《峴泉集》Vol. 2

The second volume of Xianquan Ji records the discourse of Celestial Master Zhang Yuchu (leader of the Zhengyi Orthodox Unity tradition of Daoism) on the life of Laozi and the origins of Daoism. The text begins by tracing the origin of the Dao (the Way), which existed long before the formation of heaven and earth. The supreme deity later known as Taishang Laojun (Lord Lao the Most High) first manifested as Guangchengzi during the era of the Yellow Emperor. The Yellow Emperor journeyed specifically to Mount Kongtong to seek the Dao from him, and later succeeded in forging the tripod and refining the elixir, achieving ascension.

Historical records state that Laozi was born in the late Shang dynasty and served as the Pillar Archivist (chief librarian) of the Zhou court, later becoming the Guardian Archivist (keeper of records), holding these positions for over eighty years. Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian notes that he lived for more than two hundred years and was known as the "Reclusive Sage," posthumously honored with the name "Dan." Confucius once sought his counsel on rites during a visit to the Zhou capital. After the decline of the Zhou dynasty, Laozi journeyed west to the state of Qin. At the Hangu Pass, the border official Yin Xi, having observed celestial omens foretelling his arrival, compelled him to compose a text. Thus, Laozi left behind the two-part Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) for posterity.

There are multiple accounts of Laozi’s origins: some records state his surname was Zhou, with his father Li Qian marrying a woman named Yingfu from the Yishou clan, giving birth to Li Er (courtesy name Boyang). Another version claims the Li lineage descended from the Gaoyang clan, with an ancestor named Tingjian serving as Dali (chief judge) under Emperor Yao, adopting the official title as his surname. Another legend tells of Li Zheng’s wife, who fled the persecution of King Zhou of Shang and survived by eating wild fruits, thus changing her surname to Li. Yet another account describes the Daoist Li Lingfei marrying a woman of the Yin clan and fathering Laozi, naming him Hongyuan, with the courtesy name Yaoling. Laozi also bore many titles—some called him Boyang, Laolaizi, or Grand Historian Dan.

These seemingly contradictory accounts are in fact akin to the era of the Three Sovereigns before the Yellow Emperor, where the Great Dao (Da Dao) already existed but manifested through different incarnations across generations. Sacred beings transcend the constraints of time and space—centuries are but an instant to them—and thus cannot be measured by ordinary reasoning. Laozi advocated using "namelessness" to perceive the origin of heaven and earth and "desirelessness" to comprehend the profound mysteries. He promoted governance through non-action (Wuwei) and teaching without words, guiding the people back to their innate simplicity. In an age when Zhou dynasty rites had collapsed, how could one possibly convey the true essence of the Dao by further indulging worldly desires and employing deliberate teachings on fame and profit to an already superficial society?

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist thought and its historical influence, which can be understood through several layers of meaning:

What is bent may appear straight; what is hollow may hold water; what is worn may be renewed. The true Dao (the Way, referring to the cosmic origin and natural order) is guarded by the "Uncarved Block" (the pristine state of original simplicity), transcending worldly concepts of "the Way" and "benevolence and righteousness." This philosophy revived after the tyranny of the Qin dynasty, and the early Han rulers governed through quietude and wuwei (non-action), achieving results as refreshing as water quenching heat. During this period, the Huang-Lao school (the teachings attributed to the Yellow Emperor and Laozi) was held in higher esteem than the Confucian Six Classics.

The Dao revered by Laozi is formless and empty, advocating alignment with nature's transformations rather than forceful intervention—hence his writings are subtle and profound. Later rulers applied Daoist principles to statecraft, preserving its essence in texts like the Celestial Scripture and Cavern Registers, while developing cultivation methods such as the Numinous Texts and Secret Instructions. Practiced inwardly, it leads to immortality; applied outwardly, it benefits all beings—thus harmonizing inner cultivation with worldly service. It is inappropriate, as some scholars do, to conflate Laozi's thought with that of Zhuangzi or Liezi, much less to mix it with Shen Buhai and Han Fei's legalist doctrines, or to dismiss it as empty mysticism.

In the 15th year of the Hongwu reign, Emperor Taizu of the Ming dynasty established the Daoist Registry (the administrative office overseeing Daoism) and appointed the virtuous Cao Ximing as its head. Cao compiled and printed Daoist texts for dissemination, requesting the author to compose this preface. Though humbly claiming inadequacy, the author notes that the sage Laozi's profound Dao, though ineffable, manifests in celestial movements, yin-yang transformations, and the cycles of all things. The subtlest truths often reveal themselves through the most visible phenomena—just as the landscape of Dragon-Tiger Mountain (a sacred Daoist site) embodies hidden mysteries.

This passage elucidates the origins and enduring value of Daoist transmission. The essential meaning is this: Although the true Dao (the Way) may appear intangible and elusive (xuanmo), it exists eternally like the principles of heaven. Though invisible and untouchable, it contains within it the most subtle and profound signs. The teachings of our Supreme Lord Lao (the highest deity in Daoism) have been applied in the world since the eras of the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan), Emperor Wen, and Emperor Jing of Han, demonstrating the efficacy of the philosophy of clarity, stillness, and wuwei (non-action).

Some have compared Daoist philosophy to the legalist theories of Shen Buhai and Han Fei, while others have criticized it as strange and eccentric occultism, even denouncing it as heterodoxy. Yet Sima Qian noted in the Records of the Grand Historian that Daoist thought aligns with the patterns of nature ("moving in harmony with the formless") and nourishes all things. The transmission of Daoism has existed since antiquity, with figures such as Guan Yinzi, Zhuangzi, and Liezi expounding its profound meanings. Indeed, its emphasis on gentleness, humility, and yielding was capable of remedying the decline of the Zhou dynasty and establishing a model for the world.

By the Warring States period and later, figures such as Mao Ying (Lord Mao) of the Qin dynasty, the Celestial Master Zhang Daoling (our ancestral Celestial Master) of the Han, and Xu Xun and Ge Xuan of the Three Kingdoms period became particularly renowned. Zhang Daoling, endowed with extraordinary gifts, received directly from Lord Lao the transmission of the Three Caverns scriptures (the canonical collection of Daoist texts), fulu (talismans and registers), and esoteric methods, bringing teachings once hidden in the Nine Heavens down to the human realm. Later, he refined the Golden Elixir and cultivated Daoist practice in Sichuan and at Longhu Mountain (Dragon-Tiger Mountain) in Jiangxi, which thus became one of the most celebrated sacred sites of Daoism, alongside Mount Sanmao and Mount Gezao.

Our Zhang lineage, tracing back to the Marquis of Liu, Zhang Liang, has now passed through forty-eight generations—a distinction unmatched by the other two mountains. Through the dynasties of Wei, Jin, Tang, and Song, it has been honored and enfeoffed by imperial courts. The region boasts magnificent mountains and rivers, splendid temples, and an unbroken succession of outstanding figures. Miraculous traces of immortals appear without end, the depth of its Daoist methods is profound, and its renown is illustrious. Over the centuries, admirers have praised it in poetry and prose or inscribed its legacy in stone. Now, after more than two thousand years of transmission, its successors flourish ever more, and its practitioners grow ever more numerous. Is this not because the profound and far-reaching merit of our ancestors—relieving suffering, aiding the people, dispelling calamities, and resolving misfortunes—has silently protected the populace and supported the civilizing influence of kings and sages, ensuring the Daoist lineage's enduring and illustrious continuity? Or perhaps it is also due to the uniquely potent spiritual energy (qi) of these mountains and rivers, which nurtures and sustains those who cultivate the Dao.

This passage serves as the preface to The Xiànquán Collection, outlining the compilation background and significance of this Daoist scripture. In the spring of the second year of the Huangqing era (1313 CE) during the Yuan dynasty, Master Wu, the heir of the Xuanjiao (a Daoist lineage), edited this work into three volumes and presented it to the imperial court. Prominent scholars of the time, Yuan Wenqing and Cheng Wenxian, composed prefaces for it.

The author recounts how his ancestors—his great-grandfather Liu and grandfather Taixuan—were highly esteemed by the court, bringing the family unparalleled honor. By the time of his father, Master Chongxu, and his own generation, they continued to receive imperial favor across two dynasties, with temple buildings being renovated. Reflecting on the overly concise old mountain chronicles, the author argues that in prosperous times, thorough research should be conducted to compile more comprehensive records. Otherwise, these treasures would remain like pearls and jade submerged in deep pools, undiscovered.

Though the author modestly claims limited knowledge, with the guidance of lecturer Li Tangzhen (Daoist name Qingxiu) and the assistance of his talented younger brother Yuqing, the original three volumes were expanded to ten. A benevolent patron offered to fund the printing, prompting the author to write this preface.

The author asserts that the Dao (the Way) operates in harmony with heaven and earth, manifesting in human affairs as brilliance and expansiveness. By steadfastly cultivating the Dao, one can inherit the achievements of predecessors and benefit future generations, just as mountains and rivers endure eternally. Though historical records may be incomplete due to changing times, those who admire the legacy of ancient sages will still find value in this work.

The concluding section on the "Lineage of the Han Celestial Masters (Tianshi)" elucidates ideas from the Book of Changes: illuminating the Dao's principles leads to communion with the divine and attainment of Virtue (De). What fills heaven and earth, unchanging through time, is solely the Dao. Those who clarify its principles naturally reveal miraculous efficacy, while the virtuous adapt to all transformations and assist the spirits. This constitutes what is called "participating in the transformative processes of heaven and earth."

Sima Qian once evaluated Daoist philosophy: it advocates tranquility and wuwei (non-action), with pure and focused spirit, acting in accordance with natural laws. Daoists can perceive the essence of all things, adapt themselves to the changes of the times, and respond to the transformations of phenomena. They establish norms and handle affairs within the mundane world without inappropriate arrangements—truly profound wisdom.

The Supreme Venerable Sovereign (the highest deity in Daoism) was born during the Shang dynasty and later served as the Archivist of the Zhou dynasty (equivalent to the head of the national library). Laozi (an incarnation of the Supreme Venerable Sovereign) also transmitted the Dao in the world in mysterious ways as the Historian of the Pillar, becoming the progenitor of the Mysterious Gate of Daoism. Our patriarch, Celestial Master Zhang (Zhang Daoling), inherited the legacy of the Marquis of Liu, Zhang Liang, and personally received the Daoist teachings transmitted by the Supreme Venerable Sovereign. From then on, the secret scriptures and arcane texts of immortality descended into the human realm.

Celestial Master Zhang achieved immortality through his merits of subduing demons and refining the elixir of immortality, passing down the ritual sword and seal through generations—a lineage that has endured for fifteen hundred years. Despite the vicissitudes of time, the Daoist tradition has never been interrupted. Is this not clear proof that the teachings of tranquility and wuwei, along with their miraculous efficacy, align with the Dao of Heaven and assist in the transformation and nourishment of all things? Even today, traces of their spiritual power remain in famous mountains and sacred sites, demonstrating the enduring blessings and glory of their descendants, who have subtly aided dynastic rule and bestowed grace upon the people.

Since the end of the Han dynasty, Daoists dwelling in the Dragon-Tiger Mountains have secluded themselves in the mountains to cultivate longevity. By the early Song dynasty, their spiritual attainments gradually became renowned. During the Daguan and Chongning eras (reign periods of Emperor Huizong of the Northern Song), the True Lord Xujing emerged with extraordinary mastery of qi (vital energy) and bodily refinement, elevating the prestige of the Daoist tradition to match that of the ancients. Later, the most illustrious figures were my great-grandfather, Lord Weishan, and my grandfather, Lord Taixuan, whose rituals for dispelling calamities and invoking blessings were remarkably efficacious, earning them the highest imperial favor. Their miraculous signs and illustrious deeds commanded reverence even from high-ranking officials—achievements that predecessors could hardly surpass.

By the time of my father, Lord Chongxu, the Sacred Dynasty had unified the realm. His lofty status and illustrious reputation shone brilliantly, with enduring glory surpassing even that of former times. As descendants of divine beings, this was only fitting. As for myself, though of modest talent, I have inherited my ancestors’ legacy with trepidation, fearing I might disgrace our lineage. Despite generations of imperial grace, I remain deeply apprehensive. Concerned that our family’s history might not be fully revealed to the world, my late father entrusted me with our ancestral texts and requested the eminent Daoist Tongxu to seek a preface from the Grand Academician Song Lian. However, the compilation and publication have yet to be completed.

This passage primarily discusses two key aspects: the transmission of Daoist scriptures and the genealogical research of the Zhang family lineage.

Regarding scriptural transmission, the author observes that many inherited texts from predecessors contain excessive and outdated content, requiring careful editing and revision before reprinting to properly carry forward their original intent. He laments that all things in the world follow cycles of prosperity and decline, and few are truly capable of bridging past traditions with future developments. Nowadays, many chase empty fame and material gain; unless one diligently studies the teachings and upholds virtue (De), how can one be worthy of inheriting the legacy of the ancients? Those who received authentic transmission from Lord Lao (the highest Daoist deity) did so because of their profound virtue and great achievements, ensuring the continuity of the Daoist lineage. This transmission depends on individuals—successors must constantly strive to uphold this tradition.

The second part provides a detailed investigation into the origins of the Zhang family. In ancient times, surnames often derived from the descendants of sages or were adopted from state names. The Zhang lineage traces back to the descendants of the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan), whose fifth son, Hui, invented the bow and arrow and oversaw sacrifices to the Fox Star (an ancient constellation), earning him the surname Zhang. Notable historical figures bearing this name include: Zhang Muzi of the Shang Dynasty, Zhang Guo (a precursor to the immortal Zhang Guolao) during Emperor Yao’s reign, the Zhou court official Zhang Zhong under King Xuan, and the Jin state minister Zhang Hou. By the Warring States period, the Zhang family held the position of Grand Historian in Han for five consecutive generations (Sima Qian believed they were originally Han nobility). After Han’s fall, Zhang Liang, seeking revenge against Qin for destroying Han, once concealed his identity by changing his surname. Existing genealogical records consider Zhang Liang the founding ancestor, with earlier lineages lost to history. The author supplements this research by noting that Zhang Liang, originally from Fengyi in Pei County, aided Liu Bang in unifying the empire and was enfeoffed as a marquis, with his descendants achieving prominence for seven generations. By the Tang Dynasty, the Zhang lineage had branched into over a dozen notable clans, including those of Anding, Fanyang, Taiyuan, and Nanyang.

The text emphasizes that ancient institutions once managed genealogical records, but later shifted to family-compiled genealogies to clarify generational order and distinguish kinship ties. This practice ensures descendants understand the importance of honoring ancestors—a matter of great significance for noble-minded individuals.

This passage recounts the illustrious history of the Zhang family lineage that produced Daoism's founder, Zhang Daoling (the Han Dynasty Celestial Master [Tianshi]). Among forty-three prominent noble families from regions like Pingyuan and Jingzhao, the Zhang clan produced seventeen chancellors and eight marquises. By the tenth generation, the family gave birth to Zhang Daoling, a pivotal figure in Daoism.

Zhang Daoling's ancestors originally migrated from Pei County to Hangzhou. During their journey through Dantu County, Zhenjiang, they encountered temples commemorating Zhang Liang (Marquis of Liu), while Changzhou bore immortal traces at a site called Zhanggong Cave—evidence of the family's early veneration. Zhang Daoling himself was born at Tianmu Mountain in Hangzhou, later becoming Daoism's foundational patriarch. Skilled in elixir refinement (Waidan) and exorcism, he traveled through Wu and Shu regions spreading Daoist teachings before settling at Longhu Mountain in Jiangxi, where he established the Celestial Master tradition (Tianshi Dao).

From Zhang Daoling onward, twenty-eight generations resided at Longhu Mountain. Including earlier undocumented generations, this lineage spans at least fifty successive generations. Though some branches dispersed to places like Shisun in Fujian or Shangrao in Jiangxi, the complete genealogy remains difficult to reconstruct.

The author reflects how many families fabricate genealogies to claim noble connections, often forcibly associating themselves with historical elites. In contrast, the Zhang lineage—descendants of divine beings—maintained prominence for over a millennium, yet their achievements remain underdocumented due to ancestral neglect of record-keeping. Today, the Zhang clan numbers less than one-tenth of its former size, making this glorious history all the more precious.

The text particularly emphasizes that the Zhang family's millennium-spanning prosperity was no accident, but the result of profound ancestral virtue (De) and mastery of Daoist mysteries. Such honor—attained through genuine spiritual cultivation rather than empty boasts—represents the only form of glory truly worth celebrating.

This passage consists of two main sections. The first discusses the importance of compiling genealogical records, while the second offers commentary on the sayings of the 30th Celestial Master (Tianshi), Xu Jing Zhenjun.

Regarding genealogy compilation, it states: All things in the world follow cycles of prosperity and decline, making it all the more crucial to preserve our familial history. Though my abilities are limited, I constantly worry about the potential rupture in our lineage that would leave descendants unaware of their roots. The principle of genealogy compilation is to record close branches in detail while summarizing distant ones, allowing future generations to understand the complete picture through cross-referencing. Descendants should remember their ancestors' virtues, strive to bring honor to the family, and prevent the decline of our traditions. As Prime Minister Han Qi of the Song Dynasty remarked, meticulous genealogy compilation and remembrance of ancestral glory constitute essential aspects of scholarship. The ancient practice of establishing genealogical systems to trace origins indeed carries profound significance.

The second section evaluates Xu Jing Zhenjun's teachings: Among all things between heaven and earth, it is humans who gather the spiritual Qi (vital energy) of mountains and rivers. When people cultivate their nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), inner refinement inevitably manifests outwardly. Even the Lao-Zhuang philosophy advocating "discarding physical form and abandoning cleverness," while rejecting external forms, still relies on language to transmit its teachings. This demonstrates that even transcendent Daoist practitioners cannot completely negate the role of language. However, their words resemble drifting clouds in the vast void or gentle ripples on still water—utterly natural and without artifice, standing in stark contrast to Confucian literati's expressions of exuberance in success or lament in failure. Endowed with innate spiritual wisdom, Xu Jing Zhenjun emerged during the Daoist golden age of Emperor Huizong's Chongning and Jingkang eras, sharing the era with accomplished adepts like Xu Shenweng, Wang Wenqing, and Lin Lingsu. Those who truly attain immortality and unite with the Dao (Tian Dao) naturally require no words to prove their realization.

This passage primarily elucidates the spiritual states attained by Daoist practitioners through cultivation, and the profound influence their words and deeds have had on later generations. The teachings left by "Perfected Lords" (an honorific title for realized Daoist masters) and their writings that refine human nature all serve to awaken worldly people and illuminate the path through confusion.

Those who have truly realized the Dao (the Way) have spirits transcending the primordial chaos of creation, their bodies and minds shedding worldly impurities like a cicada molting its shell, achieving flawless inner purity. Practitioners from all directions recite the Perfected Lords' teachings, though unfortunately the complete texts have been lost over time. Some have re-carved these scriptures in famous mountains, hoping more cultivators could grasp the profound meaning behind the words—to comprehend the mysteries of fire talismans (a term in Neidan/internal alchemy) and penetrate the arcane symbolism of lead and mercury (representing Yin-Yang in alchemical practice).

When cultivation reaches an advanced stage, one enters the vast, boundless, and serene realm of Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Amidst towering peaks and ancient forests, chanting ethereal verses under clear winds and bright moonlight in harmony with mountain springs and rocks, one may welcome the descent of immortals (symbolized by rainbow banners and jade pendants, emblems of celestial retinues). Such a state is truly comparable to the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi.

The latter part uses natural phenomena as metaphors, pointing out that people often only see the superficial cycles of flourishing and decay in things, failing to grasp their original source. The human heart-mind is the same—though innate goodness exists in our nature, it becomes obscured by material desires and selfish emotions, just as plants inevitably undergo seasonal changes. Only by breaking through these obscurations and eliminating selfish cravings can one return to inherent goodness. Like quietly observing all things from a serene pavilion, one may then realize the eternal truth beyond appearances.

The fundamental practice of cultivating the Dao lies in upholding benevolence and righteousness while strictly observing ritual propriety, thereby maintaining inner equilibrium and harmony. By returning to one's original heavenly nature, one attains that state of serene contentment—like the inherent virtue contained within a fruit, becoming one with oneself. Scholars establish themselves in the world and bring honor to their families not by deliberately pursuing external achievements to attain understanding, for focusing solely on such matters does not constitute true learning.

Poyang (modern-day Poyang, Jiangxi) was among the most prosperous prefectures in Jiangxi, abundant in resources and bustling with merchants. During the Five Dynasties period, virtuous scholars and prominent clans flourished there, with the Zhou family being the most illustrious. By the Yuan dynasty, Zhou Nanweng, the Sizhi (an official title) of the Jixianyuan, became renowned for his scholarship and retired to the Hutian region. Amidst its clear waters and lush mountains, he built the "Serene Pavilion," likely drawing inspiration from the poetry of the Jin dynasty recluse Tao Yuanming. Soon after, he entered court service, an event commemorated in writings by the scholar-officials of his time.

Both Nanweng and later Bogong, who rose to the position of Left Assistant Director of the Secretariat, achieved high status and brought prosperity to their lineage. Zhou Kefu, the Langzhong (a mid-level official), and his brothers faithfully upheld their ancestral teachings. Though the pavilion was destroyed during the turmoil at the end of the Yuan dynasty, they carefully preserved their forebears' relics. My deep friendship with Kefu led him to entrust me with composing a preface for these treasured documents. Their elegant prose reveals that even during Nanweng's illustrious career, he retained the same "serene" mindset from his days before entering government service. While he cherished his hometown's landscapes, his sentiments differed from Tao Yuanming's recluse ideals, carrying instead a sense of duty to perpetuate his family's legacy.

The rise and fall of scenes often mirror human fortunes, yet all things are governed by the principles of heaven and the fluctuations of Qi. The enduring continuity of a family lineage hinges on the profound accumulation of virtuous De (Virtue/Power). Among the prominent scholar clans that rivaled the Zhous during the Yuan dynasty's zenith, few remain today. That Kefu could inherit his family's heritage and compile these documents for posterity demonstrates his intent to show that true "serenity" lies in inner cultivation. Our Zhang family has maintained a three-generation friendship with the Zhous—how could I decline such a request? May future descendants cherish this spiritual inheritance, understanding that the state of serenity transcends external honor or disgrace and can only be attained through utmost benevolence and virtuous De.

This passage traces the development of Daoist thought and the essence of internal and external alchemical cultivation. Following the rise of Huang-Lao teachings (the doctrines of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi), ancient rulers sought wisdom from Guangchengzi (a legendary immortal) at Mount Kongtong. These teachings were neither esoteric nor obscure, but rather straightforward and practical for application. By the time of King Mu of Zhou, thatched pavilions were built to host reclusive scholars. Later thinkers like Guan Yinzi, Zhuangzi, and Liezi during the Warring States period, though expressing diverse viewpoints, all shared the same foundational lineage.

The core of Daoist scriptures lies in texts like the Three Caverns (Dongzhen/Dongxuan/Dongshen) and Nine Heavens classifications, while their worldly application manifests as the "inner sage and outer king" approach—exemplified by figures like Master Gai and Chancellor Cao Can who governed through clarity, stillness, and wuwei (non-action). The essence of Daoist cultivation involves returning "being" to "non-being," transforming substance back to emptiness, harmonizing with the natural flow of primordial Qi, stabilizing one's foundation, and returning to the origin. This unifies nature (xing) and life (ming), preserves innate authenticity, and ultimately transcends to the realm of "non-being."

The obsession with occult arts by Emperor Qin Shi Huang and Emperor Wu of Han led to confusion in alchemical doctrines. Later external alchemy (Waidan) traditions, beginning with texts like the Golden-Blue Dragon-Tiger Scripture and Supreme Elder's Stone Wall Verses, culminated in Wei Boyang's Han-era Zhouyi Cantong Qi (The Kinship of the Three), which employed Yijing theory to elucidate alchemy. It meticulously detailed the principles of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the mysteries of yin-yang transformation, and the subtle timing of firing processes. Some used metaphors of metals, minerals, and herbs to represent the substance-function relationship in cultivation, while others concealed profound truths through terms like "infant and maiden" or "dragon and tiger." However, later followers reduced these teachings to literal interpretations of wood and stone, obscuring their true meaning and misleading generations. This not only distorted the transmission of both internal (Neidan) and external alchemy but also caused the uninitiated to mistake alchemy as mere mineral processing—neglecting the essence of mind-body cultivation and the principles of xing-ming (nature-life). Fabricating bizarre theories to judge practitioners, these distortions confused contemporaries and poisoned later generations.

In truth, external alchemy's authentic transmission involved refining the essences of the Five Metals and Eight Minerals according to firing cycles and yin-yang principles—a process fundamentally aligned with the internal alchemical methods of Qi circulation and transformation. The operative principles of inner and outer alchemy are ultimately one. The human body, being yin in nature, is formed through the condensation of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), requiring refinement through mineral essences and the radiance of sun and moon.

When cultivation reaches the realm of spiritual subtlety, one may achieve weightless ascension and aerial levitation. This is why we often find remnants of alchemical furnaces and medicine stoves left by ancient practitioners among famous mountains and rivers. Eminent Daoist patriarchs like Celestial Master Zhang (Zhang Daoling, founder of the Five Pecks of Rice tradition in the Eastern Han), Xu Xun (renowned Jin dynasty master), and Ge Xuan (famous Three Kingdoms alchemist) left particularly celebrated legacies in the mortal world. Setting aside the authentic transmissions from these two patriarchs, all other claims are mere delusions.

In the late Yuan dynasty, certain individuals with unwholesome intentions competed to propagate heterodox teachings, promoting debased sexual practices under the guise of "harvesting yin to supplement yang." They even plagiarized the words of earlier enlightened masters to legitimize their claims, deceiving wealthy merchants of their time. Those who sought immortality solely for sensual indulgence inevitably met with fatal consequences. As for the originators of these heresies—the retribution awaiting them is beyond dreadful! I have long wished to refute these fallacies, though my influence remains limited.

Others treat methods like consuming herbal concoctions, breathing mist, or practicing massage and daoyin exercises as gateways to cultivation. While these may preserve health and prolong life, attempting to attain Dao-realization through them alone is like climbing a tree to catch fish or carrying firewood to extinguish flames—fundamentally, they remain heterodox practices.

Among the currently circulating Northern and Southern schools, the Quanzhen tradition venerates Master Wang Chongyang as its patriarch, while the Southern school honors Master Zhang Ziyang. Master Zhang's writings display literary brilliance yet profound obscurity, whereas Master Wang's works are straightforward and concise. The Zhang Ziyang lineage emphasizes the dual cultivation of internal and external practice for accomplishment, while the Wang Chongyang lineage focuses more on internal refinement. However, the true transmission's profound mysteries require diligent study—they cannot be grasped through texts alone.

Since inheriting this Daoist lineage, I have been deeply honored by the Emperor's favor and constant encouragement to advance Daoist scholarship. Over the past decade, I have ceaselessly engaged in discussions and exchanges with fellow practitioners across regions, never permitting the slightest negligence. Yet with my dull aptitude and shallow understanding, I fear failing both the imperial grace and the weighty responsibility of propagating Daoism. Therefore, I have compiled the essential principles from classical texts and cultivation formulas I've studied daily—tracing the authentic transmissions from ancient times along their lineage, carefully examining and selecting their quintessential teachings to create this Compendium of Alchemical Essentials. This serves not only for convenient study but more importantly clarifies the fundamental principles of nature-life cultivation and the pivotal techniques of spirit-Qi refinement, presenting a unified system encompassing ten thousand methods. Through careful reading and realization, practitioners may avoid straying onto wrong paths while disregarding worldly ridicule. Thus, the transmission from Huangdi, Laozi, Zhuangzi, and Liezi may remain unbroken. Should this compendium spread widely, the Daoist tradition's blessings for future generations will soon manifest. Moreover, after prolonged mountain seclusion with unceasing refinement...

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concepts of "Shen" (spirit) and "Qi" (vital energy), along with fundamental cultivation methods.

Opening with a reference to the Book of Changes, it explains "Shen" as the mysterious, imperceptible principle governing the transformations of all things—formless yet sovereign over cosmic changes. All phenomena originate from the primordial "One Qi," which differentiates into foundational elements like Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the two polarities (Yin-Yang), the four phases, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The cyclical movement of these elemental forces (with nine as the zenith of Yang and six of Yin) constitutes the ceaseless dynamism of the universe. Here, "One" is the root of all numbers, "Qi" the mother of all phenomena, while "Shen" governs the operations of Qi.

Daoism teaches that all celestial realms emerge from the evolution of "Nine Qi" (One Qi generates Three Qi, which in turn produce Nine Qi), permeating the cosmos. Such creative mysteries cannot be captured by concrete forms, so the tradition's foundational doctrine rests on "emptiness and spontaneity" (Wuwei)—essentially the operational principles of Shen and Qi. Mastering their cultivation is to grasp the root of refining both one's innate nature and vital force.

The text highlights the Jiutian Shengshen Zhang Jing (Nine Heavens Spirit-Generating Chapter Scripture), a classic embodying the profound teachings of the Three Caverns (Dongzhen, Dongxuan, Dongshen—Daoism's three scriptural corpora) and the Nine Heavens. Its verses are no ordinary language but celestial seal-script condensed from the pure Qi of the Three Pure Realms (Jade Clarity, Upper Clarity, and Great Clarity). Each chapter corresponds to the life-origins of specific heavenly domains, fully revealing the path of cultivation: internally for self-refinement, externally for liberating the deceased. Through prescribed recitation cycles (e.g., nine repetitions with seven chants), one resonates with cosmic creation, ultimately attaining ascension in broad daylight.

The passage concludes by emphasizing that the human body inherently contains all elements of cosmic creation (ten symbolizes completion). By adhering to the Golden Elixir's (Neidan) essence and aligning with Yang's cyclical rhythm (nine as its peak number), one achieves the state of "ascending as a perfected being." Since the cosmological era of Chiming Kaihuang (Daoist cycles of kalpas), celestial officials have evaluated practitioners' attainments based on these foundational principles.

This passage comprises two distinct sections: the essential teachings of cultivation from Xianquan Ji (The Mountain Spring Collection) and the records of sacred mountains from Preface to Wuyi Mountain Chronicles. Here is my modern interpretation:

How can one not feel profound reverence for those who cultivate the Dao without progressing step by step in virtuous practice or seeking the supreme Dharma? True practitioners not only transcend calamities to attain immortality (referring to achieving transcendence through cultivation) but also ascend to higher ranks among the immortals. This is not merely about nurturing Qi (vital energy) and refining Shen (spirit) – the core methods of Daoist practice – but rather about harmonizing the celestial energies of the nine heavens with the spiritual essence of all things, unifying the three realms of heaven, earth, and humanity into a single primordial Qi. As the Daoist scriptures state: "Understand why the 'divine' is divine, but more importantly, comprehend why what 'appears non-divine' is even more wondrous." Regarding the discourse on life and death, cultivating one's original Shen can liberate souls from the underworld (referring to the realm of the dead). While this demonstrates the compassionate grace of Lord Lao (Laozi), it fundamentally depends on one's personal cultivation efforts.

This classic resonates with the teachings of Duren Jing (Scripture on Salvation), Dadong Jing (Great Cavern Scripture), and Jiuku Jing (Scripture on Relief from Suffering), forming an interconnected system. Those skilled in studying and reciting these texts can grasp profound principles through the words, gradually attaining enlightenment. The commentary by Dong Guishan of Qingyuan is lucid and insightful, serving as a true bridge between yin and yang. Some have gone so far as to carve printing blocks to widely disseminate these teachings – such dedication to benefiting the world reflects utmost sincerity.

As for the records of Wuyi Mountain: worldly geographical records often inadequately document famous mountains, great rivers, and traces of immortals. This is not due to a lack of sources but rather because scholars throughout history have avoided recording such mystical matters. Yet ancient immortals (referring to realized beings) and divine spirits are omnipresent, invariably responding to pleas for disaster relief and problem-solving. Does this not demonstrate their unseen assistance to the mortal realm? Wuyi Mountain in Jianning Prefecture is designated as the "Cavern Heaven of Ascension to Truth and Mystical Transformation" (one of Daoism's thirty-six sacred grotto-heavens). According to Jin dynasty records, a divine being once received the Heavenly Emperor's mandate to govern earthly immortals here, calling himself Lord Wuyi – hence the mountain's name. However, Liexian Zhuan (Biographies of Exemplary Immortals) by Bai Yuchan (Daoist name Ziqing) records that the Qin dynasty immortal Jian Keng once lived here in seclusion with his two sons.

(Note: The latter part of the original text concerning Wuyi Mountain is somewhat fragmented, primarily emphasizing the importance of documenting sacred mountains and presenting differing accounts of Wuyi's origins across texts. For coherence, the vernacular interpretation has appropriately consolidated these scattered references.)

During Emperor Wu of Han's reign (141-87 BCE), Mount Wuyi already hosted sacrificial rituals. The Book of Han: Treatise on Sacrifices records that Emperor Wu worshipped Lord Wuyi (the mountain deity) at Jianming Shrine, dispatching ritual officials to oversee ceremonies. Remains of Han dynasty altars persist on the mountain today. Legend holds that on the 15th day of the eighth lunar month in the second year of Qin Shi Huang's reign (245 BCE), the Heavenly Emperor, Grandmother Yuanjun (a Daoist immortal), and Master Wei (Wei Boyang, Eastern Han alchemist) hosted a celestial banquet atop Manting Peak. Using a rainbow bridge, they guided over a thousand mortals skyward in single file. The immortals addressed their human guests as "great-grandchildren," serving divine wines and delicacies amid resplendent canopies and ethereal music—until sudden wind and rain dissolved the仙境 (immortal realm).

Master Wei (Prince Qian) cultivated the Dao here in his youth. Alongside twelve companions including Zhang Zhan and Sun Chuo, he encountered the Crane-Riding Immortal and ultimately achieved ascension. From Tang to Yuan dynasties, the mountain produced numerous perfected beings. Chongyou Temple was first built during Tianbao era (742-756) of Tang, relocated to its present site by Daoist Li Xuanfu under Southern Tang, when emperors renamed it "Immortal Gathering." Song dynasty expansions followed—Emperor Taizong inscribed plaques personally, fields were granted during Xiangfu era (1008-1016), and high officials administered it during Xining period (1068-1077). As rain-prayers proved miraculously effective, successive emperors bestowed honors, a tradition continuing through Yuan times.

Famed as "Cinnabar Mountains and Emerald Waters," Mount Wuyi conceals countless grottoes and altars amidst its fantastical peaks, long harboring reclusive transcendents. Confucian masters like Zhu Xi (Posthumous Title: Duke Wen of Zhu), Cai Yuanding (Duke Wenjie of Cai), and Liu Zihui (Duke Wenjian of Liu) studied and lectured here. The Nine-Bend Stream's beauty transcends mere scenery—just as Yang Xi and Xu Mi (Shangqing patriarchs) met in Huayang Grotto-Heaven at Maoshan, or immortal Magu convened with Cai Jing and Wang Fangping at celestial altars. Though such accounts seem fantastical, even the erudite Liu Xin attested their validity, confirming Manting's celestial gathering as historical fact. Faced with such numinous landscapes, what scholar wouldn't yearn to wander these immortal realms?

(Note: The text preserves Daoist designations like Lord Wuyi, Grandmother Yuanjun, Master Wei, and Crane-Riding Immortal, alongside geographical names such as Manting Peak and Nine-Bend Stream, plus historical honorifics—all characteristic of Daoist classical records.)

This passage from the Xianquan Ji documents reflections on White Crane Temple (a Daoist monastery). The author first mentions his long-unfulfilled wish to visit this sacred site, now fulfilled through the abbot's invitation to compose a preface for its mountain chronicle.

The text traces Daoist immortals' historical origins: from the Yellow Emperor's alchemical ascension and King Mu of Zhou constructing grass towers to summon transcendents, to the flourishing immortal-seeking culture during Qin and Han dynasties. While some fangshi (esoteric practitioners) deceived rulers with extravagant claims, genuine adepts indeed cultivated in mountain seclusion. Their legacy—alchemical furnaces, medicine mortars, and sacred texts—remains hidden in caves or circulated among mortals.

Central to the account is White Crane Temple's founding in Fengcheng, Jiangxi. During the Chen dynasty's Dajian era (569-582 CE), it became the cultivation site of Immortal Gan (Gan Zhan), renowned since youth for filial piety. After becoming a disciple of Xu Xun (Xu Jingyang), a pivotal Daoist figure, he studied esoteric methods with the female immortal Mother Chen. Their three-foot sword slaying flood dragons to save communities became legendary virtue.

The passage emphasizes the core teaching of the Pure Brightness and Loyalty-Filiality tradition: this cultivation method, rooted in the "Great Central Ultimate Rectitude" principle, transcends common talismanic arts. Gan's ascension through practicing loyalty and filiality demonstrates that transcendence requires not abandoning human ethics, but realizing the Dao through virtuous living. Only after caring for his mother until her passing did he achieve celestial transformation, fulfilling both spiritual and familial duties.

Concluding with the author's spring pilgrimage to Jade Summit Palace and subsequent stormy-night visit to White Crane Temple's relics, the text radiates reverence for this sacred site and its enduring legacy of cultivating transcendence through ethical perfection.

The passage records two distinct accounts:

The first describes the Daoist temple Xiànquán Abbey. Though situated in a bustling urban area, it maintains an atmosphere of serene tranquility. Within its grounds stand two remarkable pillars, relics left by the author's ancestor—the Perfected Lord Xujing (an honorific Daoist title for enlightened masters). Nearby lies the sacred site where Perfected Lord Longtan once manifested his divine presence. The temple affairs are managed by local Daoist leader Yan and elder Xiong, who displayed several treasures: the alchemical scriptures (Danjing) left by Immortal Lord Gan, the temple chronicles documenting its history, and correspondence between the Perfected Lord and Abbot Ren. Visiting the mountain retreat during summer, the author was invited to compose a preface for the chronicles. Reflecting on how human affairs change while these precious relics endure, he considered compiling these records of immortal achievements into texts for posterity as a magnificent act of propagating the Daoist teachings.

The second section presents a preface for the poetry collection of Zhang Jiading (styled Master Danmo). The author recalls accompanying his father to visit Master Zhang during childhood, when the latter enjoyed equal scholarly reputation with esteemed contemporaries Lu Boliang and Xia Bocheng. The Zhang family had been prominent local gentry since the Song and Yuan dynasties, producing generations of officials renowned for literary talent. Master Zhang displayed exceptional intelligence from youth, possessing vast knowledge and remarkable memory, with particular brilliance in poetry composition. During late Yuan dynasty, his poetic fame rivaled that of Zhang Zhongju, Huang Junrui, and Wei Dapu, while he also studied under masters like Li Zhonggong and Zhu Fanyuan. After unsuccessful travels seeking opportunity in Yan-Zhao regions, he returned to Wu-Chu territories. Amid chaotic times when regional warlords sought his service, he consistently rejected official positions, channeling his righteous indignation into powerfully vigorous poetry that became vessels for his unyielding loyalty and frustration.

In the early Ming Dynasty, when the imperial court summoned reclusive scholars, Master Zhang (known as "Hermit Danmo") responded to the summons and entered the capital. He was later appointed to serve in Jiading Prefecture. After completing his term of office, he was permitted to retire to his hometown due to advanced age, traveling along the Wu-Yue region, Huai River, and Xiang River to return to seclusion. In his later years, he dwelled in mountain forests, teaching poetry behind closed doors, and his poetic artistry reached even greater refinement.

At that time, dozens of people in the prefecture were implicated in false accusations. Master Zhang handled the matter with impartiality, protecting the innocent—a deed for which the common people remain grateful to this day. His poetry carried forward the classical traditions of the Book of Songs (Shijing), blending styles from the Han, Wei, Six Dynasties, and High Tang periods. Its grandeur resembles the clouds and mists of the heavens, while its depth evokes the surging waves of the Yangtze—far beyond the reach of those with shallow talent. For this reason, he enjoyed great renown among nobles and literati alike.

Regrettably, most of Master Zhang’s lifetime writings were lost to war. His disciple Master Lu once collected his poems and prose for publication but passed away before completing the task, leaving the manuscripts scattered. Only a tenth of his works survive today, primarily compiled by his follower Wang Dachun. The author humbly admits he could not inherit Master Zhang’s scholarship but praises his dual excellence in virtue (De) and talent—not only was his literary brilliance extraordinary, but his noble character also established lasting merit, ensuring his reputation would never fade. The author expresses confidence that Wang Dachun will fulfill Master Lu’s unfinished mission and preserve their teacher’s literary legacy.

Master Zhang’s given name was Shuai, courtesy name Mengxun, revered by disciples as "Hermit Danmo."

A supplementary note on his friend Ni Zizheng: In youth, Ni studied under Master Xia Bai and later trained in Lu Jiuyuan’s "School of the Original Mind" (a Southern Song Neo-Confucian lineage) with Master Peng Mengyue, practicing its principles earnestly until locals recognized him as a true gentleman. Though dwelling in humble alleys and maintaining integrity despite poverty, he remained discerning in friendships and diligent in study, always comporting himself with humility. Due to chronic illness, few of his writings survive.

(Note: "Lu’s doctrine of the original mind" refers to Lu Jiuyuan’s philosophical system asserting "the mind is principle," emphasizing the illumination of innate moral awareness; "parallel blossoms vying in splendor" metaphorically describes literary brilliance like twin flowers competing in radiant display.)

This passage is the preface written by Ming dynasty Daoist priest Zhang Yu-chu for his late friend's literary collection Zonglian Manuscripts. It recounts the friend's life and scholarly character.

This friend had studied the philosophy of nature and principle (Song-Ming Neo-Confucianism) under Master Peng, with whom he exchanged ideas for over a decade. Later recommended as an instructor at Xinjian County School (present-day Nanchang, Jiangxi), he would often return to his hometown to study ancient sages' words and deeds amidst sparse woods, mountain streams, moonlit ponds and open windows. His scholarship attained a pure and unadorned realm comparable to classical worthies.

In spring 1384 (17th year of Hongwu reign), while traveling to the capital to replace his worn official robes, the friend fell ill and passed away. Four years later, his son Zhang Heng brought the manuscript to Zhang Yu-chu requesting this preface. The collection was titled Zonglian Manuscripts because the Xinjian County School occupied the former site of Yuan dynasty Chancellor Jiang Wanli's Zonglian Academy.

Zhang Yu-chu observed: Most scholars pursue learning for worldly display, but this friend was a true cultivator of self-refinement. Endowed with the numinous Qi (vital energy) of heaven-earth and mountain streams, inheriting profound family scholarship, his temperament remained pristine and noble. His teachings avoided rote memorization, emphasizing fundamental cultivation that captured the essence of the Dao of sages. His examination questions and lectures elucidated orthodox principles, while his self-cultivation matched great Confucians like Yang Jian and Qian Shi from Lu Jiuyuan's school. His poetry embodied authentic emotional expression, combining Wei Yingwu and Meng Haoran's refined leisure with Tao Yuanming and Liu Zongyuan's serene simplicity. It is lamentable that his rich scholarship never fully manifested - such rare talent would have flourished in prosperous times. Among Xinjian students who attended his lectures, many achieved distinction, demonstrating his transformative pedagogical influence.

This passage actually consists of two distinct sections: the first part serves as a preface to an epitaph, while the latter discusses the evolution of poetry. Here's a vernacular interpretation:

The first part states: The deceased's scholarship originated from Lu Jiuyuan's (a key figure in Southern Song's School of Mind) philosophical system, yet adherents of Zhu Xi's Neo-Confucianism often dismissed him. Precisely because of his unconventional character and steadfast stance, few in his time truly understood him. However, deeper study reveals his theories actually share common ground with various schools—how could they be entirely overlooked? Had his teachings been transmitted, they would surely have complemented the doctrines of Zhou Dunyi, the Cheng brothers, Zhu Xi, and Lu Jiuyuan like wings aiding a bird in flight. His epitaph was composed by friend Wu Bozong, though regrettably my limited abilities cannot fully elucidate his thought—I merely outline his biography out of moral obligation.

The latter section shifts to poetic development: Mencius observed that when the deeds of sage-kings faded, the tradition of the Book of Odes declined, giving way to the Spring and Autumn Annals. How difficult true poetry is! After the Three Hundred Odes and ancient fu poetry, works by Han dynasty figures like Su Wu and Li Ling, or Wei period poets Cao Zhi, Wang Can, Liu Zhen, and Ying Yang still preserved the classical ya and feng traditions. By the Jin dynasty, Ruan Ji, Lu Ji, Pan Yue, and Zuo Si hadn't completely lost this essence. During the Six Dynasties, Bao Zhao, Xie Lingyun, Yan Yanzhi, and Zhang Xie pioneered mellifluous rhythms and ornate diction, gradually diluting the pure classical tradition.

In early Tang, Song Zhiwen, Du Shenyan, Chen Zi'ang, and Liu Changqing—alongside High Tang masters Wei Yingwu, Liu Zongyuan, Wang Wei, and Meng Haoran—created works of majestic vigor and robust meter surpassing predecessors. The pinnacle was Du Fu, contemporaries like Gao Shi, Li Bai, Cen Shen, and Jia Zhi being no match for him. Whether in poverty or prosperity, Du Fu transformed joy and sorrow into poetry perfectly embodying the classical tradition, establishing an enduring model. Late Tang poetry grew florid; in Song times, only Su Shi, Mei Yaochen, Shi Yannian, Wang Anshi, Ouyang Xiu, Su Zhe, Zhu Xi, and Yang Wanli achieved excellence. Yuan dynasty poets Fan Peng, Yang Zai, Yu Ji, and Jie Xisi sought to revive this fading tradition, emulating High Tang grandeur to become literary masters. Though countless poets south and north observed cosmic vastness and natural subtleties, transforming all phenomena—beautiful or plain, grand or minute—into unstoppable poetic torrents like surging rivers, how many across generations created complete works rivaling the ancients or establishing models for posterity? Thus we see the tradition of the Three Hundred Odes...

This passage discusses the vital connection between poetic tradition and family culture. The author argues that even the words of common people, when containing elements of praise and criticism (meici), can contribute to governance and moral education. After the decline of poetry, the Spring and Autumn Annals inherited its function. Thus, scholars of poetry in later generations must trace its origins back to the cultivation of one's innate nature (xinxing), rather than merely imitating the ancients, polishing phrases, or indulging in superficial depictions of romantic scenery.

The author mentions his friend Yang Mengxu, who comes from a scholarly family with a distinguished lineage tracing back to the Han Dynasty Confucian scholar Yang Zhen (courtesy name Boqi, known as the "Master of Guanxi"). Through the Sui and Tang dynasties, the family produced prominent officials, and during the Song Dynasty, many passed the imperial examinations, serving as magistrates of Changsha and transport commissioners of Jiangxi. For twenty-nine generations, the family lived together in Shuibei Village, Jinxian County, preserving their scholarly traditions and studying under masters such as Wei Su (courtesy name Jianxin). Yang Mengxu's uncles, Xianmin and Jifu, both embraced Daoist cultivation teachings and emphasized the education of younger generations.

Yang Mengxu himself was erudite, with a poetic style that was both refined and expansive, drawing inspiration from Du Fu while mastering various forms. The author marvels at the profound cultural heritage of this illustrious family, believing that such scholarly lineage enabled Yang Mengxu to transcend worldly concerns of honor and disgrace. Had he been among the ranks of outstanding talents, he surely would have carried forward the elegant tradition of poetry. The text particularly emphasizes that genuine poetic creation requires inner cultivation (xiuyang) rather than mere accumulation of ornate language.

The Xianquan Collection passage contains two distinct sections: the first expresses the author's reflections on poetic composition, while the latter presents a discourse on the genealogy of the Xu clan.

In the opening section, the author modestly reflects that odes celebrating prosperous eras (the "temple music" of courtly hymns) belong to the grand tradition of Ya and Song poetry. By contrast, he dwells in remote mountains and deep forests, spending his days in the company of clear breezes and bright moonlight, with only shallow learning to his name. True connoisseurs of poetry like Meng Xu (possibly an ancient poet) are rare in this age, let alone those who might surpass the ancients or rival the Creator (造物主). These musings, he notes, are merely recorded here for future consideration.

The latter section provides a detailed account of the Xu lineage’s origins: in ancient Zhou times, minor historiographers were tasked with recording genealogies and distinguishing the zhao and mu (the generational order in ancestral temples). Later, as the clan system declined, social emphasis shifted to family prestige, and genealogical records gradually gained prominence. However, later compilers often embellished their lineages by falsely associating with illustrious figures of the same surname—a practice that deceived the world and betrayed the original purpose of honoring ancestors and clarifying lineage.

The Xu clan traces its roots to the Spring and Autumn period state of Xu (a feudal domain), with seven Xu-family marquises recorded in the Han dynasty. The text lists several notable Xu descendants: the upright Eastern Han official Xu Jing, Shu Han Grand Tutor Xu Jing, Cao Wei general Xu Chu, and Jin dynasty recluse Xu Zi. In the Tang dynasty, Xu Shao was enfeoffed as Duke of Anlu, while Xu Jingzong served as chancellor; during the Song dynasty’s Xiangfu era, the military commander Xu Sui also emerged. The author particularly highlights Xu Yuan, who sacrificed his life for the state during the An Lushan Rebellion.

This passage reflects the Confucian scholar-official emphasis on genealogical authenticity, opposing the fabrication of illustrious ancestry to elevate family status. At the same time, it meticulously documents the Xu clan’s historical roots and its lineage of distinguished figures.

Xu Yiyuan served as the Military Commissioner of Jianghuai, Jinghu, and Liangzhe regions (a regional military-administrative official in the Song Dynasty). Later, his family flourished, with many members entering official service. One ancestor, after being promoted from a certain position, settled in Yihuang County (present-day Fuzhou, Jiangxi), establishing the family as local gentry. This clan maintained intergenerational marriages with the Tan family, and my cousin Biyuan once asked me to compose a preface for their genealogy.

I often reflect with emotion on the cyclical nature of family fortunes—how they rise and fall in perpetual motion, truly sigh-inducing. Since childhood, I've heard that the Yuan Dynasty witnessed the pinnacle of aristocratic family traditions. With the Yuan's prolonged reign, lenient policies, and prosperous commerce, any family of repute sought to revive its ancestral glory. That era saw not only rampant extravagance but also the enduring traditions of literary heritage and familial piety. Yet after thirty-odd years, times have changed, and many once-great families have fallen into desolation—proof that prosperity and decline follow their own immutable laws.

For families that pass down learning and virtue, without genealogical records documenting branches and lineages, how could the wise words and good deeds of ancestors avoid being lost to time? Yet truly well-preserved genealogies are rare. The Xu family's meticulous preservation of their genealogy, tracing origins and recording generations of eminent officials and scholars, stands as a model of honoring roots. Regrettably, they haven't fully grasped the principle of balance—a point evident in Biyuan's remarks. Thus, I did not decline when asked to compose this preface for their genealogy.

Preface for Presenting to Master Riding the Wind:

All embodied life in this world emerges from nothingness and ultimately returns to nothingness. Form carries primal qi (vital energy), while qi animates form. As qi circulates between heaven and earth, yin and yang arise. The canopy of heaven and the support of earth, the radiance of sun and moon, the succession of seasons, the alternation of day and night, the transformations of spirits, and the proliferation of all things—this ceaseless operation manifests the mutual transformation of "being" and "non-being."

The ancient masters of cultivation guided people solely toward the Great Dao. Understanding this principle reveals the mystery of how being and non-being generate each other. Yet today's so-called scholars chase empty fame and superficial adornments while neglecting inner cultivation—how could they quietly comprehend this truth of generative transformation? During my seclusion at Qishan Mountain, I once met a Daoist beneath pines where cranes cried—his hair unkempt, face unwashed, yet bearing an aura of transcendence...

The practitioner clasped his hands and said: "Having wandered long between rivers and seas, I once sought the mysteries of the Golden Elixir (Jinye Huandan, the internal alchemy practice of Daoism) from extraordinary masters. Truly, as Lie Yukou (Liezi) described the state of 'buttocks as wheels and spirit as steeds,' one can attain the miraculous realm of riding the wind. Though I haven't reached such a state, I deeply wish to understand its principles.

Wind has sound but no form—what Zhuangzi called 'the exhalation of the great mass' (the flow of Qi between heaven and earth). What, then, does riding the wind depend upon? If it relies on emptiness, why does it frequently bring blessings? If it doesn't rely on emptiness, how can blessings be obtained? This shows it is still a state of cultivation that depends on something. Far better is the state of 'non-dependence' (Wu Dai, the carefree state free from external attachments), where one naturally progresses without needing to ride anything.

The truly accomplished follow the true Dao of heaven and earth, harmonizing with the transformations of Yin-Yang and the six Qi, roaming boundlessly—why would they need to depend on anything external? Liezi's 'buttocks as wheels and spirit as steeds' is actually the manifestation of the ceaseless circulation of internal Qi. Though it appears as riding the wind, it requires no reliance at all. His carefree wandering knows no limits—how could it be measured by a round trip of fifteen days? In this state, movement and stillness give rise to each other, being and non-being complete one another, ultimately transcending duality to reach the wondrous realm of infinite transformation.

As you study the Dao, you should grasp the true principles of heaven and earth and the transformations of the six Qi. Through daily cultivation, refine the mutual transformation of form, spirit, and primordial Qi. Once this state is reached, it is as though you possess infinite 'wheels and steeds'—you naturally progress without deliberately riding the wind. By then, seeking blessings becomes meaningless to us cultivators. If you abandon the root for the branches, even with the wind god Fei Lian and thunder god Lie Que driving chariots of wind and thunder across celestial paths, how could you ever attain true freedom?

To enter the Dao, you must discard empty illusions, sever worldly attachments, let your body become like withered wood and your mind like dead ashes. See worldly glory as dust, regard the burden of the physical form as straw. Only then can you transcend material concerns, harboring not the slightest obstruction in your heart—as though walking upon emptiness, advancing endlessly without needing to ride anything. This state cannot be confined even by heaven and earth. Moreover, given your strong innate gifts and diligent inquiry, if you can fully penetrate these principles..."

This passage explores two main themes: the Daoist realization of the "being-nonbeing" realm, and the harmonious relationship between guqin music and the natural world.

The first part describes a transcendent spiritual state. When one surpasses the boundaries of form and formlessness, wandering freely in this carefree realm, it's like standing in an infinitely vast wilderness. The sounds from various apertures (earthly pipes), the music from bamboo flutes (human pipes), and the myriad sounds of nature (heavenly pipes) all merge into one. The truly enlightened can "hear the soundless and see the formless," experiencing the shared origin of all things in the space between being and nonbeing. This represents the highest level sought by Daoist practitioners, though the author humbly claims not yet having attained it, encouraging truth-seekers to continue refining their practice.

The second part elaborates on the philosophical dimensions of guqin artistry. Music can connect heaven and earth's Yin-Yang forces and commune with spirits. The highest form of music (Great Music) resonates in harmony with the cosmos. The guqin's tones can express the full spectrum of human emotions—joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—which is why noble-minded people always keep their instruments nearby. Beyond regulating ceremonial decorum, the guqin purifies the heart and cultivates character. From ancient sage-kings to masters like Bo Ya and Qu Yuan, all have channeled emotions through its strings: some lamenting with melancholy, others exulting with joy. Its timbres transform endlessly—swift as storm-wracked stones, gentle as dragon-chanted waves, grand as charging warhorses, subtle as spring insects. Only those with prolonged cultivation and untainted hearts can produce tones that echo heaven-earth Yin-Yang correspondences, transmitting the sages' legacy rather than merely pleasing vulgar tastes. Mentioned masters like Shi Xiang, Shi Kuang, and Shi Wen represent ancient guqin virtuosi whose mastery remains unsurpassable.

This text perfectly integrates Daoist philosophy with musical art, emphasizing how guqin cultivation can lead to the state of heaven-human unity (Tianren Heyi).

The text primarily discusses two themes: the transmission of qin (zither) artistry and a description of the immortal cliffs' scenery.

The first section examines renowned qin masters throughout history, from ancient virtuosos like Yongmen Zhou and Sima Xiangru—each with distinctive styles—to modern representatives such as Xu Xiaoshan and Yuan Minzhong. In his youth, the author was deeply enamored with qin music and sought out masters across the land, only to find most performers preoccupied with technical complexity. Few could achieve the majestic resonance and profound artistic conception of true mastery. Later, he encountered Zhu Zongming, a qin master from Fujian whose playing embodied refined elegance, transcending conventional styles. Zhu had traveled extensively in his youth and declined an imperial summons during the early Ming dynasty. The author recounts playing the qin with him amidst mountain vistas, immersed in nature's harmonies, and their poignant farewell.

The second section depicts the immortal cliffs' landscape. The author observes that human temperament inherently determines one's preferences for movement or stillness—these cannot be forced. The cliffs derive their name from the celestial phenomena of dragons and tigers said to have appeared when Zhang Daoling (the Celestial Master [Tianshi] and founder of Daoism) practiced alchemy there during the Han dynasty. With twenty-four famed scenic sites, their reputation spans the realm. Regardless of social status or age, all who pass by or journey specifically to visit yearn to explore them. This subtly mirrors the Daoist principle that spiritual cultivation should follow natural disposition, much as these cliffs effortlessly draw admirers through their innate beauty.

The text mentions "Xianquan" (a sacred Daoist site), the "Celestial Master" (Zhang Daoling), and "alchemy" (a core Daoist practice). Through qin artistry and mountain landscapes, the author expresses Daoism's reverence for natural spontaneity and pursuit of authentic wonder.

In the deep autumn of the ninth month, on the sixth day of the Hongwu Bingzi year (1396, the 29th year of the Ming Hongwu era), I set out on an excursion with my academy guest Yang Mengxu, my younger brother Zhan Bi, my nephew Wu Ruxu, and companions Wang Jingshan, Wu Chuyuan, and Yuan Zhi'an. We prepared boats by the stream, bringing fine wine and delicacies, and followed the waves downstream past the sandbars, reaching our destination in less than a day. That evening, we rested at the Yanfa Temple on the left cliff—a shrine dedicated to the Celestial Master (Tianshi) Zhang Daoling of the Han Dynasty. Towering pavilions pierced the clouds, while scenic spots like the Water Curtain, the Dou Altar (a Daoist sacrificial site), the Alchemical Furnace (Danzao), and the Mushroom Cliff were scattered on either side.

At dawn the next day, we boarded the boats again. The boatmen pointed out the sights along the way, and we marveled at the endless beauty. Between the icy islands and sandbars, jagged rocks stood tall, ancient trees reached for the sky, and rare flowers exuded rich fragrances—everywhere was a unique spectacle. Soon, we entered a winding stretch of marshland where steep caves loomed along the shore, accessible only to birds and apes, untouched by human feet. Some fishermen hid in the deep forests and valleys, while woodcutters' paths snaked through overgrown sandbars—it was no different from the fabled Peach Blossom Spring.

We opened jars of wine and sipped tea as we drifted upstream. Suddenly, sheer cliffs rose before us like leaping dragons and crouching tigers. Looking down, we saw mist-shrouded rock faces with naturally formed hollows resembling earthly kitchens, granaries, windows, and looms, making us wonder if this was truly the mortal realm. The clear, deep pools mirrored the azure sky, and celestial harmonies echoed around us. Towering peaks stabbed into the clouds, while distant waves crashed ashore, the tides surging endlessly.

After a long while, we gathered our robes and climbed beneath the cliffs, discovering a massive overhanging boulder like a canopy, spacious enough to seat dozens. There, we laid out a feast and drank freely—some recited poetry, some played the qin, others painted—reveling until dusk. Then a sudden west wind arose, lifting our spirits as if we had transcended the mundane. Our wanderlust renewed, we boarded the boats once more to explore another cliff.

This passage recounts the author's visit to Mingcheng Temple, a sacred Daoist site (the River Chart Immortal Altar where Grand Master Wu cultivated), along with his reflections.

As dusk fell, the author carried a torch to the main shrine hall, where he encountered a diviner named Wu Congshan, skilled in choosing auspicious days. The two conversed deep into the night, and upon returning the next day, the author found his sleeves filled with spontaneously composed poems. His friend Meng Xu compiled these verses into a collection, sighing: "One should enjoy life while one can. These famous mountains and rivers, as abodes of immortals, surpass even the legendary paradises of Penglai, Langfeng, Fanghu, and Yuanjiao. Ordinary people rarely get to witness them firsthand, often doubting their very existence. Yet now we have seen them with our own eyes—as if catching glimpses of immortals like Anqi Sheng and Xianmen Zigao at play—how can we not feel fortunate?"

This experience led the author to reflect: Since the dawn of creation, these mountains and rivers have stood unshaken. Over countless millennia, how many others have found joy here as we did? And how many, bound by worldly concerns, never had the chance to savor such serene travels? This journey brought not only the pleasure of poetic exchange but also an elegance rivaling the famed gatherings of Wang Xizhi at the Orchid Pavilion or Xie An’s excursions to Dongshan. People often yearn for tranquility amid restlessness and seek ease amid toil, yet how few truly grasp the genuine delight of nature?

The preface to The Anthology of Returning to Truth traces the origins of the Daoist immortal tradition: Since ancient times, the path of immortality has been revered, beginning with the Yellow Emperor seeking the Dao from Guangchengzi (i.e., Laozi). Immortals like Jian Keng of the Tang (Yao) era, Xiaofu of the Xia dynasty, Wanqiu of the Shang, and Prince Qiao of the Zhou existed as early as the Three Dynasties. King Mu of Zhou built a thatched tower to gather fangshi (masters of esoteric arts), further popularizing immortal lore. By the time of Qin Shihuang and Emperor Wu of Han, though obsessed with alchemical elixirs, true practitioners like Wang Cizhong and Dongfang Shuo still emerged.

(Note: The symbol "□" indicates illegible or missing characters in the original text.)

Those who recklessly spread heretical teachings without proper apprenticeship in the Dao end up confusing truth with falsehood, ultimately harming both others and themselves. It's only natural that learned scholars throughout history have risen to refute them.

Take Wei Boyang of the Eastern Han dynasty as an example. His Zhouyi Cantong Qi (The Kinship of the Three), modeled after the Book of Changes, was actually based on the alchemical theories of the ancient Dragon-Tiger Scripture. Through this classic, he elucidated authentic Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, steering people away from superficial pursuits like Waidan (external alchemy) with minerals and metals, herbal concoctions, or collecting celestial vapors. Instead, he revealed the natural workings of body, mind, and the triad of Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Using the hexagrams of the Yijing and temporal cycles as metaphors for cultivation, his teachings perfectly align with the natural laws of Yin-Yang transformation.

This lineage was later transmitted by Zhongli Quan (also known as Yunfang) to Lü Dongbin (styled Yan) of the Tang dynasty. The venerable Lü inherited and expanded this doctrine through poetry and prose, capturing the essence of alchemical practice. Subsequent generations produced worthy successors like Zhang Boduan (styled Ziyang), Shi Tai (styled Xinglin), Chen Nan (styled Niwan), Bai Yuchan (styled Ziqing), and Li Qing'an of the Song dynasty—all outstanding figures of their time. Their writings equal Wei Boyang's in depth while offering even more profound insights in certain aspects.

How is it that these masters, separated by centuries, speak with such perfect consistency? This isn't contrived—it's because the Great Dao's truth remains constant through millennia, resonating with the human heart. Heretical teachings that muddy the waters, whether seeking attention or misleading posterity, could never align with the natural Dao of body, mind, and spirit. Thus, ancient masters transmitted the Dao only to qualified recipients—the Great Way isn't spread indiscriminately. Nor do masters deliberately withhold secrets; if learners lack genuine practice, merely putting on airs for fame, how do they differ from charlatans? What qualifications do such people have to discuss the Great Dao?

Hunranzi (a Daoist recluse) of Nanchang's Linjiang region, originally surnamed Yi, was profoundly learned. Though having received secret transmissions from extraordinary masters, he remained devoted to writing. Having long studied his works, I once briefly met him at an inn without deeper exchange. This spring, my disciple Yuan Wenyi returned from Wu region bearing Hunranzi's Huanzhen Ji (Collected Writings on Returning to Authenticity), requesting my preface. Upon careful study, I'm convinced it thoroughly expounds the true meaning of the Golden Elixir's refinement (the advanced stage of Neidan), offering both theoretical clarity and practical guidance. Following this method, even when compared to masters like Zhang Ziyang or Li Qing'an, the teachings stand equal. Moreover, I've often lamented how superficial arrogance has long prevailed in our times...

This passage describes the process by which Daoist practitioners pursue the highest spiritual realms. Those who cultivate themselves to the ultimate level possess words powerful enough to rectify the corruptions of the Dharma-Ending Age (a Buddhist concept referring to the period of spiritual decline). Discerning seekers and steadfast adherents of the true path must distinguish between authenticity and falsehood with the clarity of separating fine jade from ordinary stone.

Upon attaining such a state, one can roam freely with the spirit in the primordial chaos of creation, refining Qi (vital energy) beyond the undivided vastness of Hongmeng (the primal chaos before cosmic differentiation). This is no longer an impossible feat—it is the method of probing the origin of all things, returning to ultimate truth, and exhausting the mysteries of divine transformation!

The author also expresses hope to encounter transcendent sages riding yellow cranes (a mount of Daoist immortals), engaging in discourse on the Dao along the banks of the Xiang River and slopes of Mount Yue. Even now, it is not too late to begin. These words are inscribed at the scroll's beginning, awaiting destined seekers to contemplate their meaning.