《徐仙翰藻》Vol. 4

The fourth volume of Xu Xian's Literary Treasures records two accounts:

The first piece, Ode to Joyful Rain, describes the rain-praying ritual held at Lingji Temple. A severe drought had persisted for months—from autumn of the previous year through the third lunar month—leaving fields parched and the situation dire. The people recalled legends that the Bodhisattva Yingzhen (a Buddhist adept who attained realization) could command the lazy dragon to bring rain, and so they prayed with sincere devotion. True enough, three days after the Renyin day, drizzles began, and by the Bingwu day, ample rain had fallen. Young and old alike rejoiced, proclaiming this timely rainfall as the miraculous response of Bodhisattva Yingzhen. The author reflects: People often turn to divine beings only in desperation, yet the efficacy of spiritual response truly stems from sincere reverence in human hearts. This Bodhisattva Yingzhen, through disciplined practice and upholding precepts, attained the Tathāgata's divine power—such compassionate aid to the world is indeed inconceivable.

The second piece, Record of Restoring the Eastern Well, documents the history of Dongjing Well. According to stone inscriptions, the well was first built in the eighth year of the Xining era (1075 CE) of the Northern Song dynasty. However, inscriptions on its rim suggest an even earlier origin, dating back to the eighth year of the Tianfu era (943 CE, also the first year of Tiande in the Min Kingdom) during the Later Jin of the Five Dynasties period—making it 367 years old at the time of writing. Though the well's brick walls and rim still bore traces of donations by Zhang Jue (a revered scholar of the Five Dynasties), decades of weathering had left it collapsed and abandoned for over forty years. The author observes that all things inevitably decay with time—this is nature's law—and thus restoration after damage aligns with the principle of Heaven.

This passage records a miraculous event and philosophical reflection on well restoration from the Xu Xian Han Zao of the Ming Dynasty, divided into two parts:

The first part recounts extraordinary events occurring two days before the Dragon Boat Festival in the Wushen year. A sudden violent storm caused a cliff collapse, creating ruins where mud and stones sank into the earth. Local people interpreted this as celestial indication to restore the well (reflecting the Daoist concept of correspondence between Heaven, Earth and Humanity, where natural anomalies are often read as divine will). Four days later (on Yichou day), reconstruction began using natural vines from Aofeng Peak—measuring seventy to eighty zhang in length—as hauling ropes, perceived as heavenly assistance. The project lasted from Jiawu to Yisi day, coincidentally matching the Yisi date of the initial storm warning, further reinforcing the interpretation of celestial design. The section concludes with celebratory verses praising the well's virtue of "nourishing people and aiding creatures," invoking blessings from the Eight Directional Deities (guardian spirits of the cardinal directions in Daoist belief) for local peace.

The second part presents philosophical discourse from the Sealing the Well Treatise. It explains that wells correspond to the Twenty-Eight Lunar Mansions (ancient astronomical system) and embody the essence of Water among the Five Phases (the distilled quality of the water element in Daoist cosmology), being vital for human survival. Quoting the Book of Changes—"muddy well-water cannot be drunk; abandoned wells attract no birds"—it illustrates the danger of neglected wells: when water turns turbid, neither humans nor animals will approach, causing such wells to lose their life-nourishing function and instead become hazards. The text notes the temple grounds east of the lane connect to Aofeng Peak's mountain veins (reflecting Daoist geomantic concepts linking terrain to dragon veins), implying the site's endowment with numinous energy from landscape vitality.

The passage emphasizes the Daoist principle of "Heaven and people responding to each other": common people are "Heaven's subjects" who should act in accordance with celestial timing (natural rhythms) and bear Heaven's intention (cosmic will). Details like the storm warning, vine assistance, and date correspondences during well restoration are all presented as manifestations of this Heaven-human resonance.

Here is recorded a story about digging a well: In the past, someone cut through a mountain to excavate a well. When they had dug nearly nine ren deep (about 18 meters), just as they were about to reach the spring water, they grew fearful of losing all their previous efforts. Though this well-intentioned project for the people's benefit damaged the mountain, it originally caused no great harm. Yet now this well can neither draw water nor serve for washing, becoming utterly useless. The thirsty find no water to drink, those wishing to wash have nowhere to do so, the frogs at the bottom no longer croak, and the fish in the dried-up ruts lie gasping. This long-abandoned well resembles what geomancers call "the Black Tortoise (northern water deity) struck by an arrow," or what physicians describe as a disease reaching its incurable stage—clear evidence that the harm done to the mountain is indeed severe.

In recent years, as the world has changed, the countryside has declined. The virtuous find themselves in dire straits, noble men have lost their former brilliance, and vitality withers like dead wood. On the bingzi day of the ninth month in the guisi year of the Zhiyuan era (1293) of the Yuan dynasty, the villagers gathered to discuss filling this abandoned well and came to seek my counsel. I replied: "Filling it is a good deed." Thus I composed this memorial to inform the Well Spirit: Historically, when Geng Gong dug a well fifty zhang deep (about 45 meters), the waters gushed forth after he straightened his robes and knelt in reverence; yet when Zhu Bo served as Imperial Censor, all hundred wells in his residence compound dried up. Why did the same wells favor Geng Gong but oppose Zhu Bo? Could the Well Spirit be partial? May the Spirit understand: the presence or absence of water follows Heaven's will—what should open will open, what should be filled shall be filled, with no need for divine concern. Yet Heaven's decree also involves human affairs, hence this discussion of filling the well. After today's filling, may the spirits guard this place, dispel inauspicious influences, and bring prosperity to every household and health to every person.

Regarding the hardships of temple restoration: I have heard how the craftsmen laboring all year dare not slacken from dawn till dusk, exhausting their hearts and strength. Now the rotten beams have been replaced, the broken tiles repaired, the faded paintings restored—yet to claim all credit for oneself would be excessive, for companions too have contributed their share.

(Note: The text contrasts the historical examples of Geng Gong and Zhu Bo to illustrate how the rise and fall of things follow their destined course, yet human effort plays a crucial role. The accounts of well-filling and temple repair reflect the Daoist philosophy of "following nature's course while fulfilling human responsibilities and submitting to Heaven's will.")

This passage expounds profound principles of responsibility and moral duty (Dao-De). Though the eastern pond has dried and the western steps remain without commemorative steles, though the palace decorations lack grandeur both inside and out—how then should the heart of a true disciple (the cultivator) manifest? Like one who turns back at the gate after vowing to journey a thousand miles, this is no way for a person of virtue to act.

A true person of character prioritizes moral duty above all. To recognize what must be done yet refrain from action is cowardice. Consider the ancient guardians of righteousness like the two sons of Lord Guzhu (Bo Yi and Shu Qi), who walked their solitary path indifferent to worldly judgment—did they act thus for personal gain? Your sense of duty springs from innate nature (Xing), as different from fame-seekers as heaven is from earth. Your conduct is already known throughout the land; no verification from spirits is needed, so why belabor explanations?

The Book of Odes says: "In private chambers, remain blameless before your own conscience." Those who commune with the divine must act accordingly. Like building a palace—only when walls stand firm and furnishings are complete can one dwell in peace and cultivate reverence. Otherwise, the slightest lapse in outward dignity breeds irreverence. This deceives not only the gods and others but ultimately oneself. How could great matters be accomplished thus?

Future visitors to this temple, reading this record in the main hall, will surely ask: When the eight founders first conceived this project, what was their vision? When they collaborated later, what changed? Why such diligence at first, yet such negligence at last? Though human nature remains constant, why do mindsets differ? All worldly endeavors begin easily but endure with difficulty—only those who maintain virtue from start to finish truly embody the Dao of human conduct. This is exceedingly rare! Thus I urgently hope this undertaking may find both proper commencement and sustained completion.

Some may protest: "Without funds nothing can be done. When heaven withholds rain and spirits give no aid, when alms-seeking fails and charitable donors are few—what then?" Here is my counsel: Collective action must root itself in moral duty as fundamental benefit. Never cloak profit-seeking in righteousness—for those who truly uphold duty (Yi), nothing is impossible. Hold fast to this principle of Yi. When fellow cultivators hear this, they should rise abruptly, press against the wall in solemn attention, and declare: "How dare this disciple disobey?"

All undertakings in this world are easy to begin but difficult to complete. As the Book of Songs states, "All things have their beginnings, but few are carried through to the end," and the Book of Changes mentions "a fox crossing a river that wets its tail"—both illustrating how beginnings are simple but successful conclusions rare. Thus the noble person values the commencement but is even more cautious about the conclusion, maintaining consistency throughout. This is true auspiciousness. Those who begin diligently but grow lax, content to behave like petty individuals, will ultimately achieve nothing but half-finished endeavors.

Take this government restoration project as an example: initially eight people participated, yet only seven remained at the end, with merely three among them maintaining unwavering dedication throughout. This clearly demonstrates how easy it is to start things but how hard it is to see them through. Although the principle of "difficult conclusions" doesn't personally affect me, perceptive observers can discern certain individuals' lack of perseverance through this matter. What's more, these very people sought to accumulate merit (De) and pursue personal gain through temple repairs?

Now these six or seven colleagues have gathered in the courtyard for the completion ceremony. This project benefits both state and people, and its achievements will be engraved in metal and stone, passed down through the ages—who among future generations would dare belittle it? Though we've used the grand sacrifice of the "Three Victims" (ox, pig, and sheep) along with fine wine, and the rituals may seem overly extravagant, making me somewhat ashamed. As the Book of Rites' "Tan Gong" chapter wisely states: "In sacrifice, it is better to have sincere intention with simple rites than perfect ceremony with scant devotion." Now that both our ritual propriety and sincere hearts are present, why do some still accuse me of insufficient devotion? Remarks like "the deities are truly efficacious, so why don't they manifest slightly to people?" reveal rather narrow thinking.

Wealth and honor are what all men desire, and when unobtainable, people naturally make supplications. You six or seven who have united in service to the court, beginning well and ending better—I believe you are destined for great accomplishments. The celestial Dao and enlightened spirits protect virtuous individuals as echoes respond in mountain valleys—why should I belabor the point? Have you not seen the twenty-two portraits of meritorious officials in the Lingyan Pavilion (Tang Dynasty gallery of honored ministers)? Among them, only seven—Wei Zheng, Xiao Yu, Duan Zhixuan, Liu Hongji, Yao Silian, Yu Shinan, and Qin Shubao—maintained constancy from start to finish. Now your group also numbers seven; if you can take perseverance as your guiding principle, your future positions at court will surely enable you to render outstanding service to the nation.

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between illness and "ghosts," as well as methods for expelling pathogenic influences. The author begins by mentioning how the ancient Duke of Jin, when ill, dreamed of bears and attributed his sickness to vengeful spirits. Later, renowned literati like Han Yu and Liu Yuxi composed essays or poems about malaria demons. However, the author argues that so-called ghosts are actually formless and soundless—what truly causes human illness isn't supernatural beings, but rather people's dietary excesses, indulgence in sensory pleasures that damage the digestive system, or emotional imbalances that scatter the Shen (spirit).

The text emphasizes that humans, as the most spiritual beings among all creatures, receive nourishment from heaven, earth, sun, and moon. Yet even the finest natural environment becomes useless if one neglects self-cultivation. Ancient people often recovered through decoctions and acupuncture, whereas modern individuals struggle to find effective treatments. Finally, adopting the stance of a divine protector acting under the Celestial Emperor's mandate, the author vows to strictly punish according to the Nüqing Xuan Lü (Daoist precepts) those "ghosts" harming common people, leaving them no refuge. The conclusion references Du Fu's poetry being chanted during the Lower Primordial Festival (a Daoist observance) when amnesty decrees are proclaimed.

The "Seven Heroes of Lingyan Pavilion" denote Tang dynasty founding figures, while Nüqing Xuan Lü represents important Daoist disciplinary codes. "Lower Primordial" refers to one of the Three Primordial Festivals—the Water Official's day for resolving misfortunes. Through analyzing illness causation, the text both refutes simplistic attributions to ghosts and spirits while preserving the sanctity of Daoist exorcism rituals.

This text is a Daoist proclamation for dispelling drought, written as a stern rebuke to the Drought Demon (the malevolent spirit believed to cause droughts):

I know your origins—your ancestor was the Flame Emperor (an ancient fire deity), revered for bringing prosperity to the people. Yet you, an unworthy descendant, have disgraced your lineage with your hideous form and wicked heart. Even the disasters caused by fire spirits like Bifang and Huilu pale in comparison to the droughts you bring. When the Great Yu cast his sacred cauldrons to suppress demons, your kind fled to the savage lands of the Black-Toothed Tribes in the south. You once battled with Kuafu (the giant who chased the sun), pursuing it to the Valley of Dawn. Parched with thirst, you sought to drain the seas and even stole the waters of mortal rivers, leaving them dry—just as you did when King Tang of Shang prayed for rain beneath the mulberry trees.

Kings like Xuan of Zhou and Jing of Qi, wise rulers of their time, showed you mercy. Yet now you return to wreak havoc. By the decree of the Celestial Emperor, I guard this land. The people toil all year just to feed themselves—why must you cut off the rains? The crops are ready to sprout, the grains about to ripen—how can you bear to poison all living things?

Now I prepare for you a straw cart (for ritual offerings), provisions, and farewell wine. Hear me clearly: Return at once to your homeland, the lands of the Black-Toothed Tribes (south of the Southern Sea, a journey of but a day). You have one day to gather your followers and depart on the whirlwind. Should you defy this command, you will face judgment under the Nüqing Xuan Lü (Daoist disciplinary codes)—any who harm the people may be slain by all! The net of Heaven is vast—when it closes, regret will come too late!

Note: The text personifies drought as the malevolent Drought Demon, using a rhetorical structure that recounts its crimes, traces its lineage, and delivers an ultimatum—a hallmark of Daoist exorcism rituals. Historical allusions (such as King Tang’s rain prayer) and mythological elements (like Kuafu’s chase of the sun) serve the religious purpose of intimidating the demon.

This Exorcism of Toad-Miasma Text discusses methods to dispel an epidemic known as "toad miasma." The text states that when locusts dare not enter a region and tigers flee carrying their cubs, these are spiritual omens of the land's protection, indicating it is time to rid the people of this affliction.

The author mentions having read in the History of the Southern Dynasties about a man named Qiu Jie who fell ill after eating raw vegetables. He later dreamed of his mother informing him it was toad poison and left him three medicinal pills. After taking them, he indeed expelled several sheng (an ancient measuring vessel) of toxic matter. This confirms that toads can indeed cause harm.

The text describes toads as the filthiest of aquatic creatures: their bodies covered in warts, their limbs kicking up dust as they crawl, their bellies bloated, their necks retracted, and their mud-like coloration. They feed on scraps and excrement, leap about on well railings, and dwell in broken brick crevices. Day and night, they serve ghosts and spirits, born as creatures of impurity.

Even more terrifying, during the full moon, toad spirits grow particularly rampant. They absorb lunar essence, disrupt the natural order, and defile all things. Such foolish creatures are beyond even Heaven's control—how much less can humans restrain them? When common people contract this disease innocently, symptoms begin at the pores and gradually spread to the joints. Early stages bring dizziness and blurred vision; later, the body weakens, with aching back, headaches, runny nose, and a burning throat. Though thirsty, they cannot drink water, followed by high fever as if sitting in a pit of fire—even washing with the waters of the Eastern Sea cannot cool them. Some must wait until the hours of Chen or Xu (ancient timekeeping, roughly 7–9 AM or 7–9 PM) when sweating finally reduces the fever, but once the heat subsides, dry coughing begins, and the illness cycles back with worsening intensity.

The author speculates on the causes: perhaps seasonal disorder has disrupted Yin-Yang balance; or improper diet and indulgence in rich flavors; or excessive sensory pleasures and debauchery. Any of these may lead to the onset of disease.

This passage describes a deity's stern warning and eventual pardon toward toads (referred to as "shrimp-toads") that were harming the common people.

The deity first reprimands these creatures: physicians cannot cure their poison with medicine, shamans find moxibustion ineffective, and even talismans (fulu) and incantations prove futile. They lurk in sewers causing mischief, transforming into various ghosts and demons (such as gui, chimeng, and wangliang), becoming more harmful than legendary sand-shooting monsters or venomous snakes. As the deity appointed by the Heavenly Emperor to protect this land declares their grave crimes, the people demand their extermination.

The deity issues an ultimatum: within one day, all toads must migrate to the lake east of Mount Lei to eke out a living, never again harming the populace. Otherwise, the deity will dispatch the "Insect-Control Deity" (Guoshi) to exterminate them with burning moxa ashes, followed by beheading and gutting—their flesh to be distributed among the people.

Terrified upon hearing this, the toads—clad in green (symbolizing their natural color)—kneel and beg for mercy. They claim to have prepared willow carts and straw boats for immediate departure, pleading for divine clemency. Moved by their pitiful wailing, the deity ultimately writes this proclamation: as an intelligent and righteous spirit, strict punishment would be justified for these disaster-bringing creatures. Yet witnessing their desperate pleas, the deity grants them a chance for redemption. The text concludes by describing Mount Lei's beautiful environment and clear lake waters as suitable for their peaceful settlement.

Historical references include "Lu Bian" (the ancient physician Bian Que) and "shenling" (ginseng and poria cocos herbs), symbolizing medical futility. "Wu xi" denotes male and female shamans, while "mingming" refers to the realm of spirits. Through this dialogue between deity and toads, the passage embodies Daoist beliefs in divine guardianship and the moral principle of punishing evil while rewarding good.

This passage comes from Xu Xian Han Zao, a rhymed prose critique of the prevalent folk practice of animal sacrifice during the Song Dynasty. Through veiled metaphors, the author expresses profound distress over these harmful customs.

The opening depicts recluses withdrawing from worldly affairs: "Living in seclusion, swiftly retreating far away." The Daoist incantation phrase "ji ji ru lü ling" (urgently as by the law's command) underscores the matter's urgency, noting the composition date as spring 975 CE during the Kaibao era.

The main text, "Rhapsody on the Crime of Killing," condemns the superstitious slaughter rituals prevalent in Yue (modern Jiangsu-Zhejiang region). When afflicted by illness, locals distrust herbal medicine (like ginseng and poria) but instead heed shamans who claim sacrificial killing ensures survival. Heartbroken by this unyielding practice, the author composes this rhapsody to vent his anguish.

Vivid metaphors expose societal chaos: Heaven and Earth inverted ("kanyu" symbolizing cosmic disorder), right and wrong indistinguishable; springs turn turbid, forests drip blood—metaphors for the defilement of slaughter; hidden archers ("shegong", representing treacherous schemers) lurk to harm; fish eyes mingled with pearls ("yan shi jian zhu ji") blur truth and falsehood; earthen pots thunder ("wafu leiming"), signifying the unworthy gaining prominence; wild birds entering homes bear no inherent omen, yet people impose baseless interpretations.

The author laments how people crave sensory pleasures ("bu chuo qi zao li"—gorging on dregs of cheap wine), unlike Qu Yuan's noble purity ("can ju zuan lan"—sustaining on chrysanthemums and orchids). Society suppresses human nature like moths drawn to flames; when the "six excesses" (pathogenic factors—wind, cold, heat, damp, dryness, fire) run rampant, they blame dew and frost; divination ("lu zhi bu"—ancient augury) descends into absurdity.

The critique culminates sharply: Killing to seek life is like "heading south by driving north"; bandits run wild while people obsess over sacrifices; shamans ("shen wang") provoke droughts through reckless rituals. Better to "face the wall in cultivation" than self-mutilate like Yu Rang swallowing charcoal. The author challenges Heaven's obscured justice that permits innocent suffering; superstitions like "mistaking a bow's reflection for a snake" ("ying yu bei she") only compound delusions. The closing lament observes how people, addicted to shamanism, ignore warnings—like refusing to "move firewood" ("xi xin") from a burning house until rescuers arrive with scorched brows.

This passage depicts the tragic downfall of a greedy and deceitful individual. That vile character employed cunning schemes for personal gain, only to face not just human condemnation but also divine retribution. Heaven wielded its golden battle-axe (symbolizing celestial punishment) to strike him down, causing his precipitous fall from high position.

The author reflects with lament: In this world where right and wrong are inverted, people constantly try to outwit heavenly principles, yet the Dao's justice remains clear and unfailing. Amidst the interplay of light and darkness, those malignant beings—like useless warts (symbolizing parasitic evil)—will inevitably meet their ruin, a truly pitiable end. Who would even arrange their burial garments? We can only sound warning bells and light beacons to caution the world.

Finally, the author reveals his purpose: Though burdened with sorrow, his mind remains unclouded, preferring to record these admonitions. Without such warnings, humanity might all become disheveled and behave aberrantly (indicating moral collapse).