《徐仙翰藻》Vol. 7

This poetic passage is excerpted from Volume VII of Xu Xian's Literary Elegance, presenting Daoist immortal Xu Jia's profound reflections on historical vicissitudes through classical verse. The immortal employs historical allusions and natural imagery to convey insights into the impermanence of worldly affairs.

The opening depicts the poet transcending mundane concerns to observe dynastic changes: the once-mighty Han Dynasty now belongs to history, and the Tang will meet the same fate. Imperial mausoleums will erode into valleys, while oceans have transformed into mulberry fields multiple times. Using the contrast between Kuafu chasing the sun (a mythological giant pursuing the solar orb) and the Jing people (legendary dwarf nation), the verse illustrates how neither might nor insignificance can escape destiny.

Insect metaphors follow: ants circling stoves and moths darting into flames mirror humanity's pursuit of fame and wealth. Scorpions and locust plagues symbolize life's unpredictable fortunes, while eagles dying from failing eyesight and fish hooked through gluttony subtly critique human frailties. References to the Three Gorges' treacherous rapids and Taihang Mountain's perilous paths symbolize life's hardships.

Historical parables accumulate: Jin and Chu's prosperity masked hypocrisy; Su Qin and Zhang Yi schemed against each other. Brothers fought over food, sons denounced fathers, talking orangutans turned on kin, and fierce tigers devoured their own. "Ritual mice standing ceremoniously" satirize hollow etiquette; maddened oxen represent social chaos. The oriole-stalking-cicada fable reveals nature's law of the strong preying on the weak—in such times, even phoenix odes (symbolizing peace) become lamentations.

Later verses condemn societal decay: classics gather dust on shelves; virtue's path lies abandoned. Courtesans drown in drunken oblivion; nobles wallow in sensual pleasures. Some purchase offices through donations while true talent languishes. People ape foreign fashions ("left-lapelled" barbarian garb) amid linguistic confusion. Such folly resembles carving boat-marks to find lost swords, or reaping bitter melons from misguided governance.

Celestial anomalies conclude the vision: sun and moon rotate like millstones; heaven and earth float as vessels. Dust clouds shroud the four seas; war ravages the Central Plains. Warlords vie for supremacy as the Five Dynasties lose royal authority. Mentions of Min Prefecture and Jiankang (modern Nanjing) recall past benevolent rulers. Though ancestral shrines face ruin, divine blessings endure—the poet recommends chicken-bone divination (an ancient practice) to restore temples.

The coda references "three sacred texts descending at Chenghua Palace, joyfully received from the Four Queen Mothers," hinting at celestial scriptures descending amidst chaos to offer hope. The Four Queen Mothers (Xi Wangmu), a major Daoist goddess, here embody divine revelation.

This is a memorial text from a Daoist purification ritual (Zhaijiao), comprising two main sections: the first is a celestial petition for preemptive merit accumulation on behalf of a female disciple, while the latter expresses gratitude to the master.

The first section conveys that although the practitioner is over sixty years old (the age of "understanding all words"), she feels her cultivation remains shallow—still unclear about the principles of Yin-Yang (represented by Li and Kan trigrams) within herself, let alone comprehending the transformations of Heaven and Earth (Qian and Kun). Now seeking to accumulate merit preemptively for a female disciple, the text notes this disciple's five-leak female body (referring to the limitations of mortal female form) and her mundane existence spent in idle amusement, lacking in feminine virtues (the four teachings of work, appearance, speech, and virtue) and emotional discipline (the six passions of joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure). Choosing the Double Seventh festival (a major Daoist purification day) in the year of Si-Hai for the ritual, the practitioner worries the Three Corpses (three harmful spirits believed to reside in the human body) might report her faults to the celestial court. Thus she sincerely petitions the heavens, vowing reform from this day forward.

The text invokes the descent of deities including the Crimson Emperor of Zhu Ling from the Southern Changsheng Heaven (a sovereign deity of the southern celestial realm), the Great Emperor of Longevity of the South Pole (controller of lifespan), and Immortal Elder Han (a Daoist transcendent). It seeks their recording of merits, absolution of sins, and blessings for extended life. Special requests include obtaining the "Yellow Register and White Slips" (celestial records of merits and faults) and "Purple Characters with Golden Names" (immortal registry entries), aspiring to longevity like Peng Zu's legendary eight thousand years and flourishing descendants.

The latter Gratitude Memorial mentions the author, now over eighty, persists in cultivation despite advanced age. Humbly claiming dull innate capacity yet having gained some insight through diligent study (symbolized by dragon-sealed and phoenix-pointed classics), he emphasizes strict self-discipline and impartial judgment when managing Daoist affairs. Finally, it reverently praises the True Lord of Orthodox Unity's Silent Response and Manifest Protection (a Daoist deity), expressing gratitude for transmitting the profound teachings of Zhengyi Dao (the orthodox lineage of Celestial Master tradition).

References to the Western Ascension Scripture (a key classic transmitted by Laozi) and the Hidden Talisman (esoteric methods Huangdi sought from Guangchengzi) demonstrate the author's orthodox lineage. The entire text embodies the characteristic humility and specialized terminology of Daoist cultivation, exemplifying typical features of Song-Yuan dynasty Daoist ritual documents.

This passage from Xu Xian Han Zao elucidates the Daoist compassionate principles and cultivation methods for liberating wandering souls and alleviating suffering.

The first section expresses the grand vow of the Dao's merciful salvation: The supreme sages of heaven and earth, like compassionate parents, impart teachings to guide sentient beings toward deliverance. Concerned that wandering souls might remain trapped in the perpetual darkness of the underworld due to ignorance and past transgressions, the text advocates using the power of accumulated virtue (De) as a bridge. It implores the Dao to manifest its radiance, dispel malignant forces between heaven and earth, and purify these souls—closing the gates of death while opening the path to life, so all beings in the underworld may receive the Dao's grace.

The second section, titled "Refinement and Liberation Table," details the ritual framework: Since ancient times, scriptures like the Duren Jing (Scripture on the Salvation of Humanity) have transmitted methods of deliverance. Practitioners humbly acknowledge their incomplete grasp of the true Dao, expressing regret for not yet mastering advanced techniques like the "bear climbing a tree" posture or the "turtle breathing" method for nurturing spirit (Shen). The text emphasizes how souls, entangled by worldly desires, inevitably accumulate transgressions through thought, speech, and action, while remaining ignorant of the essential cultivation principles involving essence (Jing), vital energy (Qi), and spirit (Shen). It petitions the Great Emperor of Living Spirits—a revered Daoist deity residing in the Nine Heavens—to reconstruct these souls using the dual forces of Yin and Yang. Through refining the heart's fire (represented by the Li trigram) and the kidneys' water (represented by the Kan trigram), the souls undergo spiritual rebirth, achieving complete form and spirit, severing afflictions forever, and ultimately attaining a purified Dao-body.

The third section highlights the miraculous efficacy of the Duren Jing: Sincerely reciting it ten times can revive withered bones. The nine-chapter Sheng Shen Jing (Scripture on Generating Spirit) liberates souls—a teaching left by the Supreme Dao Ancestor (Taishang Daozu). The merit of sages permeates the creative transformations of heaven and earth, mastering the alternating patterns of Yin-Yang's odd and even movements. By cultivating the interplay of heart-fire and kidney-water, souls are naturally liberated like water returning to its moist source.

The Xu Xian Han Zao scripture primarily discusses the Keyi (liturgical ritual) for the salvation of departed souls, expressing the officiating priest's devotion and prayers for their liberation.

The first section begins with the priest humbly acknowledging his advanced age and limited knowledge, admitting he is not well-versed in the arts of Neidan (internal alchemy), such as the Ninefold Cyclic Elixir method involving "tiger-mercury and dragon-lead" (symbolic alchemical substances), nor in breathing exercises like "bear-hanging and turtle-breathing" (classic Daoist longevity techniques). Yet, despite his shortcomings, he earnestly conducts the ritual to guide the wandering souls. These spirits, having long lingered in the underworld ("Quanqu," an allusion to the Yellow Springs), are prayed for deliverance—that they may find peace like the fox that, upon death, turns its head toward its homeland (a classical reference to "shouqiu"). He beseeches the deities of the Three Realms to descend, aiding these souls through the refining process ("taozhu," symbolizing spiritual transformation), freeing them from the cycle of rebirth and returning them to their original purity.

The second section references Daoist scriptures such as the Duren Jing ("Scripture of Salvation," which speaks of the "Tenfold Salvation Method from the Azure Heaven of Fuli") and the Jiu Tian Sheng Shen Zhang ("Nine Heavens Life-Spirit Chapters" from the "Jade Calendar of Primordial Yang"). Again, the priest modestly admits his shallow grasp of cosmological principles like "Li and Kan" (Fire and Water) or "Qian and Kun" (Heaven and Earth), yet he persists in his efforts to save the souls. He worries that the deceased may have suffered in the underworld due to past misdeeds (such as illnesses like "back abscesses"), leaving their spirits adrift. He implores the gods to refine these souls with the dual energies of Yin and Yang, nourishing them with wind and rain, so even withered bones may be revived.

The third section states that Lord Laozi (Taishang Laojun) transmitted these salvation rites, yet the priest, conscious of his inadequacies, performs them with trembling reverence. He marvels at the divine mystery of cosmic order ("xing tian zhi ji"), where all things return to their source ("nangyue," the bellows metaphor for creation), and forms are remolded ("taodiao," symbolizing the shaping power of nature), restoring life to decay—a profound alignment with the principles of Yin-Yang.

Overall, the text embodies the Daoist salvational ritual's core belief: through humble devotion and divine assistance, the priest aids lost souls in transcending suffering and attaining rebirth.

This scripture comprises two main sections: a memorial text for conducting zhaijiao (Daoist purification rituals) to liberate deceased souls, and a profound reflection on the moral decay of society.

The first half depicts a widowed mother bereft of both husband and daughter, beseeching Daoist priests to perform liberation rites. The text references the alchemical principle of "water and fire complementing each other" (symbolizing yin-yang harmony), demonstrating how formless Daoist methods can influence the material world. The ritual sponsor mourns her daughter's premature death before reaching eight days old, followed by her husband's passing—grief beyond words. Quoting King Wen of Zhou's legendary benevolence that extended even to dry bones, the author humbly acknowledges limited spiritual attainment while pledging to conduct the soul liberation according to Jingming Dao (a Daoist school) liturgical protocols. Key cosmological concepts appear here: "the Dao of Qian forms males, the Dao of Kun forms females" (yin-yang generative theory), along with cultivation practices correlating sun/moon with hun/po (ethereal and corporeal souls).

The second half, titled "Memorial for Atonement," castigates societal moral collapse: officials chase rank without fearing punishment, valuing merit while ignoring transgressions. The author laments that without the compassion of Lord Lao (the supreme Daoist deity), commoners would have perished. An idealized society resembling the Violet Sun Immortal Realm (Daoist utopia) is described—where people live contentedly and merchants trade honestly. Yet reality reveals ethical bankruptcy: neighbors harming each other, fraudulent lawsuits, and the disappearance of benevolence-righteousness. Historical exemplars like Boyi and Shuqi (ancient sages) or Tang statesmen Fang Xuanling and Du Ruhui are contrasted with contemporary Confucianism's decline and empty Buddhist-Daoist theorizing, ultimately attributing this degeneration to the exhaustion of heaven-earth's fengshui qi (geomancy energy).

The text employs powerful anaphora with repeated "no longer heard" phrases, vehemently condemning the loss of loyalty-honesty-benevolence-justice, saturated with nostalgia for ancient simplicity.

The scripture Xu Xian's Literary Elegance presents the vicissitudes of life and philosophical insights through contrasts between past and present, along with admonitory teachings. The text first depicts drastic changes in the natural environment: roads once abundant with tidal waters have now dried up, pine-lined pathways have been completely felled, and formerly gushing wells stand depleted. The author clarifies these transformations are not merely due to changing times, but result from the interplay of Yin-Yang (natural laws) and Fengshui (environmental energies), emphasizing humanity's limited capacity to alter the workings of the Dao.

A series of seven life admonitions follows in parallel structure: do not indulge like an unbridled stallion, do not govern harshly to harm commoners, do not pursue pleasure at the expense of health, avoid drunken misconduct, shun unconscientious acts that invite heavenly retribution, and instead accumulate blessings through good deeds. Special mention is made of Lingji Temple's (a Daoist monastery) benefactors whose virtuous deeds earned community praise, their reputations enduring through the ages.

The latter section Joyful Rain uses drought as backdrop, depicting sun-scorched farmlands cracking under relentless heat while farmers gaze at clouds praying for rain. It criticizes contemporary lack of rulers like Emperor Tang who prayed for rain at Mulberry Forest (classical allusion), noting some even resort to extreme self-harm for divine supplication. Daoist elements like the "Six Ding" (Daoist guardian generals) and "Ao Peak Dragon" (legendary rain deity) appear, alluding to rain-summoning rituals. When heavenly rain finally pours, the vivid metaphor "a single drop from a horse's mane becomes an overturned celestial gourd" captures the torrential downpour, with young and old celebrating abundant harvests—embodying the Daoist concept of heaven-human resonance.

Throughout the text runs the Daoist cosmology of "Yin-Yang's predetermined cycles," balancing reverence for natural laws with practical guidance for "accumulating virtue through good deeds." The concluding imagery of seasonal harmony manifests the doctrine of heavenly reward for virtue, where benevolent weather patterns confirm the Dao's responsiveness to human morality.

The Xu Xian Han Zao poetry contains two distinct sections: one expressing gratitude toward divine spirits, and another reflecting on the vicissitudes of human life.

The first section depicts common folk offering newly harvested rice and water plants (duckweed and algae) from stream banks as sacrificial offerings to deities, thanking them for granting rainfall. The author notes that although these spirits are formless and insubstantial ("silent and shadowless, fundamentally empty and void"), people still express reverence through ritual offerings. The term "stream moss" (溪毛) refers to the delicate aquatic vegetation growing in mountain brooks, traditionally used as ceremonial offerings in ancient times.

The second section unfolds through the story of Magistrate Xie Lin, transitioning into philosophical reflection. It first describes a scene of guests visiting, then laments the rarity of true understanding ("Since Ziqi's death, none live who comprehend the music" – invoking the legend of Bo Ya breaking his zither after losing his musical soulmate Zhong Ziqi), expressing melancholy toward life's impermanence. The poet recalls his youthful days in Chang'an adorned with splendid official regalia ("gold seals and star-embroidered sashes jingling elegantly"), yet now sees worldly affairs as transient clouds. The conclusion turns toward pastoral reclusion, mentioning "drawing forth the azure satchel to seek Master Zheng" (the azure satchel symbolizing Daoist texts, with "Master Zheng" likely referring to famed Daoists like Zheng Yin), bequeathing his modest plot to descendants for farming – a clear declaration of transcending worldly concerns to pursue Daoist cultivation.

The latter segment, "Requesting Registrar Lin to Inscribe the Stele," recounts the chaos of the Five Dynasties period ("Five Regimes' warlords vied for supremacy"), chronicling the author's own path: studying literature at fifteen, joining the military at twenty. It describes commanding vast armies near the Huai River ("leading millions of fierce warriors," using the mythical pixiu beasts as metaphors for troops), later governing southern Fujian while protecting borders and civilians. The text concludes with locals establishing a memorial shrine that endured four centuries of worship despite weathering storms, though with inevitable distortions over time ("painting a tiger only to produce a dog's likeness" illustrating how oral traditions corrupt facts).

This text comprises a poem and letter written by the Daoist priest Xu Xianhan during the Yuan Dynasty to the recluse Nancun Jushi. It contains praise for the friend's literary talents, condolences for his mother's passing, and reflections on a Daoist practitioner's attitude toward life.

The opening employs hyperbolic praise for Nancun Jushi's brilliance: his writings are unparalleled in the contemporary world, his eloquence flows like mighty rivers, and the vigor of his calligraphy could "sweep away a thousand armies." The description continues with admiration for his artistic mastery—silver hooks and iron strokes resembling phoenix wings and coiling dragons, his stone inscriptions enduring through eternity.

The epistolary section provides context: Nancun Jushi, having lost his mother whose burial rites were still pending, temporarily retreated to Deer Mountain to arrange the funeral. When he visited the author bearing his literary works, the latter reciprocated with ancient verses as encouragement and later received precious poetry collections in return (such as "Fox-Fur Robe" and "Fish-and-Wild Goose Anthology"). The author modestly claims his matching poems fall short, unworthy of standing alongside those of renowned masters.

The latter portion shifts to Daoist reflections: "The daylilies have withered" metaphorically expresses grief for the departed mother, while the allusion to "Mencius's mother's neighborhood" honors filial piety. The Daoist practitioner, perceiving life's impermanence, acknowledges the predetermined nature of worldly fortunes (the floating world has its fixed portions). Concluding with transcendent counsel, he advises the friend against excessive lamentation (urge you, sir, to cease sighs and regrets), advocating instead for serenity (pure conversation reveals true flavor) and harmony with natural rhythms (return to treating all things as spring).

Daoist philosophy permeates the text: "singing while walking isn't reclusive hiding" reflects that cultivation transcends formal seclusion; "earthen tiles conveying divine speech" subtly hints at spiritual communion; "fragrant winds moving in tune with cosmic order" embodies the practice of aligning with celestial rhythms. Through natural imagery—dense bamboo, winter bamboo shoots, riverbank duckweed—the author conveys the Daoist's contemplative observation of life's cyclical growth as a path to enlightenment.

This passage depicts the wondrous scene of a Daoist practitioner's ascension to immortality and the people's remembrance of him. The general meaning is as follows:

This cultivator (Xu Ruzi) lived a life of indifference to fame and wealth during his earthly existence, and now, weary of the mortal world, he has ascended to immortality. His relatives and friends weep inconsolably, crying out to the heavens in grief. When his coffin was sealed, he appeared to be peacefully sleeping, but in truth, he had already entered the celestial realms. People saw him wearing a pheasant-feather crown and a crane-feather robe, riding in a dragon-drawn chariot, flanked by divine beasts as escorts, with ceremonial dancers on either side. Celestial music resounded through the clouds, and the streets lined with pine and willow trees bustled with vibrant energy.

The immortal realm is divided into two palaces: the western palace called "Abode of Pure Goodness" (Jingshanju) and the eastern palace named "True Unity" (Zhenyi), belonging to the "Great Mystery" (Tai Xuan—an important Daoist concept referring to the cosmic origin). Inside the palaces, star-lamps shone like countless lotus blossoms, with extraordinary fragrances filling the air. An attendant explained that this was the "Heaven of Equal Harmony" (Jun Tian—a Daoist celestial realm), originally governed by Wo Quan (an ancient immortal), but now a new master was to be appointed. All the immortals unanimously recommended this cultivator, as he had received true transmission at Mount Gou (legendary site where Prince Qiao ascended to immortality) and perfected his practice, having accumulated three thousand merits.

Though the celestial realm urged him to stay, he hesitated to accept the immortal position. Life in the immortal realm was indeed carefree, yet he seemed to retain earthly attachments. The passage concludes with descriptions of the splendid attire and solemn ceremonies of the immortal realm, as well as the cultivator's peaceful and non-contentious character during his lifetime. The ending reflects on the vast separation between life and death—like heaven and the abyss—and how the departed flows away like water, leaving the living with boundless sorrow.

The text employs numerous Daoist celestial motifs: the dragon chariot (long ping), the paths of constellations (xing chan), the jade registers (yu jian—records of immortal lineages), etc., vividly portraying the Daoist ideal of attaining the Way and ascending to immortality. Simultaneously, through allusions like the "banana-leaf deer" (jiao lu—from the Liezi, symbolizing life's illusory nature), it contemplates the profound questions of life and death.

This poem "To Elder Lin Dongcun" conveys multiple layers of meaning, expressing three core Daoist principles:

First, it describes the proper attitude for spiritual cultivation. Like Su Dongpo living simply in Hibiscus City (a Daoist celestial realm), planting melons and beans without worldly ambitions, practitioners should maintain inner tranquility—as even as level ground—while studying scriptures diligently, avoiding indulgence in sensory pleasures. True blessings arise naturally from accumulated virtue, just as a great tree requires no artificial support of "eight hundred rafters."

Next, historical parables warn against worldly pursuits. The poem references King Zhou of Shang (Yin Xin) whose infatuation with Daji (of Yousu) led to his dynasty's collapse, the First Emperor of Qin (Zu Long) who burned books and buried scholars (the tragedy of Xing Valley), and Fan Li (Lord Tao Zhu) who withdrew to sail the Five Lakes after achieving merit. These illustrate how chasing power and wealth ultimately drains one's vital essence (Jing) and energy (Qi), leaving people "blind, deaf, and mute."

Finally, it contrasts two life paths: the mundane way—grasping like thieves (盗穿窬), greedy as the bandit Zhi, filled with deceit—versus the Daoist way. Though cultivation seems arduous as "scaling heaven's ladder on stone cliffs," compared to the turbulent "river of desires" and worldly hardships, it offers true purity. The poet reflects how dynasties rise and fall in a blink, while only the Great Void (Taixu, cosmic origin) remains eternal.

Symbolism abounds: "Nine-fold plumage" and "tall phoenix tree" represent noble character, "tamed foxes" symbolize corrupted humanity, while "autumn dogwood" and "river thoroughwort" signify integrity. The closing admonition urges observers to repent (恶亦悛) and return to the Dao (the Way).

The Xu Xian Hanzao text contains multiple dialogue segments exploring human destiny, the causality of fortune and misfortune, and principles for navigating life.

The first section depicts time fleeting like a white steed's shadow past a crevice. It recounts ancient legends: when the giant clan of Wangmang guarded Mount Fengyu, a yellow dragon once appeared bearing a five-colored chart, while a divine turtle revealed the cosmic secrets of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). The author considers these classical records historically authentic, unlike Zhuangzi and Laozi's tendency to dismiss them as metaphysical abstractions. He then reminisces about his official service in Jiangdu (modern Yangzhou), where he received imperial edicts during the Jiaxi reign, lamenting how the once-glorious temples now lie in ruins awaiting restoration.

The "Response on Grave Construction" section discusses burial customs. At Beimang Mountain (Luoyang's famed necropolis), ancient tombs mound upon tombs—where are the descendants of those whose steles bear illustrious names? Fortune and calamity aren't heaven-decreed but stem from human hearts, the author asserts, emphasizing that true blessings root in one's "inch-square heart" (a Daoist metaphor for the mind's purity). He criticizes worldly folly—people quarrel over burial plots yet forget their shared lineage. Exemplary filial piety is shown through Han-dynasty Wang Ling's burial of his mother, while Empress Wu Zetian's fate demonstrates the impermanence of glory. The text warns that grave-robbing and corpse-burning damage one's hidden virtue (阴德, Yinde—accumulated through unseen good deeds), advocating the Confucian principle of reciprocity.

In "Response to Zhou Shiyu's Life Questions," life mirrors heroes roaming the world with arrow-like determination (symbolized by Artemisia arrows and mulberry-wood bows). True friendship transcends age, valuing mutual understanding over divination. Present contentment lies in smooth journeys, plain tea-and-rice meals, and letters from home—simple blessings of peace.

Though only titled, the fourth segment "Response to Scholar Lü on Horse Provisions" clearly addresses logistical consultation regarding cavalry supplies. Collectively, these passages reveal a sage harmonizing Daoist cosmic insight with Confucian humanistic concern—a scholar equally versed in celestial mysteries and earthly affairs.

The Immortal Elder Wang Fangping of Gechuan once passed through Eastern Wu and visited Cai Jing. At the time, people could not see the immortal's form—only the sounds of chariots and horses echoed through the air, along with golden plates and jade cups bearing eight delicacies. As the feast neared its end, the melodies of sheng pipes drifted from the clouds. Soon after, the immortal rose with the wind, jade pendants tinkling, riding a tiger-drawn chariot and dragon-carried carriage toward the Purple Purity Heaven (the highest celestial realm in Daoism). Before parting, he gifted me a scroll of the Huangting Jing (Yellow Court Scripture), saying that cinnabar, though originally transformed from mere grains of rice, could emit five-colored radiance to illuminate the mortal world. The sun and moon of the immortal realms never cease their revolutions; even the vast sea may shallow and stir dust. How laughable are the people of Baxian's tangerine groves, still vying for supremacy in the mundane world! Why do women dye their foreheads yellow? Merely to compete in haste. Do you not know that in the Dark Sea, there are dates as large as melons, and on Ying Mountain, plums as big as bottles? How can the pleasure of tangerines compare to these immortal fruits, which grant eternal life when consumed?

Encouragement to the Painter Cai

People say the Cai family excels in painting, as if General Hutou (referring to the Eastern Jin painter Gu Kaizhi) had been reborn. His brushwork is meticulous and vivid, capturing the essence of all things, whether refined or coarse, good or evil—especially skilled in conveying the spirit and vitality of figures. When he visited during the Double Ninth Festival two years ago, the elite soldiers he painted seemed like gods and ghosts manifesting; the mighty warriors' great feathered arrows were so lifelike their hairs stood on end in awe. On the east and west sides, he depicted the Stars of Fortune and Prosperity, each stroke brimming with divine energy. The court was awash in vermilion and purple (colors of high-ranking officials), proving that scholars' efforts are never in vain. Above, he painted perfected beings (zhenren) paying homage to the Celestial Emperor, their radiance rivaling the sun, moon, and stars; below, they bestowed rain and commanded thunder, carrying out the Celestial Emperor's will to benefit living beings. Returning to his grotto, he played celestial music, his sleeves lightly scented with the fragrance of the imperial incense burner. Occasionally, jade balustrades peeked through, with silver hooks holding up crimson curtains. The painting also featured slender-waisted maidens dancing the Liuyao, and a hundred amusing acrobatics full of wit. Only the bedchamber scene remained unfinished. Knowing your mastery of the brush, such an artist is truly rare. Year after year, it's said that utmost sincerity can pierce metal and stone. Art, like the wind and moon, should never be measured in gold; every sip and bite is preordained. Yet they say only the Xu family's disciples are taught, unaware that peach and cassia trees are themselves divine. Last year's musical instruction was incomplete, so now I write this ancient-style poem to continue the encouragement.

Response to a Scholar's Query About Eye Ailments

They say the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness) are all thieves—could it be Heaven's reproach that turns eyes white? Better to gouge them out and hang them on the door than to imitate others flaunting purple quartz. Fusheng's (the Han Dynasty Confucian scholar) debt of unread books remains unpaid, and now eye ailments add to his troubles.

The passage paints a portrait of a scholar suffering from chronic illness, interwoven with reflections on Daoist health cultivation. The protagonist endures swollen, tearful eyes with blurred vision, his spirit withered. When reading by lamplight, he sees dancing spots before his eyes, unable even to distinguish the direction of flying birds. He mocks himself as being as changeable as the waxing and waning moon, like a bronze mirror covered in dust that no one cleans. Despite repeated consultations with physicians, this stubborn ailment remains uncured.

The text mentions "talisman masters wielding ritual blades" (Fulu practitioners drawing exorcism sigils) and references the ancient shaman Wu Xian, implying various unsuccessful religious remedies. The author consoles him that fortune and misfortune are unpredictable, advising against self-reproach. Then the narrative shifts sharply to critique the protagonist's obsessive bookishness ("addicted to texts like ancient bibliophiles"), comparing his overexertion to the legendary scholars who "hung their hair from rafters and stabbed their thighs to stay awake"—all of which has depleted his vital Qi (Jing) like autumn leaves withering.

The latter section transforms into a medical dialogue, borrowing the voice of "Shu He" (the Jin dynasty physician Wang Shuhe) to diagnose weak pulses caused by imbalance of the "six pathogenic factors" (wind, cold, heat, dampness, dryness, and fire). It references Daoist medicinal formulas like bear's gall ointment and Neidan (internal alchemy) terminology such as "the divine fire stirs the cosmic crucible," suggesting the need for Yin-Yang regulation. The conclusion describes temple construction and steles, noting this deity's manifestations since the Later Jin dynasty (944-946 CE) and its enduring 400-year worship through the Yuan dynasty (1284-1291), emphasizing the devotional essence: "Only Virtue (De) is fragrant to the enlightened and upright."

[Note: The original employs a unique numerical verse structure (counting 1-10 then backward), blending three layers—personal illness narrative, medical theory, and temple records. The translation prioritizes clarifying these interwoven threads.]

This passage, though seemingly obscure, conveys profound reflections on human nature and worldly affairs through historical allusions and metaphors. Let me elucidate it in modern terms:

The path of life is more treacherous than the ancient Shu roads—why bury oneself in arduous study? Emperor Gaozu of Han rose through cunning strategies, while his generals like Fan Kuai (a former dog butcher) and Guan Ying (a former cloth peddler) came from humble origins. Even talents like Dong Zhongshu and Jia Yi couldn't escape fate's whims. People deceive one another, and neighbors harbor enmity like sworn foes.

Society wallows in greed and cruelty, with all strata scrambling for profit—true worthies are rare as phoenix feathers. Who truly understands the deeper meaning behind Cao E's stele (commemorating the filial daughter Cao E)? Scholars inheriting knowledge and officials assuming posts alike require genuine ability to produce literary masterpieces.

Speaking of talent—like composing the Jiangdu Temple inscription or writing the Luochi Records—these were truly peerless achievements. Yet nowadays, people borrow others' names to voice personal views, shamefully seeking patronage.

Bidding farewell to a friend, I sigh: Wrong, all wrong! Why sing those vulgar tunes? This world brims with fickleness and peril—hold your tongue. The lychee branches glow crimson like a vermilion dragon spitting pearls or the golden crow (sun) pecking at jewels. Is the wealth of a thousand-household marquis worth boasting? Better dance by wine jars in simple joy. Talk of Fengcheng's treasured swords or Kunshan's jade (metaphors for rare talents) has become empty rhetoric today. Is diviner Zhan Yin no longer accurate? Or is immortal Hugong mocking me with rotten ropes?

This year is called "Tuntan" in ancient chronology, next year "Zuo'e." Distant thunder rumbles like celestial drums—the dormant dragon (recluse scholars) shall eventually rise. The people yearn for sweet rain, soaring straight to celestial wanderings. Don't lament recent hardships—birds fear crooked branches, fish dread bait, like turtles retreating into shells. Observe the old farmer's toil: spring plowing, summer tending, autumn harvest hopes—such is life's way. With steadfast will, even stone yields to chisels.

Finally, to Scholar Lin of East Villa: This isn't the "Banana-Covered Deer" illusion (alluding to blurred reality). Huan Tan's prophecies went unheeded—who knew an arrow would truly strike the autumn hawk (unexpected success)? What day is today? Past the seventh month's first day. When's the next royal audience? The tenth month's second day. Wind whistles through wandering steeds, long roads jostle carriage wheels. Shouldering umbrellas, wearing straw sandals—how far to Qingyuan's pure source? What of its customs? Vast seas and towering peaks there stand, sparse settlements mark ancient garrison towns. The magistrate's archers lead the way, while Yue merchants and Hu traders (foreign merchants) come and go.

Through layered classical references, this text critiques contemporary society with veiled satire, expressing the anguish of unrecognized talent while concluding with travel imagery that embodies yearning for ideal realms.

This passage contains several poems and dialogues from Xu Xian Han Zao, addressing life philosophy, worldly wisdom, and observations on human affairs. Here is a vernacular interpretation:

The first poem depicts a wealthy merchant returning with precious cargo—pearls bright as the moon, coral trees, pepper, and other valuables—yet reminds him not to neglect bonds with neighbors, urging him to share his gains. Using chess as a metaphor for life, it emphasizes the need for careful deliberation in every move and warns against underestimating others. The conclusion stresses that wealth and honor must be earned through one’s own efforts, encouraging self-reliance.

The second poem, titled "Laughable", explores the limits of human understanding. It notes that investigating the nature of things (gewu zhizhi, "investigating things to extend knowledge") is a profound study, yet the highest wisdom lies in aligning with the natural order (the "marvel of spiritual clarity"). It underscores that fortune and misfortune are self-invited—whether pursuing fame or retreating to the mountains, each path has its rewards. The poem ends by warning against squandering time and urging diligence in youth.

The dialogue section consists of three exchanges:

In response to an inquiry, the text uses "pine gates tightly locked" as a metaphor for opportunities yet to come, hinting that one must await the right moment (as magpies heralding joy) and maintain equanimity as the true family tradition.

Addressing practical concerns, it cites historical examples of successful merchants—Zhang who sold cosmetics, Zhi who traded wines—to illustrate how any trade can lead to prosperity, noting that commerce often yields swifter gains than labor.

To Chen Noushi’s question, the text is fragmentary, but judging by the style of other responses, it likely offered life guidance through allegory as well.

The time for "fish leaping over the dragon gate" (the legend that a carp can transform into a dragon by jumping over the Longmen waterfall) draws near, with thunder rumbling across a hundred miles. Abundant rain brings busy farming seasons, while the urgent calls of cuckoos echo from deep snow in the front village, urging people to hasten their plowing.

This auspicious moment delights with the appearance of dragons, while peach and plum blossoms bloom as clouds disperse and rain ceases. Swallows chatter while carrying mud in their beaks. The noble sons of wealthy families return from admiring spring, competing to flaunt their splendid robes, their storehouses brimming with gold. Yet the origins of such riches trace back to those like Tao Zhugong (Fan Li, the famous merchant of the Spring and Autumn period), who built fortunes from nothing. Like Yi Zi (Bo Yi), who changed his name and retreated to his homeland, playing the zither at Qi’s gate unnoticed—looking back, official seals seem as worthless as worn-out shoes. Life is as illusory as Zhuang Zhou’s dream of a butterfly, time fleeting like a white colt flashing past a crack. If one maintains a steadfast heart and passes down the family legacy, the numbers five, six, and seven all herald a bright future.

"To the Engraver of Steles" reads:

The divine spirits are upright, free from deceit,

Yet I, ashamed, receive your invitation in this desolate, dim chamber.

Though I possess true substance fit for great use,

I liken myself to rotten wood, unworthy of carving.

Respectfully, I prepare bolts of silk as ritual gifts,

And with generous verse, I shall surely claim the prize.

A hundred generations of family prosperity stem from ancestral virtue—

In days to come, we shall hear the auspicious cry of the phoenix.

"Gratitude to Registrar Lin for Inscribing the Stele" states:

This desolate ancient temple stirs sighs,

As I trace the origins of the Xu lineage.

Heroes age and turn to dust—

Who still understands the classics’ teachings, as vital as plowing fields?

Though I failed to secure Han Yu’s inscription,

I am blessed with calligraphy akin to Liu Zongyuan’s.

Ashamed that my payment falls short of five hundred gold,

Only the spirits know the sincerity in my heart.

"Parting from the Painter Cai" describes:

A master of painting, divinely gifted,

He inherits the true legacy of Gu Kaizhi and Yan Liben.

His brushwork seems clumsy yet conceals brilliance,

With thick glue and vibrant pigments enhancing the hues.

His name endures eternally on temple walls,

His refined charm drawing three thousand guests.

Now, as we part, sorrow fills my heart—

Three cups of weak wine and this poem are my farewell gift.

"Four Daoists Manifest at This Temple’s Altar" records:

Four immortals descended upon the altar,

Yet ordinary eyes could scarcely recognize them.

Cloaked in gourds, they laughed with open mouths,

Holding bats (symbolizing blessings) as they strolled out the gate.

Transcending worldly ties, they come and go at will—

Even iron pillars a thousand years old have rotted away.

If you ask where I reside—

Beyond Penglai’s immortal isles, there lies yet another sacred mountain.

"To the Heavenly King’s Elder, Whose Alms-Gathering Failed" says:

A humble appearance is the work of circumstance,

Yet when divinity descends, he shrinks back in hesitation.

Already knowing Qin...

The first passage speaks of human relationships and friendship. Like the inseparable bond between Chen Zhong and Lei Yi during the Eastern Han dynasty (renowned as "Chen-Lei glue-lacquer friendship"), their camaraderie was unbreakable. Yet modern people often constrain themselves with empty formalities and hollow courtesies, as if sealing a pickle jar with ornate parallel prose. The poet laments that rather than this, one might as well drink from pure mountain springs in the deep wilderness for true freedom.

The second passage responds to questions about seeking divine guidance. It points out how some blindly worship deities for blessings, much like Emperor Wu of Liang (a fervent Buddhist ruler of the Southern Dynasties) who devoted himself to Buddhism yet became a laughingstock. Such behavior is as hypocritical and contrived as the crude customs of the ancient Min tribes. The poet reminds us that life is fleeting—like a white steed flashing past a crack—and warns against clinging to illusory rewards, for all will eventually turn to dust. The passage concludes with an allusion to Zhao Meng, a powerful Jin minister of the Spring and Autumn period, who in old age earnestly admonished the world.

The third passage continues discussing karmic retribution. Ordinary people often fail to grasp the causality spanning past and future lives—just as who could have foreseen that the territory once ruled by the Min kings would later become part of Shi Jingtang’s Later Jin dynasty? Wealth and glory are but a dream; countless heroes have returned to the earth. The poet advises simply doing good deeds rather than wasting words on preaching.

The fourth passage praises the miraculous deeds of divine beings. The gods only aid those of virtue, for a single spark of their spiritual essence can fill the cosmos. Ancient temples remain majestic after millennia, and though the western stele remains unerected, the inscriptions within the walls endure. A noble person acts with unwavering commitment—why say more?

The fifth passage responds to the Liang family’s inquiry about relocating a grave. It states that an auspicious burial site—like the "ox-resting" land found by Tao Kan (a famed Eastern Jin statesman)—has been secured, and even the White Crane Immortal (a Daoist deity) briefly descended. A virtuous heart naturally finds favorable resting places, and indeed, ancestral blessings ensure descendants’ prosperity. As the Book of Songs says, "Give me a peach, and I’ll return a jade"—such is the Creator’s cycle of cause and effect.

The sixth passage emulates the poetic style of Cao E (a Han-dynasty filial daughter). Though no official honors were received, the writing on her sleeves revealed she had crossed the great river. Local ballads preserve the deeds of the virtuous, much like how Duke Shao’s legacy under the sweet pear tree was cherished in the Zhou era.

The seventh passage depicts ten extraordinary peaks surrounding the treasure hall. Golden Tortoise Peak resembles a divine turtle swimming from Penglai, dwelling here for millennia; Writing Brush Peak stands solitary like a pen holder, symbolizing a land of literary talent; Greedy Wolf Peak aligns with the Big Dipper’s star, inspiring the poet to ascend and aid in governing peace; Lotus Flower Peak rises gracefully like a jade blossom, its faint fragrance almost perceptible from afar.

The "Xu Xian's Poetic Elegance" collection depicts eight immortal mountain landscapes, each poem artistically presenting Daoist paradises. The first poem "A Drifting Leaf" uses falling leaves as a metaphor for cultivators roaming freely with the Great Monad Celestial Lord (one of Daoism's supreme deities) across the Eastern Sea, embodying transcendental detachment.

In the poem of Fangyan Peak, stone gates stand like fans embedded in clouds, surpassing the beauty of Penglai's immortal isles. When immortals pay homage to the Celestial Emperor, they occasionally halt their flying chariots (the "whirlwind wheels" refer to divine vehicles) to rest briefly on moss-covered rocks. Baihu Peak describes the legend of white deer descending, where practitioners not only cultivate true methods (Daoist cultivation techniques) but also discuss Chan Buddhist principles with forest-dwelling monks, reflecting the integration of three religious traditions.

At midnight on Gucheng Peak, celestial harmonies make one suspect immortals returning on crane-back (the "Liaodong crane" alludes to the ascended immortal Ding Lingwei). Feipeng Peak imagines Penglai's fairy isle flying to the mortal world—though flute-playing immortals aren't seen (flute-playing symbolizes Daoist transcendents), the peach trees of immortality still bloom gloriously. Zitai Peak rises majestically east of the Yue River, where amidst violet mists, immortals repeatedly descend under moonlight, their jade pendants chiming in the wind.

Taiping Peak extols an era of great peace, where panoramic views reveal heaven and earth in crystalline clarity. In the "Eight Odes to True Immortals" illustrations: the Turtle Palace resembles a golden sea-turtle upholding celestial halls (the turtle refers to the mythical giant tortoise), eternally steadfast and sublime; Dragon Pool's waterfall cascades like a thousand-zhang white silk where immortals gather medicinal herbs; after snowfall on Bamboo Cliff, sunlight glitters on snowdrifts, inspiring the poet to don crane-feathered robes (Daoist outer garments) for summit contemplation; fairy-island lingzhi mushrooms radiate brilliance, gathered as tribute for rulers; receding tides at Green Shore reveal sandbars before waters return—perfect timing for immortal raft excursions; while South Pond Road bustles with mortal traffic.

These poems fuse Daoist paradisiacal lore with natural landscapes, employing motifs like "whirlwind wheels" and "crane-feathered robes" alongside allusions to the "Liaodong crane" and "Penglai" legends. Through landscape depictions, they express ideals of ascension through cultivation. Alchemical wells, jade peaches, and lingzhi symbolize Daoist longevity, while phrases like "loyalty upholding the nation" reflect the tradition's world-benefiting ethos.

How can those bustling in the mundane world compare to the leisurely days in immortal palaces?

The woodcutter’s song drifts down from the wooded ridge, echoing through the mountains as the sun sets. Its melodious tune winds through twisting streams, slowly emerging from the dense forest. Below, golden cicadas chirp in accompaniment; above, white cranes cry in harmony. Free from worldly clamor, the celestial halls open one’s heart upon hearing such music.

The Wild Goose Pagoda of Zhongshan gleams anew under the morning sun, its seven-tiered majesty towering aloft. Since ancient times, this blessed land has nurtured sages, and even now, in this enlightened age, many leave their names inscribed for posterity.

A poem for Xu Nancun reads: How laughable are these clay-and-wood effigies, these verses casually strung with vulgar words. You, sir, are no Pang Jushi (the famed Tang Dynasty lay Buddhist)—how could your wisdom illuminate the vast cosmos? I shamefully lack the skill to blend a hundred flavors, so I jest by tossing ingredients into the pot. Butchers savor all delicacies—don’t mock this mountain dweller for dining on wild herbs and coarse fare.

On the Ten Peaks of Yuyan:

Golden Immortal Peak

The alchemical furnace’s ashes cooled a millennium ago, leaving only a towering tripod-shaped boulder. Climbing casually to the summit, beyond the clouds, the verdant silhouette is none other than Mount Wutai.

Pillar of Heaven Peak

Before reaching its base, a morning bell pierces the mist. A cliff-like peak rises abruptly, seemingly strong enough to prop up the heavens.

Sunrise Peak

Sheer stone walls spear the clouds; night springs drip with a chill. Apes cry before dawn, yet by the time the door opens, the sun is already high.

Third Lord Peak

A fishing boat drifts in the stream below. Asked if they know its owner, locals laugh and gesture to this peak’s refined charm—its wildflowers and birdsong are enticement enough.

Golden Splendor Peak

From afar, it resembles a celestial painting, its hazy hues bathed in sunset. Pines atop it carry the weight of ages—who knew its legacy was passed on at midnight?

Cloud-Rising Peak

The winding mountain path turns for miles as morning mist lingers. Scratching one’s head, blue smoke obscures the way—then thunder rumbles below.

Jeweled Terrace Peak

Tiered cliffs and sky-scraping plank roads defy ascent. A pure light often graces one’s face—how serene, the breeze through firs, life beneath the osmanthus moon.

Great Seat Peak

Post-rain, the peaks are ink-washed indigo; the stone path, slick and seldom trod. Sitting cross-legged, Zen dawns naturally—from where comes the morning bell?

Jade Orchid Peak

Like an unbloomed celestial flower—who wouldn’t offer it if plucked? Straight upward... (text fragmentary)

When seated in meditation atop the Twin Children Peak (legendary dwelling of Daoist immortal children), one can catch wafts of celestial fragrance drifting straight from the Heavenly Terrace (Daoist paradise). This mountain stands like a suspended mirror, its crystalline light shimmering like an immortal maiden combing her hair at dawn. Though its rocks bear the marks of time, the peak itself remains eternally vibrant.

The eastern mountain stream flows ceaselessly eastward, never turning back. Human affections are as transient as these waters—how much freer are the white gulls idling on the sandbanks!

Visitors often come to the western stream. Why? They seek the state of "neither increasing nor decreasing" (a concept from the Heart Sutra, referring to transcendence of gain and loss), the freedom of the unburdened. Follow this stream, and it feels as though one could reach the very Milky Way of the immortals.

Jade Cliff Mountain is famed for its jagged rocks, where two streams converge amid flocks of egrets, encircled by ten peaks embracing half-green, half-yellow woods. Light clouds curl around tea mortars fragrant with fresh leaves; under the waning moon’s glow, scripture scrolls lie unfurled. If by chance I discourse on Zen atop this summit, surely the mountain spirits know I am no ordinary guest.

Farewell to Chen Daoxing, bound for Dragon-Tiger Mountain (ancestral seat of the Zhengyi Daoist tradition): Though the Zhongnan Mountains are beautiful, his heart still clings to worldly achievement. May his name grace the Dragon-Tiger rolls like the plum blossom claiming winter’s crown. Let magpies herald his safe journey—this poem shall be my parting gift.

In poetic exchange with Monk Dejian of White Cloud Temple: Why speak of Qin, Han, Sui, or Tang? True freedom lies in a thatched hut deep in white clouds. If the water buffalo never leaves Weishan (ancestral ground of Zen), tell me—what incense burned there in days of old? (A nod to Zen koans.)

Four impromptu verses reveal: In quiet cultivation, time slips away unnoticed; let the world’s disputes come and go. Between drunkenness and wakefulness, beyond emerald peaks lies an endless sea of clouds. Confucius heard the Unicorn Song—yet the lotus, poised to speak, holds silent, its quiet bloom brightest in spring. Where to find the clear moon and fresh breeze? The poet’s struggle yields to wordless understanding—only the shorebird knows this heart. Two autumns apart from an old friend, words fail; but see how the green mountains linger, waiting for the poet’s slow telling.