《峴泉集》Vol. 4

This passage comes from Xianquan Ji (Collected Works of Mountain Springs) by Celestial Master (Tianshi) Zhang Yuchu of the Ming dynasty, presenting philosophical reflections on cosmic generation and human nature.

Citing Liezi's perspective, it divides cosmic formation into four stages: Taiyi (pre-manifestation of Qi), Taichu (emergence of Qi), Taishi (beginning of form), and Taisu (beginning of substance). When Qi, form, and substance coexist yet remain undivided, this is called the "Hunlun" state—a primordial condition where Yin-Yang remains unseparated and all things intermingle. Once separation occurs, this chaotic unity is broken.

Qi manifests as wind, rain, frost, and dew in heaven and earth; it appears in mountains, rivers, and valleys; in humans and all beings, it constitutes the limbs and skeleton. Though birds, beasts, plants, and trees differ in form, all are constrained by physical substance. We cannot directly observe Qi's original state, but may investigate it through material manifestations.

The azure sky reflects the intrinsic hue of Taixu (cosmic space), yet shifting clouds obscure this essence. Similarly, humans are born with pure Qi, but excessive desires reveal rigid/soft and good/evil traits, disrupting innate purity. Just as objects require adornment to shine, true flavors need salt and ferment for balance, and plain tones require musical tuning, human nature must restrain desires and return to its origin to preserve clarity.

The author observes that human traits—like the sky's changing weather—never alter the fundamental "Taisu" state. Some understand this intellectually and cultivate themselves, yet without truly comprehending the "Taisu" realm, they cannot attain supreme attainment. Here, "wandering in Taisu" signifies transcending form and substance to return to cosmic origins.

This passage recounts the stories and dialogues of two Daoist practitioners, focusing on the cultivation concept of "returning to original simplicity."

The first part tells of Master Lian Taisu from Wudang Mountain's Five Dragons Temple. A learned and virtuous Daoist, he had quietly cultivated in the mountains for over twenty years with minimal worldly contact. The author's late father often sought his guidance, and after inheriting the Daoist lineage, the author likewise frequently studied Daoist theory with him. When Master Lian expressed his intention to depart this autumn, the author, unable to persuade him to stay, remarked: "Famous mountains and rivers often conceal immortal recluses. With Wudang's peerless scenery, one might encounter transcendent beings like Anqi Sheng or Xianmen Gao. Perhaps your journey aims to meet such immortals, transcending physical form to return to the primordial state of the universe."

The second part concerns another practitioner named Zhang Yanhong, who styled himself "Pure Unity Master" (Chunyi Zi). The author met him last year at Western Mountain in Jiangxi, finding him simple and sincere. When Zhang visited this spring, the author and his brothers accompanied him to scenic spots like Dragon Well, Dust Lake, and Pipa Peak. Asked to explain the meaning of "Pure Unity Master," the author offered a water metaphor: "Water is inherently tranquil. Emerging from mountain valleys, it flows crystal clear, yet once surging forth, it twists through countless turns. Meeting stones, it churns white; encountering wind, it sounds aloud. Sometimes polluted by debris, inhabited by fish and dragons in its depths, shaded by overhanging trees, or muddied by wind and rain—yet water's essential nature remains unchanged." This analogy subtly illustrates how practitioners must maintain their original pure heart, undistracted by external phenomena.

This scripture discusses the relationship between the circulation of primordial Qi (the innate vital energy) in the human body and the cultivation of mind and nature. Human primordial Qi flows ceaselessly like water, day and night, and no obstacle can hinder its natural movement. The Qi itself is pure and luminous—it cannot be blocked by thorns nor tainted by filth, encompassing all things while illuminating everything.

The operating principle of primordial Qi between heaven and earth is called the Dao (the Way), while its concrete manifestations are called the "methods" (Fa). Just as water flows across the earth, primordial Qi circulates within the human body, with each breath containing the waxing and waning transformations of Yin and Yang. The human heart was originally meant to be as clear and transparent as a still lake, but if one indulges in desires and becomes deluded by external things, it becomes like raging floodwaters—turbulent and uncontrolled, scattering the primordial Qi into distracting thoughts and passions.

Thus, the sages teach people to restrain their hearts, correct their errors, and return their nature to its original purity. Maintaining this state of luminous clarity is called "walking the Dao" (Xing Dao), while mastering its operating principles is called "attaining the methods" (De Fa). Those who reach this state allow primordial Qi to flow freely throughout their bodies, harmonizing with the movements of heaven and earth. At this stage, performing magical arts (such as summoning wind and rain or commanding thunder and lightning) becomes as natural as instinct, for they have grasped the fundamental principles of the Hetu and Luoshu (ancient mystical diagrams) and the Thunder Codes (Daoist thunder rituals).

The key to cultivation lies in nurturing the most harmonious Qi and attaining the most divine state in its application. Through sincere practice, one gains profound abilities. Some practitioners may appear mad or unrestrained (Yang Kuang Shi Jiu), yet their laughter and anger can command wind and thunder—this is no coincidence. Like Yanhong (a practitioner mentioned in the text), those who master the esoteric principles of the arts and refine their skills through long-term practice attain such abilities through genuine realization.

Finally, the text mentions that Yanhong’s ancestors included enlightened transcendents, indicating that spiritual attainment can be passed down. The hometown of the immortal Wang Zhenjun (a Daoist deity) still preserves this tradition of cultivation, encouraging Yanhong to continue advancing diligently in his practice.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principle that the essence of learning lies in comprehending the principles of human nature (Xing), destiny (Ming), and the Dao-De (Way-Virtue), as well as the sagely approach to cultivation. Here is the modern interpretation:

The foundation of learning rests in understanding human nature (Xing) and celestial mandate (Ming). The human heart governs temperament, while our essential nature is bestowed by heaven. The cyclical movement of seasons, transformations of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the birth and decay of all things originate from celestial mandate; the four sprouts of humaneness, righteousness, propriety and wisdom, the five constant virtues, and all phenomena in the world are contained within our essential nature. Though manifestations may differ vastly, their fundamental principle remains unified. Aligning with this principle constitutes the "Dao," while cultivating it through practice represents "teaching"—both requiring study for true comprehension.

True learning begins with filial piety, fraternal duty, loyalty and trustworthiness, continuously practiced through daily interactions and social conduct. The Book of Documents states: "Only by studying ancient teachings can one attain true understanding," as sages remain ever devoted to learning. The wise completely grasp celestial principle, maintaining their original luminous purity; the foolish drown in selfish desires, sinking into turbidity and deviation. Learning serves to dispel obscurations and restore innate goodness. Therefore, one must investigate the "learning that exhausts human nature, comprehends celestial mandate, discerns the good path, and sincerely cultivates body and mind."

Practical methods include: using ritual propriety and righteousness to regulate conduct, cultivating self-reflection through daily speech and action, while honoring teachers and cherishing worthy friends. Maintaining reverential attitude and following the Dao's principles, one gradually attains intuitive understanding. Just as Zaofu mastered charioteering, Houyi perfected archery, Shi Kuang comprehended musical harmony, Chui crafted fine bows, Xizhong invented chariots, and Du Shi tamed horses—all requiring single-minded devotion—how much more does sagely learning demand such focus?

Even Confucius, already a sage, humbly declared: "At fifteen, I set my heart upon learning." The sage-kings of Yao and Shun's era, though enlightened, still sought teachers: Yao learned from Jun Chou, Shun studied under Wucheng Zhao, Yu received instruction from Xi Wangguo, Tang consulted Chengzi Bo, King Wen followed Shi Zisi, and King Wu sought guidance from Guo Shu. This demonstrates that cultivating one's nature and studying the Dao-De requires lifelong practice—even for sages without exception.

This passage primarily discusses the transmission of Confucian learning and the principles of self-cultivation and scholarly pursuit, while also mentioning a Daoist figure named Wei Huacun.

Regarding the transmission of learning: Confucius once sought advice from Laozi on ritual systems, studied music with Chang Hong, and consulted with Shanzi. Mencius studied under Zisi, and Xunzi learned from Zou Yan—all representing the lineage of Confucian scholarship. Later figures like Dong Zhongshu and Han Yu carried forward this tradition, while Zhou Dunyi (Lianxi) and the Cheng brothers (Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi of the Luoyang School) ultimately returned to the fundamental principles of centrality, correctness, benevolence, and righteousness. True learning requires returning to one's original mind, absorbing the essence of the Six Classics. Only with inner fulfillment can one comprehend the Dao of heaven and earth, ultimately attaining a state of harmony.

The author criticizes superficial scholarship that pursues mere ornamental brilliance, comparing it to artisans skilled only in trivial crafts incapable of reaching the grand and luminous realm. Genuine learning grasps the essence, much like pottery requires molds—with proper guidance from a master, one achieves twice the result with half the effort.

On self-cultivation: True scholars hold external glory and wealth lightly, finding contentment even in simple fare. Just as a fine steed cannot leap ten paces in one bound while an inferior horse traveling steadily for ten days covers great distance, perseverance is key. What makes sages lies in their insatiable thirst for knowledge.

The passage concludes by mentioning the author's diligent nephew who requested the calligraphic inscription "Aspiration to Learning" for his study. The author modestly claims only superficial understanding of scholarship, encouraging the nephew to study diligently and assuredly achieve greatness.

The final reference to Wei Huacun (Lady of Purple Void), a renowned female Daoist of the Jin dynasty from Rencheng, notes her former position as Minister over the Masses (a high official post) before achieving Daoist perfection. Venerated as one of the patriarchs of the Shangqing (Highest Clarity) school, her story is detailed in the Biography of the Lady of Purple Void.

This passage records the enlightenment journey of Wei Huacun, the founding master of the Shangqing (Highest Clarity) tradition in Daoism, revered as the Purple Void Primordial Sovereign (Zixu Yuanjun).

Born in 251 CE during the Jiaping era of Emperor Qi of Wei, Wei Huacun displayed exceptional intelligence from childhood. She immersed herself in studying the Laozi and Zhuangzi, yearning for the Daoist cultivation life. At twenty-four, under parental pressure, she married Liu Wen (courtesy name Youyan) from Nanyang, bearing two sons—Liu Pu and Liu Xia. When her husband became magistrate of Xiuwu County in Jijun Commandery, and after her children grew older, she resumed intensive spiritual practice, abstaining from ordinary nourishment.

On the sixteenth night of the twelfth lunar month in 288 CE, multiple immortals descended to instruct her. The Supreme Ultimate Perfected Being (Taiji Zhenren), Green Lad Dao Lord (Qingtong Daojun), Solar Valley Deity King of Fusang (Fusang Yanggu Shenwang), Perfected One of Scenic Woods (Jinglin Zhenren), and Clear Void Perfected Being (Qingxu Zhenren) declared: "We have heard of your mastery over Daoist methods and authentic Qi. The Great Thearch commands us to transmit the path to celestial immortality." They bestowed thirty-one sacred scriptures including Supreme Treasure Texts (Taishang Baowen), Eight Pure Occult Writings (Basu Yinshu), Great Cavern True Scripture (Dadong Zhenjing), and Feathered Mystery of Lofty Transcendents (Gaoxian Yuxuan), along with essential cultivation techniques. Wei was then thirty-seven.

In 334 CE, the Green Lad (Qingtong Jun) reappeared, presenting two doses of immortality elixir and arranging a meeting at Luoyang Palace. On the seventh night of that month, the Great Unity Perfected Being (Taiyi Zhenren) dispatched a flying chariot. Using the "Method of Concealing Radiance" (Cangjing zhi Dao—a soul projection technique), Wei transformed her physical body into a divine sword and ascended at age eighty-three.

After ascension, she traveled to Yangluo Mountain, where immortals gathered the next day for further instruction. Decades of scripture recitation had preserved her youthful appearance. Later, the Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu) and Southern Extremity Primordial Lord (Nanji Yuanjun) welcomed her to the Shangqing Palace. There, the Great Lord of Jade Clarity (Yuchen Dadaojun) and other deities conferred the title "Purple Void Primordial Sovereign," entrusting her with overseeing immortal registers of Mount Heng (the Southern Sacred Peak), instructing cultivation seekers, and administering sacred grotto-heavens like Tiantai Mountain and Great Huo Mountain. She eventually joined the celestial assembly at Huoshan's paradise.

The concluding reference to "the second year of Xingding, yichou cycle" (1229 CE) likely reflects a later disciple's transcription error, being chronologically inconsistent with Wei's lifetime. This account exemplifies the Daoist paradigm of spiritual attainment—featuring classic elements like celestial encounters, scripture transmission, elixir consumption, and physical ascension—that constitutes the complete process of achieving transcendence and joining the immortal ranks.

This passage recounts the lineage story of early important figures in the Shangqing (Highest Clarity) tradition, particularly the Maoshan sect. Jin Pengtou, originally named Jin Zhiyang and styled Ye'an, earned his nickname "Disheveled Head" from always wearing his hair unkempt with just a single topknot. Born into an ordinary family in Yongjia (modern Wenzhou, Zhejiang), he displayed remarkable determination and lofty aspirations from childhood.

In his youth, Jin was drawn to Daoist cultivation and became a disciple of Li Yuexi from the Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) tradition—one of Daoism's major schools. Li Yuexi, himself a disciple of Bai Yuchan (one of the Five Southern Patriarchs), recognized Jin's extraordinary potential and sent him traveling through regions like Yan, Zhao, Qi and Chu to seek out eminent masters. Later, Jin further advanced his practice under the guidance of Li Zhenchang.

While in Yuanzhou, Jin encountered an imposing city guard nicknamed "Mad Soldier," whose extraordinary demeanor prompted Jin to take him as teacher. When Zou Tingzuo later established the Changchun Temple in Zishan and invited Jin to lead it, Jin soon entrusted the temple's management to his disciple Liu Zhixuan while he himself pursued cultivation at sacred mountains like Wuyi and Longhu (Tiger Dragon Mountain).

At Longhu Mountain, Jin resided in Penglai Hermitage near the Sacred Well of Lord Zheng and Miaogu Peak. For years he practiced amid cliffs and clouds, keeping company with wild beasts. Legends tell how snakes and tigers would retreat respectfully upon seeing him meditating on rocks at night. Later, he instructed disciples Li Quanzheng and Zhao Zhenchun to build Tianrui Hermitage atop the peak.

Jin's mastery of Daoist arts drew people from all directions seeking cures for illnesses—those who ate fruits he had offered to the altars would invariably recover. During a severe drought, he summoned a dragon from a well to pray for rain; after listening to his admonitions, the dragon leaped into his sleeve, bringing timely rainfall soon after. In 1333 (the Guiyou year of Yuantong era), he retired to Zhizhi Hermitage at Wuyi Mountain.

When Marshal Li Taiping of eastern Zhejiang came seeking advice, Jin counseled him: "Clear governance brings state stability, while a tranquil mind reduces vexations." Later, when rebel Li Zhifu rose in revolt and General Wu was dispatched to suppress it, Wu's son Wu Zhongliang sought to become Jin's disciple but was refused. After the rebels were indeed pacified, people grew even more convinced of Jin's prescience.

This passage from the Xianquan Collection records the life stories of two Daoist practitioners.

First is the legend of Jin Pengtou (Daoist name Mangwuzi): When someone attempted to poison him, he foresaw it in advance and instructed his disciples to dig a pit in the ground. Later, he indeed expelled the poison, and the site became known as the "Elixir-Spitting Well." During the Zhiyuan era (Yuan dynasty), on the first day of the first lunar month, he and his fellow practitioner Gui Xinyuan (known as Gui Fengzi) entered seated meditation and achieved feathered ascension (yuhua) at Mount Lu. On the tenth day of the fourth month that same year, he asked his disciples to transcribe his final verse before peacefully passing away. Remarkably, thirteen days later, his body remained rosy-faced as if alive, with limbs supple and warm. His disciples buried him beneath an ancient plum tree beside his hermitage. During his lifetime, he had renowned disciples such as Guo Chuchang and Li Xilai, all celebrated for their mastery of Daoist arts.

The text reflects: Ancient cultivators had to temper their will through rigorous practice—only those like Jin Pengtou, who endured bodily suffering and physical hardship, could achieve extraordinary realization and leave their names for posterity. Yet those who reached such heights were exceedingly rare in any era.

The latter section recounts the cultivation journey of Zhao Yuanyang (given name Yizhen), a descendant of Prince Zhao Dezhao of the Song dynasty. His ancestors settled in Jiangxi after serving as magistrates of Anfu County. Gifted from youth, Zhao studied widely and initially pursued the imperial examinations—until illness led him to dream of divine revelation, prompting his turn to the Dao. He successively studied under masters such as Zeng Chenwai and Zhang Tianquan (styled Tiexuan), learning thunder rites (leifa) and the secrets of internal and external alchemy (neidan and waidan). Zhang Tianquan’s own teacher was Jin Ye’an of Dragon-Tiger Mountain (Longhu Shan). Later, Zhao also trained under Li Xuanyi of Nanchang and Master Feng Puyi (another disciple of Jin Ye’an). He once secluded himself at Yongxing Temple on White Crane Mountain (traditionally linked to the Western Jin immortal Kuang Xian), where his practice enabled him to summon wind and rain, liberate wandering souls, and gain widespread renown. People traveled great distances seeking his guidance. He eventually left during the turmoil of the Renchen year (likely the Red Turban Rebellion at the end of the Yuan dynasty).

This passage records the life and teachings of Zhao Yizhen (courtesy name Yuanyangzi), a renowned Daoist master of the Yuan Dynasty.

Zhao once journeyed westward with his disciples to the Wu and Shu regions. On his return, he visited Wudang Mountain and then traveled to Longhu Mountain to explore the legacy of Celestial Master Zhang (founder of the Zhengyi Orthodox Unity tradition). The Chongxu Celestial Master at the time treated him with great respect and sought to persuade him to stay, but Zhao did not linger. Later, he settled at Ziyang Temple in Yudu County, Jiangxi, where he compiled profound Daoist doctrines into written works and composed poetry for self-reflection. Skilled in medicine, he healed and aided the people, speaking little in daily life—yet those who admired him came in increasing numbers to seek his teachings.

On the first day of the first lunar month in the Renxu year, he predicted his imminent passing and entered seclusion for meditation. On the third day of the fifth month, the summer solstice, he bathed, changed into fresh robes, sat in meditation, and wrote a final verse before casting aside his brush and departing this life—just as thunder and lightning erupted, turning day into night. When his disciples prepared his body in the coffin, they found his face still lifelike, and three days later, he was buried at Fenggang behind the temple. His principal disciples included Cao Ximing and Liu Ruoyuan, among others.

The text praises him thus: Though Daoist scriptures contain countless words, their essence lies in eight—"emptiness, stillness, simplicity, detachment, solitude, and wuwei (non-action)." Simple as they seem, true realization demands arduous cultivation to temper the mind. Zhao Yizhen’s words and deeds stand as a model for the world, and his work Yuanyangzi Fayu (The Dharma Words of Yuanyangzi) has been passed down through generations.

The final section contains fragments of correspondence between Zhao and his friend Ni Mengchong, discussing the critical timing of alchemical practice. They speak of the joy of conversing on the Dao through the night in the mountains and reflect on each other’s poetry—revealing the refined camaraderie of Daoist practitioners who bonded through literature and shared learning.

My friend's learning is profound and vast, far beyond what I can fully comprehend. He originally sought to explore the profound principles of the Dao and delve into esoteric wisdom during these chaotic times, yet encountered unforeseen calamity. At that time, slander flourished and hypocrisy prevailed—the entire situation was as perilous as being consumed by wildfire or engulfed by floodwaters, leaving no escape. Faced with such circumstances, one could only maintain silence, feign ignorance, bear the blame with humility, and find no opportunity to defend oneself.

In such an era, it was nearly impossible to find those who steadfastly upheld the Dao and supported one another through ritual propriety. Could it truly be that the world lacked talents like Feng Xuan or Zhu Bo? Or had they all sealed their lips, watching helplessly as the world sank into depravity? To see a drowning man yet refrain from rescue for fear of wetting one's feet—how could this be right?

Fortunately, through divine protection and ancestral virtue accumulated over generations, I managed to emerge unscathed. Yet after prolonged illness, I witnessed the fickleness of human relationships—the vicissitudes of the world as sudden as thunderclaps and as turbulent as rushing rivers, their startling transformations evoking deep sighs. In adversity, I often turned inward, restraining selfish desires, maintaining vigilance, and cultivating De (Virtue) while awaiting Heaven's decree. The ancients remained equanimous toward honor and disgrace, gain and loss. Neither the grief of those who cherished me nor the glee of those who despised me could shake my resolve.

Hardship is the whetstone that tests one's cultivation. King Wen of Zhou composed the "Yijing" (Book of Changes) while imprisoned; Confucius compiled the "Spring and Autumn Annals" in adversity. Consider too the great scholars—Ban Gu, Sima Qian, Yang Xiong, Jia Yi, Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan, Ouyang Xiu, and Su Shi—all endured exile, yet their scholarship grew more refined and their virtue more perfected. As the saying goes, "Without encountering gnarled roots and tangled knots, one cannot distinguish sharp tools." How could this be mere rhetoric to gloss over faults and deceive posterity?

I incurred blame through caution, inviting disaster while seeking to prevent it—what else could this be but fate? Ancient texts state: "Those who spread slander ought to be cast to wolves and tigers, yet even these beasts refuse them; thrown to the bitter northern wastes, yet the north rejects them; they can only be handed over to Heaven's judgment." Seeing this now, do these slanderers feel no remorse in their hearts? Those who suffer injustice today may not remain unvindicated forever.

This passage describes the author's reclusive life in the mountains and his reflections on the principles of Daoist cultivation. Living amidst rivers and peaks, he spends his days in the company of trees and stones, interacting with woodcutters and shepherd boys—nearly becoming a man of the wilds himself. His focus lies in exploring the true meaning of nature (xing), life (ming), Dao (the Way), and De (Virtue). Observing those in the mundane world chasing fame and profit, scheming against one another, he finds them as laughable as flies and ants fighting over rotting flesh.

The author believes that in human life, advancement and retreat, survival and demise should all follow the principles of righteousness rather than obsessing over external circumstances like life and death, poverty or success. Human destiny is determined by heaven and cannot be altered by personal desires. Such truths are difficult for ordinary people to grasp, yet they represent a universal perplexity spanning ancient and modern times. He deeply resonates with his friends' discussions on Daoist cultivation, though he still has doubts regarding the "fire timing" (huohou)—the critical moments and methods in internal alchemy (Neidan) practice.

After decades of study and exchanges with fellow cultivators from various regions, the author finds that theories on fire timing generally fall into two categories: One consists of abstract, mystical discourses that employ hexagrams and lines (from the Yijing) and ancient timekeeping methods as frameworks, yet need not be rigidly adhered to. The other comprises concrete and detailed cultivation techniques—rules concerning talismanic timing (fuhou) and precise measurements (of medicinal ingredients) that must be strictly followed.

The text mentions several Neidan terms: Qian (Heaven), Kun (Earth), Kan (Water), and Li (Fire)—four of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) symbolizing cosmic forces; "golden essence" (jinjing) and "wooden liquid" (muye) representing vital energies in the body; "fire dragon" (huolong) and "water tiger" (shuihu) as symbols of yin-yang; and "metal within water" or "wood within fire"—metaphors for the interplay of the Five Phases. The author states he has a general understanding of theories concerning the "cauldron and furnace" (the human body as an alchemical vessel) and "medicinal ingredients" (essence and qi as materials), yet remains uncertain about the precise fire timing for critical stages like "laying the foundation in a hundred days" (initial stabilization), "perfecting the embryo in ten months" (elixir formation), and "transcending the physical form" (spiritual refinement).

Finally, the author expounds his understanding of yin-yang and the Five Phases: Kan and Li represent true yin and yang. Their cyclical ascent and descent, perpetual circulation, demonstrate how the Five Phases ultimately return to yin-yang, which in turn merge into the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). From Taiji emerge the Four Symbols (lesser yang, greater yang, lesser yin, greater yin), which generate the Eight Trigrams, evolving endlessly into sixty-four hexagrams and 384 lines. All phenomena in heaven and earth obey this pattern—even human breath aligns with the Dao of nature, enabling one to "steal the workings of heaven and earth" (harness natural laws).

This discourse on the firing process (the precise timing and degree of heat control during alchemical practice) reveals that one year consists of twelve months, each with thirty days, and each day divided into one hundred ke (an ancient time unit). Thus, a month totals three thousand ke, and ten months amount to thirty thousand ke. If one can precisely regulate the firing process in each of these thirty thousand ke during cultivation, it becomes possible to harness the accumulated energy of thirty thousand years of celestial and terrestrial cycles. This is because each ke of practice corresponds to the seasonal transformations of a full natural year—hence thirty thousand ke of cultivation truly equates to thirty millennia of natural evolution.

A crucial emphasis here is that throughout these thirty thousand ke, every single moment requires exact calibration of the firing process. Even a slight deviation in one ke may lead to the waste of alchemical materials or faulty heat control. Excessive fire dries out the ingredients, while excessive water dilutes their potency. Therefore, maintaining perfect water-fire balance is essential—compressing a year’s cultivation into months, and a day’s work into hours. Among the twelve double-hours, often only one specific period holds true significance.

Practitioners must thoroughly understand lunar phases (such as the dark moon, new moon, first and last quarters), "bathing" (an alchemical term referring to rest phases for fire regulation), and auspicious/inauspicious timings (刑德). Just as northern and southern cultivation schools follow different methods yet both adhere to hexagram transformations, dawn and dusk fire control must align with celestial movements. Daily operations demand precision down to the slightest measure—otherwise, the Golden Elixir (Jindan) cannot be perfected. As the ancients said, "Transmitting the ingredients but not the fire" reveals that firing control is the true secret.

Yet the scripture points to a deeper truth: authentic alchemy isn’t confined to the winter solstice hour; the Great Medicine (金丹) requires no measurement by weight, and the True Fire (innate Qi) fundamentally transcends fixed firing rules. The mao-you hours (5-7am/pm) are ultimately conceptual constructs—those who grasp the essence won’t cling to appearances, for obsessive calculation of hexagram lines only obscures reality. This illustrates how practice begins with deliberate methods but ultimately arrives at Wuwei (non-action).

Consider how heaven and earth complete their cycle in a year, the sun and moon in a month, while the Great Medicine (essence-Qi) within the human body cycles daily. Each day, Yang energy arises at the zi hour (11pm-1am), peaking by si (9-11am); Yin energy emerges at noon (11am-1pm), culminating at hai (9-11pm). Yang begins with the Fu hexagram, Yin with Gou. Monthly, the new moon corresponds to Zhun-Meng hexagrams, the dark moon to Ji-Wei. From Xun to Kun represents unmanifested energy, requiring reverse calculation; from Zhen to Qian signifies manifested energy, tracked forward. Thus, the twenty-four solar terms and seventy-two seasonal periods essentially depict cyclical energy flow. As immortal masters taught: one monthly energy return is called a "rotation," and nine rotations complete the annual cycle. Master Zhu Xi observed that firing principles ultimately mirror the 384 hexagram lines (from the Yijing) mapping celestial patterns.

This passage elucidates the correspondence between Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice and the hexagram imagery of the Yijing (Book of Changes). Practitioners adjust their cultivation methods daily according to seasonal transitions, removing the twenty-four lines (yao) of the four hexagrams—Qian (Heaven), Kun (Earth), Kan (Water), and Li (Fire)—which correspond to the twenty-four solar terms. As each solar term arrives, the relevant cultivation techniques are gradually incorporated.

The author notes that although three hundred and sixty microcosmic orbits may be completed within a single day, the practice corresponding to each solar term actually represents only the weight of a single yao line, making the balance between them imperfectly equivalent. The specific method involves dividing a month into twelve hexagrams, with each hexagram governing two and a half days of practice performed according to its line configurations. When encountering a yang (solid) line, the practitioner concentrates the Shen (spirit) to circulate Qi (vital energy); when encountering a yin (broken) line, the mind relaxes into meditative stillness. Completing this twelve-hexagram cycle constitutes a month’s cultivation, and twelve such monthly cycles complete an annual practice—neither exceeding nor falling short.

The author asserts that the profound mysteries of the Yijing align perfectly with Neidan cultivation. This method of adjusting practice based on hexagram transformations better embodies the Daoist principle of "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu) than the static seated meditation of Chan Buddhism. He emphasizes that such subtle principles can only be truly grasped by recluses who dwell in mountain forests, clad in coarse robes and sustained by simple fare, far removed from worldly affairs—not by those chasing fame and profit.

In closing, the author humbly states that, advanced in years, he hopes fellow practitioners might offer guidance to help refine his practice. He stresses that these insights are suitable only for discussion with like-minded adepts and should not be carelessly disclosed to the unready, lest the true meaning be misunderstood.