《岱史》Vol. 15

The fifteenth volume of The History of Mount Tai records literary works—including odes, poems, prefaces, and travelogues—left by scholars throughout history who ascended the sacred mountain. The text quotes Qiu Kunzi's remark that "seeking external travels is inferior to focusing on inner contemplation," while Liezi himself admitted he did not truly understand the essence of "wandering." Su Shi (Su Zi of Meishan) lamented how most people remained shackled by worldly affairs, with few attaining transcendent detachment.

Yet how precious is the majestic journey to Mount Tai! From the heights of Riguang Peak and Yueguan Peak, one can gaze upon the vastness of heaven and earth. Touching the dragon-carved and tiger-perched boulders stirs heroic aspirations. Facing the cascades of Tianshen Spring and Shengshui Spring purifies the spirit (Shen). Exploring the secluded caves where Lü Dongbin (Lü Gong) and Lou Jing (Daoist immortals) once dwelled allows one to absorb the ethereal Qi of mist and radiance. Who can claim that external travels cannot aid inner cultivation? Truly enlightened scholars, whether ancient or modern, have always harbored the ambition to explore the world.

Those who could both journey and record their experiences in writing captured the mountain’s grandeur in verse, much like painters immortalizing landscapes with brush and ink. Yet their aspirations often transcended mere scenery—their purpose was neither sensory indulgence nor literary showmanship. For refining one’s nature through external phenomena is intrinsic to inner cultivation. Confucius’s (Xuan Sheng) Ode to the Hills stands as an eternal masterpiece, thus placed at the volume’s forefront to eternally honor the mountain’s spirit. Works from the Han dynasty to the present are arranged chronologically.

In the appended Ode to the Hills, Confucius ascends a hill and sighs: Benevolence (Ren) seems near, yet pursuing it feels endlessly distant, leaving one lost. Gazing at the towering Mount Tai and the undulating Liangfu Mountains, he laments how thorns block the path, making ascent impossible—like lacking an axe to sever spreading sorrow, leaving only prolonged sighs and streaming tears. Later, on his deathbed, leaning against a doorpost, Confucius sang: "Will Mount Tai crumble? Will the pillars break? Will the sage perish?" (This deathbed song, originally from The Book of Rites: Tan Gong, prompted Zigong to foresee his master’s impending passing; Confucius indeed died seven days later. Though not composed during a mountain ascent, it is included here for its symbolic connection to Mount Tai.)

This passage describes how ancient literati envisioned Mount Tai with mystical longing:

In his "Poem of Four Sorrows," Han Dynasty scholar Zhang Heng wrote of yearning for Mount Tai, yet finding his path blocked by Mount Liangfu. Gazing eastward with tears staining his robes, he received a precious golden dagger as gift, but couldn't deliver his jade in return due to the impassable distance, leaving him pacing in melancholy.

Cao Zhi of the Wei Dynasty depicted in "Flight of the Dragon" a dawn encounter with immortals amidst Mount Tai's misty peaks: two youthful xian (transcendents) riding white deer and holding lingzhi mushrooms. Recognizing them as zhenren (perfected beings), the poet humbly sought the secrets of longevity. The immortals led him to a golden-jade pavilion, bestowing celestial elixirs "forged by the Heavenly Emperor" that could "replenish the brain, restore jing (essence)," granting agelessness hard as metal and stone.

His "Chariot Journey" verses portray Mount Tai piercing the clouds with divine splendor: sweet springs gushing from cliffs, jade stones glowing radiantly, offering views of Wu territory northeast and sunrise vistas westward. Seventy-two monarchs since the Yellow Emperor had performed the fengshan rituals (heaven-earth sacrifices) here. Cultivators breathing cloud vapors and drinking sweet dew ultimately achieved feathered ascent, attaining cosmic longevity.

"The Immortals' Banquet" paints a celestial symposium: xian playing weiqi on Mount Tai, Xiang River goddesses plucking zithers, Qin realm maidens playing sheng pipes, jade cups brimming with cassia wine, and the River Earl presenting divine fish. Immortals like Han Zhong and Wang Qiao invited the poet skyward—soaring past rosy clouds to the Purple Tenuity Palace where celestial gates towered between jade trees. The verses conclude by reflecting on life's brevity, urging cultivation like the Yellow Emperor who ultimately ascended astride dragons.

Collectively, these texts construct Mount Tai's triple sacred identity: as xian realm, imperial sacrifice site, and cultivators' paradise, embodying ancient China's spiritual aspirations toward this sacred mountain.

Since ancient times, Mount Tai has been a sacred site for imperial Fengshan ceremonies and literati's poetic praises. These poems depict the mountain's majestic natural scenery and its mystical aura as an abode of immortals.

Lu Ji marveled at Mount Tai's towering peaks piercing the clouds, reaching the celestial court. Mist swirled between its ridges, where the Liangfu and Haoli mountains hosted sacrificial altars. In its deep valleys gathered countless spirits and deities, inspiring the poet to chant solemn verses on its slopes with profound emotion.

Xie Daoyun (wife of Wang Ningzhi) portrayed the sacred Eastern Peak as magnificently beautiful, its summit thrusting into the azure heavens. The natural caverns among its crags resembled divinely crafted dwellings, mysterious and profound. This supernatural landscape moved her to wonder: "What mysterious power compels my repeated longing to retreat here? How I wish to spend my remaining years within these natural celestial chambers!"

Xie Lingyun described the mountain's numerous peaks stabbing through clouded skies, with perilous cliffs wreathed in mist. Ascending to the Fengshan altar, he conducted rituals in solemn reverence. The stone temples stood in dark solemnity, their "Bright Hall" treasuring esoteric Daoist scriptures.

Li Bai's three Mount Tai poems are particularly vivid. He depicts his springtime ascent: the imperial path lies smooth where six-dragon chariots once traversed countless valleys. Now only moss-covered hoofprints remain, while cascades and pines sing in harmony. Gazing toward the Penglai paradise, his long cry at Heaven's Gate summons cleansing winds. When celestial maidens descend bearing rosy-hued immortal wine, he laments his lack of transcendence credentials.

At dawn astride his white stag, he ascends to Tianmen Peak, encountering feather-robed immortals bearing ancient celestial scripts too arcane to decipher. At sunrise on Riguan Peak, his spirit soars beyond earthly confines. Surveying the Yellow River's serpentine course vanishing into mountains, he meets emerald-haired immortal youths, regretting his belated pursuit of the Dao as these beings vanish like morning mist.

These works collectively manifest Mount Tai's supremacy among the Five Sacred Peaks, embodying its Daoist significance as both celestial pathway and immortal dwelling. Through their ascents, the poets express yearnings for longevity and transcendence beyond the mundane world.

This passage describes the experiences of several poets who attained enlightenment through spiritual practice on Mount Tai (the foremost of Daoism's Five Sacred Peaks, also known as Daizong). I will analyze it section by section:

After observing three thousand days of purification rituals (Zhaijie, the Daoist practice of cleansing body and mind before cultivation), the practitioner transcribed Daoist scriptures onto plain silk, gaining insights through chanting. Numerous deities safeguarded his physical form, and when riding clouds and harnessing winds, he seemed to grow feathered wings. Ascending the Sunrise Peak (Riguanfeng, renowned for viewing sunrises), he overlooked the Eastern Sea where ocean hues reflected distant mountains as the Heavenly Rooster (a mythical bird that crows at dawn) announced daybreak. Silver Terraces (immortal abodes) mirrored in the waters, while white waves suggested leviathans breaching. He longed for the elixir of immortality to fly toward Penglai and Yingzhou (legendary island paradises).

The Sunrise Peak leans northeastward, its twin cliffs embracing paired stones. The sea appears within arm's reach, celestial radiance blending with azure skies. A thousand peaks compete in splendor while ten thousand valleys plunge into profound stillness. Recalling crane-riding immortals who once soared here, no traces remain. Towering pines pierce the clouds, their apparent height less than a foot. Mountain blossoms, unlike earthly flora, persist beneath May snows. He anticipates meeting Anqisheng (a Qin dynasty alchemist) here to jointly refine the jade nectar elixir.

At dawn, he drinks from the Queen Mother's Pool (Wangmuchi, a sacred Tai Mountain site), reaching the Heavenly Gate (Nantianmen) by dusk. Alone with his Lvqi zither (a famed ancient instrument), he wanders moonlit peaks where, when the mountain moon glows and pine winds still, he hears immortals playing music among jade-green summits. Imagining phoenixes dancing and dragon robes fluttering, he stretches to touch the Heavenly Gourd constellation (one of the twenty-eight lunar mansions), losing himself in ecstasy. Raising hands to stir the Milky Way, he accidentally brushes against the Weaving Maid star. At daybreak, the celestial vision fades, leaving only five-colored auspicious clouds drifting.

When bidding farewell to the hermit Fan Shanren returning to Mount Tai, this Lu region visitor embraces a white crane in departure. His initial steps resemble drifting clouds vanishing into blue cliffs. Ascending to the Heavenly Gate's heights, the Sunrise Peak appears within reach. Endless cloud-wreathed mountains stretch beyond sight, their reunion date unknown. (This poem is inscribed on the quadrangular stele of Huizhen Temple in this prefecture, rendered in archaic seal script of elegant simplicity.)

Du Fu's "Gazing at Mount Tai" portrays its majesty: How magnificent stands Daizong? Across Qi and Lu lands, verdant waves roll. Here Heaven and Earth concentrate their numinous Qi (vital energy), dividing dawn from dusk across its slopes. Cloud seas cleanse the breast, while homing birds fill the eyes. Resolved to scale the ultimate summit, all lesser peaks appear insignificant below.

Liu Yuxi's "For Eastern Peak Alchemist Zhang": Master Zhang's noble character deserves immortal records. Long has he served the Primordial Sovereign (the Tai Mountain goddess Bixia Yuanjun) in Purple Tenuity's divine realm. Leaving embroidered texts by her loom, she ascends the Jade Purity Altar (Daoist ceremonial platform) in rainbow feathered robes. Celestial paths through clouds need no phoenix-summoning flute (alluding to the Xiao Shi and Nongyu legend) - she awaits solo flight on a simurgh.

Li Yifu's distant meditation on the Fengshan sacrifices: Mount Tai as Celestial Zenith's sovereign hosts sacred ceremonies where Sunrise Peak inaugurates divine rites.

Mount Tai rises majestically, overlooking the Bohai Sea, its rugged peaks commanding the Yellow River and Yi River. The establishment of Mount Tai's sacrificial rites was indeed intended to pray for the nation's enduring prosperity. The emperor's achievements align with the movement of the Dao (the Way), while profound words reveal soaring literary brilliance.

The procession of worshippers spreads across the land, carrying teachings to pacify all directions. Auspicious charts display phoenixes, and sacred tortoises offer blessings to the Eastern Peak. Nobles from all regions come to pay homage, as the emperor leads the six armies on his royal tour. The imperial carriage moves like the turning of celestial stars, departing at dawn to harness the winds and clouds. Drumbeats shake the plains, while ceremonial guards stand solemnly along the grand path. The southern bank of the Wen River transmits moonlit tokens, while the northern slopes of Mount Meng stand vigilant like lightning-fast chariots. Spring blossoms from the cliffs drift onto the imperial carriage, and autumn leaves from the peaks brush against the banners. The Shilu Mountain is encircled by splendid ceremonial guards, and golden altars reflect upon embroidered canopies. The blessings bestowed by the Three Sovereigns endure, and all generations receive profound auspiciousness.

Xiao Chucai's poetic response reads: The star banners of Mount Tai's rites sweep across the Milky Way, while sunlit feathered regalia are clearly visible. Tracing the footsteps of ancient sage-kings, the inscriptions on Mount Tai are carved anew. The sound of weapons in the woods echoes along the Ji River's banks, and war drums shake the Yellow River's court. Arrows pierce the cold sky, startling crows into flight at dawn. No sooner have the Fen River rites concluded than the heartfelt welcome to the Wei River ceremony begins.

Xue Kegou's poetic response describes: The dragon's chart crowns the six directions, while the phoenix carriage points to Cloud Pavilion. Crimson mists suffuse the Ji River, and green inscriptions emerge along its banks. Painted robes reflect the morning moon, and adorned halberds divide the dawn stars. The imperial tour performs rites in all directions, with the Three Hunts ceremony conforming to the classics. Joyfully upholding the foundation of ten thousand years, one secretly rejoices in witnessing this millennium's grand event.

Lu Zhaolin's "Song of the Great Banquet at the Feng Sacrifice" reads: The immortal clouds of Riguang Peak follow the phoenix carriage, while auspicious snow at Tianmen reflects the dragon robes. All night long, intricate strings and urgent pipes accompany splendid feasts, while exquisite dances and clear songs bring endless joy.

Lü Dongbin's poem inscribed at the Queen Mother's Pool: Ninety years ago I wandered here—among the countless mortals who have passed, who still recognizes me? Another poem, carved on a stele at Huizhen Palace: My inscription from years past proves I once came, having traveled all nine regions of the Middle Kingdom. The mischievous dragon recognizes my calligraphy, deliberately preserving the ink from being buried. (Local legend claims this is Lü Dongbin's authentic handwriting, and upon viewing, it does appear genuine.)

Fan Zhichong of the Song Dynasty wrote "Ode to Lü Dongbin's Cave": At dawn I roam the North Sea, by dusk I reach the Isle of Immortals—when did the jade pendant of the transcendent visit here? How might I follow and seek the secret of the Golden Elixir (Jindan), to share drunken joy in the spring breeze atop Yueyang Tower? Another poem, "Ode to Bamboo Forest Temple": Deep within the bamboo groves lies a Buddhist temple, its Zen gates tightly shut, known to few.

This passage depicts the majestic scenery and profound reflections of several literati ascending Mount Tai (Daiyue), revered in Daoism as the foremost of the Five Sacred Mountains. Riguang Peak (Sun-Watching Peak), the premier vantage point in Tai's southeastern range, pierces the azure heavens. The poet Zha Dao writes: Standing atop the summit, one seems to witness the sun (Yangwu) emerging with dawn's undried radiance, while layered peaks isolate the mortal world—as if the Green Emperor (the Daoist deity governing the East among the Five Directional Sovereigns) resides aloft in the clouds. When the crimson sun rises from the sea-sky horizon, its rosy light welcomes the descent of the Bixia Yuanjun (the Goddess of Mount Tai) from Penglai, the Daoist paradise.

Mei Shengyu describes the sunrise at Riguang Peak: the ocean melts into liquid gold as the solar wheel ascends, its piercing rays like sword blades. He reflects how ordinary flora cannot endure such brilliance—only pines clinging to rocky crevices survive, metaphorically suggesting that unrecognized talents, like the Qin Emperor's rain-sheltering pines during his Fengshan sacrifices, become mere historical footnotes.

Wang Qinruo's verses portray imperial yellow banners welcoming the Six-Dragon chariot (the Son of Heaven's procession) ascending the mountain, depicting the grand Triple Deity sacrifice (likely referencing Heaven, Earth and Humanity rituals). Ten thousand attendants' shouts shake the Ninefold Heavens while ancient pines and mountain birds seem to whisper secrets of Kunlun's Langyuan (immortal realm), hinting at the poet's own transcendent experiences at the Celestial Gate.

The Yuan dynasty poet Wang Yi writes of a Jiangyou scholar's maiden ascent, leaning on a staff as he lifts the red sun above the Three Vistas (possibly Sun, Moon and Celestial viewing platforms), brushing yellow dust from his sleeves while surveying the Nine Provinces below. Mount Tai stands like a screen dividing Qi (northern Shandong) from Lu (southern Shandong), its eastern slopes by the Yellow River remaining untrodden. He mourns at the Fengshan altar of Emperor Wu of Han's Maoling Mausoleum and the Mingtang ruins from Emperor Zhenzong of Song's Xiangfu era, tracing weathered Qin-Han steles until twilight stains his aged tears. Though its bark peels, the Han-era cypress still channels a dragon's roar, its summit resonating with lingering dirges of the "Liangfu Lament." The poem concludes with masters Sun Mingfu and Shi Shoudao inheriting a millennial Daoist lineage.

This passage depicts the majestic scenery and cultural history of Mount Tai (known as Daizong). It begins by describing how the Heavenly Gate (the summit of Mount Tai) originally had no structures until Daoist Master Zhang Lianshi spent years developing it, truly pioneering its construction. Du Renjie, a native of Qi, composed an inscription praising Mount Tai as a colossal pillar supporting the heavens, enduring millennia of vicissitudes. The text mentions the precipitous Eighteen Bends (a famous treacherous path on Mount Tai), the vast scenery at dusk, and the grand ceremonies where seventy ancient monarchs performed the Fengshan sacrifices (imperial rituals to heaven and earth).

Subsequently, Yuan Haowen (also known by his literary name Yishan) continues the praise of Mount Tai in his poem "Ascending the Sacred Peak": amidst heaven and earth, Mount Tai stands like a towering celestial terrace, with the Heavenly Gate soaring into the clouds. Emperors Qin Shi Huang and Han Wu Di once left their footprints here. The poet spends the night at the Jade Maiden Temple (dedicated to the goddess of Mount Tai) and ascends Sunrise Peak at dawn to witness the sunrise, where rolling clouds resemble dancing dragons. Finally, gazing toward Mount Culai (a branch of Mount Tai), he imagines summoning the immortal poet Li Bai to wander together through the Penglai paradise. Through magnificent natural landscapes and the history of imperial Fengshan rituals, the entire piece showcases Mount Tai's supreme status as the "Foremost of the Five Sacred Peaks."

This passage gathers poetic tributes to Mount Tai from various literati, showcasing its majestic presence as the "Ancestor of Peaks" (honorific title for the foremost of the Five Sacred Mountains) and its immortal Daoist ethos.

Li Bai's sunrise viewing on Mount Tai is depicted with magnificent grandeur: the luxuriant mountain stands as the world's most majestic peak, while the exiled immortal Li Bai, himself a dragon among men, perfectly complements this divine mountain's aura. His heroic spirit overwhelms celestial beings, even making the thunder god Fenglong anxious. Though the jade halls of court remain veiled in clouds, he roars by Qin Emperor's pine tree, summoning the eastern sunrise as if to reopen primordial chaos for the world. Drunkenly dancing, he crushes the azure lotus peaks underfoot, drawing solemn reverence from the Jade Maiden—by comparison, the Five Sacred Mountains seem insignificant. The poet laments Li Bai's departure like a great whale never to return, leaving only fragrant breezes around his traces on the solitary summit.

Zhang Yanghao's ascent poem captures the exhilaration at South Heavenly Gate (Celestial Pass): wind and clouds surge straight to the heavenly gate, where one gazes down at the Nine Provinces like nine wisps of smoke and watches the eastern sun rise three bamboo-lengths high. Former dwellings seem like viewing the sky from a well; only now does one comprehend heaven and earth's vastness. Laughing, he pats the immortal Hongya's shoulder while chanting new verses, as if hearing celestial cranes descend with sheng music.

Xu Shilong records dreaming of ascending Sun-Watching Peak with Tiannizi (Daoist priest Zhang Zhichun): this Daoist's bone structure resembles a crane's purity, his gait a dragon's vigor, transcending worldly bureaucracy to wander freely in Mount Tai's true blessed land of immortals. Bidding Tiannizi farewell, he praises the nonagenarian's jet-black youthful hair and transcendent demeanor, dwelling in the foremost grotto-heaven blessed land, sipping tea from hare-fur cups like Tao Hongjing in ascetic refinement, disdaining empty fame.

Yuan Haowen's farewell poem for Tiannizi returning to Mount Bu (southwest of Mount Tai) quotes Li Bai's description of the scenery: thatched huts amid clouds where cocks and dogs greet each other, transcending worldly mists and dews. He anticipates future reunions at Heavenly Gate, beneath the Immortal's Sloughing Cliff, noting Mount Bu as Priest Zhang's (Tiannizi) former cultivation site.

Finally, Wang Yun's ode to Han-era cypresses depicts ancient trees encircling imperial mausoleums, their verdant grandeur echoing Mount Tai's historical weight as the sacred site for imperial Fengshan rituals.

Mount Tai rises majestically, unlike ordinary halls that require foundations—its spiritual energy (Qi) resonates with the creative transformations of heaven and earth. Countless valleys swirl with mist and clouds, ancient trees tower to the sky; halfway up the mountain, wind and rain intertwine, shaking forth the sounds of autumn. When emperors journey east to perform the Feng and Shan sacrifices, the lush greenery of the mountain harmonizes with the banners and regalia of their processions.

Zhang Zhi inscribed a poem at Taohua Valley: The stream seems to flow from a heavenly cavern, connecting with the pulse of the mortal world. The paradise of the Peach Blossom Spring must not be far—only fallen petals drift red upon the water. Another poem, Joyful Rain on Mount Tai, reads: Mount Tai is the spiritual essence of the world, its sweet rain showering upon humanity. Where do recluses rest in contentment today? Here, upon this Eastern Mountain.

Li Jian, ascending Mount Tai, marveled: Three peaks pierce the heavens, yet before even reaching the Heavenly Gate, the climb is arduous. Layer upon layer of stone steps emerge above the treetops, twisting and turning like a ladder to the azure clouds. Resting upon a boulder to gaze afar, a thousand valleys breathe wind through the ravines. Suddenly, the sound of water echoes from the treetops, as if a mighty tiger roars at the edge of the sky. At dawn, he climbs the Sun-Watching Peak, parting the clouds to glimpse the first light. The morning sun leaps from the sea like a wheel of fire, its golden rays illuminating the Palace of the Azure Dragon. Below, the Yellow River winds like a ribbon for a thousand miles, while the mountains of Wu and Yue stretch into view. Counting the nine green peaks of Qizhou, he leans against the railing to gaze at the Eastern Sea. If one cannot meet the immortal Anqi Sheng as Li Bai did, how could one ever hope to transcend and soar to Penglai and Yingzhou?

Of the Pilgrimage Altar: Here, emperors once built altars to pay homage, banners fluttering amid celestial assemblies. Now, only the green mountain remains unchanged, solitary clouds drifting through twilight. As for Fengdu Valley—its desolate stone caves and lone ancient trees stand in eerie silence, locals whispering that this is the underworld of the dead. Ancient tablets record the deeds of Han Qinhu, though who remembers them now?

Wang Xu, wandering through Bamboo Forest Temple, wrote: A stone path leads to a valley veiled in mist, where bamboo groves shelter a secluded monastery. Few monks remain in the ancient temple; deep in the mountains, the forest mist is cool. Just as his wandering spirit soars, the crimson sun suddenly dips westward. Leaning on his staff, he descends through evening haze, his long song echoing across the ridges. In West Stream, he praised: Of all beauties, I love West Stream best, often parting the clouds to visit. Mist and rain shroud the city, while three mountain walls unfold like painted screens. In this peaceful era, there are no hermits of Shangshan—but many idle talents linger. The rocky slopes hold ample space, perfect for planting pines and bamboo.

Jia Lu, ascending Mount Tai, reflected: So towering is this mountain, no other peaks compare. A long-exiled envoy, gazing upon it, cannot help but rejoice. Though he may not reach the summit, his reverence remains. Alas, the grand palaces of old now lie in ruins—some say this was the work of calamity.

This passage depicts the suffering of common people during times of war and chaos. The raging flames of war have thrown social order into disarray, and the wounds of past tragedies still haunt people's memories. Though urgent memorials were presented to the imperial court (the "vermilion court" referring to the emperor's palace), with governance solutions seemingly at hand, famine ravaged the Shandong region (Qilu), forcing the populace to subsist on chaff and husks (飡糠粃 describing extreme poverty through eating grain hulls and broken rice).

The author offers prayers to the divine: hoping the gods would manifest their power to aid them, making sacrificial rituals (穰穰 depicting abundant offerings) flourish once more. The text concludes with longing for the reconstruction of palaces, envisioning golden-roofed temples standing resplendent again for public veneration (荡瞻视 suggesting awe-inspiring vistas). Throughout this passage, we see the dual psychology of people enduring war and famine—yearning for practical solutions while simultaneously placing hope in divine intervention.