoot, encounter the "Yang Spring" (the realm of enlightenment) everywhere.

Wu Su Nian · Contemplation Chapter describes a hermit dwelling beneath Mount Zhuhu amid clouds and pines, where the distinction between movement and stillness fades. Observing worldly rise and fall as fleeting foam and duckweed, only the emerald bamboo, golden flowers, and flowing streams embody natural harmony. How many comprehend this state? When the mind becomes lucid and still, matter and emptiness interpenetrate. Sky and cloud shadows drift over the mirror-like lake; spring departs, autumn arrives, yet the heart remains unattached, entrusted only to wild cranes and idle fish. When seas broaden, rivers calm, moonlight glows, and breezes soften, ethereal celestial music faintly echoes—then is the time to tread the waves and chant boldly toward the firmament.

Shuidiao Getou · Inner Work Chapter explains: The supreme Dao cannot be spoken; only silent adherence to the "Regulated Center" (Dantian) suffices. In the depths of mystery and trance, the Primordial Qi (cosmic energy) circulates through the Original Palace (Dantian). Gathering the Gold Essence (lung qi) and Wood Liquor (liver qi), the True Earth (spleen intention) captures Lead and Mercury (essence, qi, and spirit), swiftly manifesting miraculous effects. Measuring hexagrams and stirring the bellows (breath), thunder rumbles and wind arises—Kan and Li invert, heart fire plunging into the kidney sea to forge True Emptiness. The Supreme Unity's (Taiyi) hidden truth condenses into a pearl within the Jade Cauldron (Dantian), where spirit and qi fuse into profound wonder. Thus begins the immortal path to Penglai, eternally wandering the Primordial Vastness.

Man Ting Fang · Mountain Dwelling Chapter portrays hermitage life as a courtyard brimming with fragrance, metaphorically symbolizing the cultivation state—when body and mind unite with nature, a single inch of space becomes a grotto-heaven.

This passage describes the life of a recluse: he breaks his cane and seeks a thatched hut amidst mountains and waters. Though the surroundings are simple (remaining streams and broken hills), he digs ponds and plants trees, allowing plums and bamboos to grow freely. Fragrant grasses and idle flowers blanket the ground, while moss-covered paths lead to his wooden gate, with few visitors. In seasons of spring breeze and autumn moon, accompanied by pines and chrysanthemums, he listens to babbling streams and lives contentedly with humble bamboo utensils (simple gourd dippers), indifferent to honor or disgrace. He befriends woodcutters and fishermen, sharing dawn and dusk with apes and birds of the forest. Sweeping away worldly afflictions (emotional dust and karmic defilements), he dons his robe and sits quietly to cultivate Neidan (internal alchemy). In leisurely solitude, only a lone zither and solitary crane keep him company—even frost and dew cannot wither his countenance.

"Slow Song of Su Wu" reflects on spiritual realization: After years contemplating illusion and truth (awakening to illusion and seeking truth), he vows to transcend the cycle of life and death. On snowy nights, he reads scriptures, studying the wisdom of ancient sages, discovering that the wonders of the Dao (Daoist mysteries) and Chan (Zen) appear different (myriad distinctions) yet share the same root (one origin)—their essence needs no forced division. This unimpeded realm of true emptiness (true void) remains untouched by the moon’s waxing and waning. How laughable it is that on bamboo chairs and rush cushions (simple meditation mats), by pine-framed windows and osmanthus-shaded eaves, one can attain purity in a single step. Far from the dusty world, he companions with water and clouds, resting loftily amid the snowstorms of his homeland. The fleeting sights of fine steeds in sable coats, emerald sleeves and crimson conches vanish like passing clouds. When turning back to shore, where light filters through curtains, his heart-moon shines full in the sky of innate nature.

"River All Red" is a life retrospective: Memories of youthful haunts now lie changed beyond recognition. Watching tides rise and fall, spring cities in splendor, yet loathing dusk in song-filled towers and resenting drunkenness amid pipes and strings. Before his eyes, splendor and decline alternate; the passage of time weighs heavy with sorrow. Awakening from dreams, worldly troubles dissolve, leaving only empty vigilance. He sighs by orchid boats (fragrant oars) and reed pavilions where waters chill and mists linger, his heart’s desires unfulfilled by rivers and lakes. Only when the moon at heaven’s core mirrors the clear pool does he see through the sorrows and joys of floating life, his heart still as untroubled waters.

"Libation to the River Moon" recounts riverside observations: Once following fishing boats (angling skiffs) to admire autumn waves, he wandered the vast expanse of lakes and rivers. Beyond white duckweed shores, dew turned cold; reeds and maple leaves scattered. At midnight, he listened to tidal booms; at sky’s zenith, he gazed at the moon, further stirred by plum-blossom horns. Pushing open the awning (lifting the canopy) to seek old friends, he found desolation everywhere. Fishing villages in sunset glow, geese returning past city walls—amid mist and rain, he drank to blossoms, often dreaming of his garden’s wooded valleys. Winds sweeping ruined pagodas, spring fading in weeping willows, he finally withdrew beneath the grove, shaking his robes to gaze at the boundless expanse.

"Gazing at Plum Blossoms" uses the flower to symbolize nobility: Severing worldly ties like plum blossoms defying snow, he stands alone beyond the clamor.

In this tumultuous world, worldly attachments are boundless. How many truly understand the illusory nature of karmic ties? The grievances and affections forged through countless kalpas, the bonds woven over a thousand lifetimes—all are as fragile as a wisp of cloud. What we call love and loyalty is but emptiness, yet people still revel in cunning schemes, and playing the hero only piles up karmic obstacles (a Buddhist term referring to hindrances formed by negative karma).

Exhausting themselves with deceit and intrigue, they chase after fame and fortune in a whirlwind of right and wrong. The Creator (the Dao of Heaven) is impartial—it is humans who have clouded their own hearts (Lingtai, the spiritual platform, refers to the mind). Drifting in the sea of suffering is like dwelling in a house aflame. Better to cast it all aside, retreat to the mountains and wild waters, sever all worldly traces, and comprehend the true meaning amidst the bright moon and gentle breeze.

If one awakens to their original mind, they will realize that true nature (one's innate essence) is inherently empty yet luminous, pervading the void without obstruction. It is only obscured by desires and worldly ties, like a pearl of the heart-mind sunk into the abyss. Yet the spiritual light (the radiance of original nature) never fades; that glimmer is not far away. Sweep away the floating clouds of delusion, and no phenomenon can hinder you—then you will behold the Heart of Heaven (the cosmic origin).

Wildflowers and singing birds carry the essence of spring; watch as the vast sea transforms into mulberry fields time and again. The cycles of prosperity and decline are but natural laws—why remain trapped in mountains of sorrow and oceans of bitterness? In a sudden awakening, one realizes the profound mystery pervading all of creation. Sitting quietly by pines and bamboo, contemplate the true source (the origin of truth) in stillness. At the crossroads of Caoxi (the ancestral seat of Chan Buddhism), there is no shadowy tree—free from attachment to dharma or meditation. Only wait for the single Yang (the first stirring of Yang energy at the winter solstice) to rise from the Kan trigram (one of the Eight Trigrams), its radiance surging like waves.

Who can grasp the mystery of drinking the "knife and spoon" (a Neidan term referring to harmonizing Yin and Yang) in stillness? Cast aside vanity and worry—see without looking, hear without listening, speak without disputing. Such carefree wandering in destitution is truly enviable, allowing me to indulge in idleness deep within the white clouds. Keeping company with cold springs and withered trees, faintly leading to the Gourd Heaven (a Daoist celestial realm).

The lyrics of Wind Through the Pines say:

In the riverside town, drunken illness spoils delight,

Thinning hair startled by the morning hairpin.

Summer's heat fades, autumn's light already fills the land,

Far from red dust, I watch riders return beneath the slanting sun.

The orchid-curtained bed still holds last night's clear frost,

Spring robes yet damp with lingering dew.

The Qinhuai River's tide lies calm and jade-green,

Returning swallows murmur softly.

White clouds drape like curtains, chill arriving early—

Who still asks for letters borne by wild geese or fish?

Morning or evening, I'll row my boat home,

Where yellow flowers and white wine await me south of the village.