《太上感應篇集注》

The Confucian pursuit of learning aims for the state of "sincerity" (cheng 诚), which permeates the entire process of study. The Doctrine of the Mean states, "Without sincerity, nothing can exist"—how much more does this apply to profound learning! The Six Classics (referring to the Book of Songs, Book of Documents, Book of Rites, Book of Changes, Book of Music, and Spring and Autumn Annals) all advocate virtue and censure vice, guiding toward auspiciousness and away from misfortune. Yet among scholars who devote their lives to studying them, few truly internalize these principles and manifest them in conduct—precisely because they lack "sincerity."

Both heavenly principles and human affairs are sustained by sincerity. Thus when humans conceive thoughts, Heaven observes; when they speak, Heaven listens; when they act, Heaven watches. The retribution of fortune and misfortune echoes like sound waves, with sincerity as the pivotal point. Confucius said: "Accumulated good deeds cannot fail to establish one's reputation, nor accumulated evil deeds avoid self-destruction." Dong Zhongshu similarly noted: "When good and evil accumulate to their extremes, they resonate with the Qi of Heaven and Earth, producing corresponding responses." When this accumulation reaches its zenith, it becomes the state of "utmost sincerity" (zhicheng 至诚). Where utmost sincerity exists, can there be absence of resonance? And where there's resonance, can there be no response? Mencius expressed it even more plainly: "There has never been a case of utmost sincerity failing to move others, nor of insincerity successfully moving them." Here, "moving" precisely means "resonance." No discourse on resonance throughout history surpasses this in profundity.

Observing the Treatise on Response and Retribution (Taishang Ganying Pian), I note its detailed enumeration of good and evil deeds, concluding with special emphasis on three aspects: speech, sight, and action. If one can maintain complete sincerity in these three areas throughout a single day, they may be considered sincere. Persisting in this accumulation for three years leads to the state of utmost sincerity. At this stage, why seek external explanations for fortune or misfortune? The noble person neither obsesses over inexplicable fortune nor misfortune, but regards self-incurred outcomes as mirrors reflecting their own virtue and sincerity. Thus both fortune and misfortune become valuable aids for self-cultivation. People's aversion to discussing retribution strikes me as excessive.

While serving at the imperial court one day, I noticed Palace Academician Zha Danyuan holding a book with reverence as if facing the gods. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be this Annotated Collection on the Treatise of Response and Retribution. Though the compiler remains unnamed, the annotation method first elucidates principles, then supports them with factual evidence, occasionally expanding through alternative interpretations. The prose achieves conciseness without omission, thoroughness without disorder—practical yet profoundly clear.

This passage primarily discusses the moral teachings of the Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise of the Exalted One on Response and Retribution), elucidating the principles of karmic retribution for good and evil deeds. I'll explain it section by section:

First, the text highlights the book's purpose to awaken worldly people, transform negative social trends, and guide individuals toward virtue while avoiding wrongdoing—a shared objective with Confucian classics that advocate moral improvement and prohibition of evil. Chen Tingjing (a Qing dynasty scholar) and a man named Danyuan jointly funded its publication, inviting Chen to compose the preface.

The core content of Taishang Ganying Pian follows:

Fortune and misfortune have no fixed gates—they are summoned by people themselves. The retribution for good and evil is as inevitable as a shadow following the body. Between heaven and earth, there exist deities specifically recording human transgressions, deducting lifespan according to the severity of offenses. With diminished longevity comes poverty and distress, making one despised by others. Calamities pursue such individuals while blessings depart. Malevolent stars bring disasters, and when one's lifespan is exhausted, death follows.

It details several overseeing deities:

The divine lords of the Santai and Beidou stars hover above human heads, documenting sins. The Three Corpses Gods (three spirits residing within the human body) ascend to heaven every gengshen day (occurring every 60 days) to report faults. On the last day of each month, the Kitchen God also submits reports. Transgressions are categorized as major (deducting twelve years of life) or minor (deducting one hundred days), with hundreds of specific offenses listed.

Methods for attaining longevity:

One must avoid wickedness and follow the upright Dao (the Way). Refrain from crooked paths and secret misdeeds in dark rooms. Accumulate virtuous deeds (De) and nurture compassion for all beings. Practice loyalty, filial piety, and brotherly love while cultivating oneself and teaching others. Show pity for orphans and widows, respect the elderly, cherish the young, and refrain from harming even insects or plants.

Principles for human conduct:

Sympathize with others' misfortunes; rejoice in their virtuous acts. Aid those in peril and relieve urgent needs. Feel genuine joy for others' gains as if they were your own; grieve for their losses as personal ones. Never expose others' shortcomings or flaunt your strengths. Suppress evil and promote goodness. When distributing benefits, take less and give more. Bear insults without resentment; receive favors with humility. Bestow kindness without expecting repayment, and never regret what you've given.

Finally, the blessings of virtuous people:

Such individuals earn universal respect, receive heaven's protection, and attract prosperity. Malevolent spirits stay distant while divine beings guard them. All auspicious things converge, and misfortunes naturally dissolve.

This scripture discusses how attaining immortality through cultivation requires the accumulation of virtuous deeds, while enumerating various wicked acts that invite karmic retribution.

To achieve the status of Celestial Immortal (the highest rank of transcendence), one must complete 1,300 virtuous deeds; to become an Earthly Immortal (a lower rank), at least 300 good deeds are required. Acting unjustly or violating the principles of Heaven will inevitably bring misfortune. The text specifically lists forty-six types of evil conduct:

These include ruthlessly harming others, secretly plotting against good people, disrespecting rulers and parents, betraying one’s teachers, deceiving the ignorant, slandering fellow disciples, hypocrisy and deceit, attacking one’s own kin, obstinacy and arrogance, confusing right and wrong, mistreating subordinates to please superiors, ingratitude, disrupting state governance, unfair rewards and punishments, scheming for wealth at the cost of lives, ostracizing the virtuous, oppressing widows and orphans, corruption and bribery, distorting truth, refusing to correct mistakes, obstructing the methods of cultivation, defaming sages and worthies, harming living beings (such as disturbing hibernating animals, destroying birds’ nests, or injuring pregnant creatures), taking pleasure in others’ misfortune, profiting at others’ expense, passing off inferior goods as genuine, exploiting public office for private gain, plagiarizing others’ work, exposing private matters, destroying families, forcibly seizing what others cherish, aiding tyrants, abusing power to oppress others, ruining crops, sabotaging marriages, being wealthy yet uncharitable, evading responsibility, shifting blame onto others, seeking fame through hypocrisy, harboring sinister intentions, suppressing talent, covering up faults with rhetoric, using violence and coercion, indiscriminate killing, wasting food, exhausting the people and squandering resources, profiting from others’ calamities, arson and harm, undermining others’ endeavors, damaging others’ possessions, envying others’ wealth and status, coveting others’ wives and daughters, refusing to repay debts while cursing creditors, resenting what one cannot obtain, gloating over others’ suffering, mocking the disabled, suppressing capable individuals, and so on.

All such wicked deeds hinder spiritual progress and invite calamity. By detailing these behaviors, the scripture warns cultivators to constantly examine themselves and avoid evil conduct.

This scripture enumerates various sinful acts that incur karmic retribution, primarily categorized into several major types:

First are acts that harm others, such as using gu poison to injure people, poisoning trees, showing anger toward teachers and elders, defying parents and elder brothers, forcibly seizing property, enriching oneself through robbery, scheming for official positions through deception, unfair rewards and punishments, mistreating subordinates, or intimidating others. These behaviors disrupt human relationships and social order.

The second category involves transgressions against cosmic principles, including blaming heaven and others, cursing wind and rain, instigating lawsuits, forming cliques for selfish gains, obeying wives and concubines while disobeying parents, favoring the new while despising the old, duplicity in speech and action, greed for wealth while deceiving superiors, spreading slander, feigning righteousness while secretly defaming others, blaspheming deities, or abandoning the true Dao. Such acts show disrespect to heaven, earth, and the divine.

Third are deceitful and greedy behaviors, such as regretting after giving alms, failing to return borrowed items, excessive pursuit of profit, extravagance and waste, indulgence in desires, appearing kind while harboring cruelty, feeding people unclean food, deluding the public with sorcery, cheating in measurements, passing off fakes as genuine, exploiting good citizens, deceiving the ignorant, insatiable greed, drunken rages, or family members turning against each other. These stem from avarice and deception.

The fourth type concerns the corruption of family ethics, including men lacking loyalty and honesty, women lacking gentleness and obedience, marital discord, disrespect toward husbands, boastfulness, habitual jealousy, mistreating wives and children, improper conduct toward parents-in-law, neglecting ancestors, or defying superiors. These lead to familial disharmony.

Lastly, specific taboos are mentioned, such as singing and making noise at forbidden hours, spitting toward the north, crying by the stove, burning incense with stove fire, cooking with unclean firewood, being naked at night, carrying out executions on seasonal festival days, spitting at shooting stars, pointing at rainbows, staring at the sun or moon for prolonged periods, or killing turtles and snakes without reason. These acts are considered violations of nature and the sacred.

The scripture warns that all such offenses will be recorded by the Siming Shen (the deity governing lifespan), who will deduct years of life according to the severity of the transgression. When one's allotted lifespan is exhausted, death follows—sometimes even bringing misfortune to descendants. Those who obtain wealth unlawfully will have their retribution borne by family members or suffer disasters and illnesses. Murderers are likened to those who kill with knives, and ill-gotten gains are as harmful as eating rotten meat.

The Taishang Ganying Jing (Scripture of the Supreme One on Response and Retribution) teaches us that fortune and misfortune do not arise without cause—they are all brought upon oneself. It is like quenching thirst with poisoned wine: though it may provide temporary relief, it ultimately leads to death.

When the human heart gives rise to good thoughts, even before they are acted upon, auspicious spirits already follow and protect. Conversely, when evil thoughts arise, calamitous spirits immediately take notice. If someone has committed wrongs but later sincerely repents, abandons evil, and cultivates goodness with perseverance, misfortune will eventually transform into fortune.

A virtuous person who speaks kind words, beholds good deeds, and performs righteous acts every day—if they persist for three years, heaven will surely bestow blessings. A wicked person who utters malicious words, beholds evil deeds, and commits misdeeds daily—within three years, misfortune will inevitably strike. Why not strive diligently to do good?

On the first day of the fifth month in the 45th year of the Kangxi reign (1706), the devout disciple Zha Sheng of Haining, after purifying himself through fasting and ablution, reverently transcribed this scripture.

(Note: "Taishang" is the Daoist honorific for the highest deity. When the human heart moves heaven and earth, it is called gan (response); when heaven and earth reciprocate, it is called ying (retribution). This means that good and evil deeds resonate with the cosmos and will inevitably bring corresponding consequences.)

The scripture particularly emphasizes: Fortune and misfortune have no fixed path—they are entirely summoned by one’s own actions. These two lines serve as the guiding principle of the entire text, illustrating that heaven and earth are impartial, bestowing rewards and punishments according to human virtue and vice. Modern people often seek fortune with opportunistic mindsets, unaware that blessings stem from good deeds. When misfortune strikes, they blame heaven and others, failing to realize that calamities arise from their own wrongdoing. Since good and evil are self-created, fortune and misfortune are naturally self-invited.

(Note: "Taiji Zhenren" [Great Ultimate Perfected Being] is a high-ranking Daoist immortal. This passage was reverently transcribed by Cao Yueying of Qiupu and is included in the Chongkan Daozang Jiyao [Revised Daoist Canon Essentials], specifically in the Taishang Ganying Jing Jizhu [Collected Commentaries on the Scripture of Response and Retribution].)

Practicing this scripture by reciting it daily can absolve sins and eliminate transgressions. Maintaining this practice for a month ensures lasting prosperity and blessings. Persisting for a season enables seven generations of ancestors to ascend to the celestial realms. Long-term, unwavering adherence extends longevity, secures divine protection, and ultimately leads to immortal transcendence.

This story recounts Wei Zhongda's experience of witnessing his own records of good and evil deeds in the underworld. When young Wei Zhongda served in the imperial court, he was taken to the underworld where officials presented his ledger. The records of his misdeeds filled an entire room, while his good deeds were recorded on a slip no larger than a chopstick. Yet when placed on a scale, that tiny record of good deeds outweighed the roomful of evil ones.

The underworld official explained this paradox by revealing Wei's memorial advising against the oppressive Three Mountains Stone Bridge project that would burden the people. Though the court ignored his advice, the mere intention to benefit the populace was exceptionally rare. The official noted that had his counsel been heeded, his merit would have been greater still, but his habitual negative thoughts had already halved his potential blessings. True to this judgment, Wei eventually rose only to the position of Minister of Personnel, never attaining the post of Chancellor.

This account illustrates how even a single virtuous thought gets recorded, just as every malicious impulse does. As Li Changling observed: While misfortune and blessing are self-invited, they can be transformed through shifting one's mental orientation. Past karma can be dissolved and virtuous roots cultivated—the crucial factor being one's capacity for self-reflection.

The retribution of good and evil follows as inevitably as a shadow trails its form. Virtue begets blessings as vice begets calamity, with unerring precision. Buddhist teachings identify three types of karmic retribution: immediate (manifesting in this life), next-life (appearing in the subsequent rebirth), and delayed (emerging across multiple lifetimes). The Confucian classic similarly states "Families accumulating virtue will have overflowing blessings." One shouldn't doubt cosmic justice upon seeing wrongdoers prosper or virtuous people suffer—this merely reflects the timing of karmic fruition. Swift retribution indicates lighter offenses, while delayed consequences signal grave transgressions. Those with abundant good karma receive blessings first; those weighed by evil endure suffering sooner. Should virtuous practitioners waver, their blessings may transform into misfortune; if wrongdoers repent, their calamities might convert to boons. Though manifestations vary, the law of cause and effect remains immutable.

The shadow always follows the form. Between heaven and earth, there are deities specifically tasked with recording human transgressions, reducing people's lifespans according to the severity of their faults (from this point until "when lifespan is exhausted, death follows" forms one section, explaining how throughout a person's life, every moment and every action is secretly monitored by deities). The deities dwell in darkness while humans live in light; the deities can see humans, but humans cannot see the deities. Just as people in darkness can clearly see things in the light, but those in light cannot discern what lies in darkness. Because humans cannot see the deities, they assume deities don't exist—is this thinking correct?

The Scripture of Central Admonition states: Though heaven is lofty and distant, it responds to the world below; though earth is low and humble, it answers heaven above. Humans live between heaven and earth, and not a single word or deed escapes their observation. Thus, in heaven reside the Three Officials and Five Emperors (the Daoist Three Primes and Five Directional Deities), while on earth preside the Five Sacred Peaks and various departments (mountain deities and other divine officials), ceaselessly inspecting and recording human transgressions day and night. Among them exists the "Department of Rising Intentions" specifically documenting people's thoughts and impulses. The reason only deities recording faults are mentioned, not those recording merits, isn't that merits go unrecorded—it's simply because human faults typically outnumber virtuous deeds.

Deities are called "spiritually luminous" (shenming) precisely because they perceive with perfect clarity and act with impartial justice. Being perceptive, they omit nothing; being upright, they show no bias—thus punishments match the offense: minor faults reduce lifespan slightly, major ones substantially. "Calculation" here refers to a person's allotted lifespan. Among the Five Blessings (longevity, wealth, health, virtue, and peaceful death), longevity ranks first—hence lifespan reduction serves as the primary penalty for transgressions.

When lifespan is diminished, people become impoverished and beset by troubles. Wealth fluctuates, circumstances alternate between security and peril—all governed by the deities. Since lifespan has been reduced, wealth naturally cannot flourish, nor can blessings run deep, leaving one constantly mired in hardship. The Admonitions of the Green Emperor states: Practicing goodness is like spring grass in a garden—unseen growing yet daily taller; committing wrongs resembles a whetstone—unseen wearing down yet daily thinner. The phrase "diminishment and loss" encapsulates the root of poverty and distress.

Such individuals will be despised by others. Those with reduced lifespans inevitably become disliked. The Jade Pivot Scripture says: The deities will cloud a person's mind, making them detested and shunned. People only resent others for mistreating them, unaware that heaven has withdrawn their blessings, leaving them thwarted at every turn. Calamities and punishments follow accordingly. As the saying goes, "People are not..."

This scripture discusses the relationship between human virtue and vice with destiny's fortunes and misfortunes. Daoism teaches that every human action is observed and recorded by divine beings.

The phrase "deception in heart avoids official punishment" means that when someone harbors deceit, even if they temporarily escape earthly justice, their hidden transgressions will eventually attract calamity. Those whose lifespans are diminished will find misfortune following them like a shadow.

"Good fortune departs" signifies how original blessings transform into disasters. Only virtuous conduct brings auspiciousness - once evil deeds are committed, blessings withdraw. Then "malefic stars" bring misfortune - though these aren't inherently evil stars, but rather the karmic consequences of one's own wrongdoing. People often seek shamans to avert misfortune, not realizing the fundamental solution lies in correcting their own behavior.

The text explains "exhausted calculation brings death": a lifespan is gradually reduced according to the severity of committed offenses. Today's lifespan diminishes for one transgression, tomorrow for another, until the allotted time is exhausted in death. Beyond death awaits the more terrible "Three Wretched Realms" - possible rebirth as animals, hungry ghosts, or descent into hell. Death doesn't end consequences.

The scripture mentions the "Three Platforms and Northern Dipper Divine Lords" - celestial deities (the Three Platforms comprise six stars governing human destiny; the Big Dipper represents supreme divinities) who constantly record good and evil three inches above a person's head. Virtuous people radiate brightness above their crowns, while evildoers show dimmed auras.

There are also the "Three Corpse Spirits" (also called Three Pengs: Upper Peng Ju, Middle Peng Zhi, Lower Peng Qiao). These three spirits reside within the human body. On every Gengshen Day (considered in Daoism as celestial judgment day), they ascend to heaven during sleep to report the person's misdeeds. Therefore, Daoist practitioners particularly emphasize staying awake on Gengshen Days to prevent the Three Corpses from making their accusatory reports.

On every Gengshen Day (Daoism teaches that three corpse worms reside in the human body, which ascend to heaven on these days to report one's transgressions), people should stay awake throughout the night to restrain the three corpses. But if one fails to purify the heart and reduce desires, or lacks strict self-discipline, how can they truly subdue these parasites? Master Cheng Zixiao once wrote in verse: "No need to rigidly observe Gengshen nights—simply keep your heart aligned with the Dao (the Way). Heaven naturally discerns your conduct, regardless of the three corpses' (San Peng) slander." This reflects the true insight of an enlightened practitioner.

On the last day of each lunar month, the Kitchen God (a household deity overseeing family fortunes) also ascends to make his report. This illustrates how every human action is secretly monitored by divine beings. As the Director of Destinies (Siming), the Kitchen God records each household's good and evil deeds from dawn till dusk, submitting detailed accounts to the celestial court at month's end—possessing the power to transform misfortune into blessing.

For human transgressions, major offenses deduct twelve years (one ji) from one's lifespan, while minor faults reduce it by one hundred days (one suan). This occurs because spiritual auditors operate everywhere; no misdeed, great or small, can be concealed. The lifespan allotted at birth is recorded in heaven's archives, where the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun) commands deities to conduct regular evaluations: reporting every three days, submitting memorials every ten days, and conducting full assessments every hundred days. Accumulating virtue through good deeds extends longevity, whereas wickedness immediately shortens it.

During the Tang dynasty, when official Lou Shide (once Left Militant Guard Commandant) attended court one morning, an astral officer warned him: "You mistakenly took two lives, mandating a twelve-year lifespan reduction. Your destiny star now flickers out." That very day, he fell into delirium and couldn't attend court. On his deathbed, he lamented: "Though cautious all my life, merely two accidental killings cost me twelve years." In Song times, wealthy merchant Fu Zhongxin, gravely ill at thirty-five, encountered an old friend pleading for him in the underworld. A netherworld official declared: "Destined for poverty, his charitable deeds brought wealth and a lifespan of fifty-nine years. But neglecting incense offerings to deities and indulging in oversleeping have exhausted his allotted time." When the friend dismissed these as minor faults, the official countered: "Skipping incense shows disrespect to heaven and earth; excessive sleep reveals self-indulgence—how are these trivial?" Hearing this, the assembly sighed: "Even a virtuous man like Master Fu could thus have his years cut short."

This scripture explains how practitioners of the Dao must avoid transgressions and accumulate virtuous deeds to attain longevity. It states that human faults vary in severity—major ones shorten one's lifespan (called "stealing a ji-period"), while minor ones diminish blessings ("stealing a suan-calculation"). Hundreds of such faults exist, including committing unrighteous acts or killing turtles and snakes. Those seeking extended years must first abstain from these offenses.

The text particularly emphasizes that while all people err, Dao cultivators must cultivate themselves with exceptional rigor, refining body and mind until they become like flawless pearls without the slightest blemish. Before accumulating merit, one must first eliminate faults; after avoiding transgressions, one must actively perform good deeds.

The scripture then elucidates the nature of the Dao: it resembles a broad, straight highway—following this correct path constitutes "advancement," while straying from it means "regression." Two ancient exemplars are cited: Zhao Qingxian (Zhao Bian) would daily report his conduct to Heaven, daring not to perform any act unfit for such celestial accounting; Su Huangmen (Su Zhe) recorded each day's deeds nightly, avoiding any action unworthy of documentation. These represent proper adherence to the Dao's path.

Finally, the text recounts an anecdote about Zhao Bian: while serving as an official in Shu, he once jested with a courtesan wearing apricot blossoms in her hair, who responded with wit. That evening, when sending attendants to summon her, Zhao suddenly realized his impropriety. Immediately reproaching himself—"This disrespect must not be!"—he recalled his messengers. This story illustrates how Dao cultivators must maintain constant vigilance, suppressing even the slightest improper thought the moment it arises.

This passage illustrates two crucial moral principles through historical anecdotes: "not treading the crooked path" and "not deceiving in dark chambers."

First, on "not treading the crooked path": There was an official who long served as an aide to the prime minister, yet never strayed onto improper paths. He understood that momentary temptations were but fleeting delusions and could promptly dismiss wicked thoughts. When Chen Liangmo was studying in Guangde, the local education official urged him to visit the incoming chief examiner (a county magistrate), promising preferential treatment in the exams. Chen maintained that poverty and success were matters of fate, and that seeking backdoor favors was beneath a true gentleman, so he declined with an excuse. As it happened, that very magistrate presided over the exams that year. Had Chen actually visited him, both parties would have struggled to prove their integrity. The text emphasizes that "crooked paths" encompass a broad meaning—even slight missteps in life can become grave faults, and a single lapse may bring eternal regret.

Next, on "not deceiving in dark chambers": A "dark chamber" refers to hidden places where no one observes. Yet scriptures state that whispered secrets thunder in heaven's ears, and wicked thoughts in darkness flash like lightning to the gods. During the Song dynasty, when Huang Jingguo served as assistant prefect of Yizhou, he was temporarily taken to the underworld. There, an underworld official showed him a merit register recording how physician Nie Congzhi had resisted the advances of Lady Li, wife of Yang—an incident Nie hadn't even told his own wife about. This secret virtue earned him twelve extra years of life and three generations of descendants passing imperial examinations.

Another story tells of Yang Pu's father from Puzhou: While trading in Yangzhou, a Shaanxi merchant urgently departing entrusted him with a thousand taels of silver in secret. After three years with no return, Yang's father buried the silver in a flowerpot and sent someone to Shaanxi, only to find the merchant had died, leaving only a son. When Yang returned the silver, the son initially dared not accept it. Later, the Yang family produced eminent officials—a Grand Preceptor, Minister of Revenue, and Hanlin Academy proofreader—manifesting the karmic reward for "not deceiving over hidden wealth."

The passage concludes with Wang Meixi's verse: Whether in light or darkness, one should harbor no doubts; with constant upright thoughts in mind, there's nothing to conceal. These stories demonstrate that people must be especially cautious in solitude, for deities watch from just overhead, and secret good deeds ultimately bring blessings.

This scripture expounds the methods and importance of accumulating virtuous deeds (De). It begins by pointing out that to move heaven, earth, and spirits, one must first start with reverential awe toward one's own heart-mind. When alone, a person who constantly examines their conduct will harbor no self-deceptive thoughts.

The accumulation of virtuous deeds is divided into two aspects: "De" (Virtue) and "meritorious deeds." Good intentions hidden within the heart are called "De," while benevolent actions put into practice are called "meritorious deeds." Virtue should be accumulated through small acts, and good deeds should begin from humble beginnings. As Liu Bei taught his son, "Do not refrain from doing good because the deed seems small"—this precisely embodies the principle of accumulating virtuous merit.

Some people today hesitate to perform good deeds, claiming that charity requires money. In truth, many acts of kindness cost nothing. Ge Fan, a magistrate of Zhenjiang, made it his daily practice to perform several small kindnesses—such as straightening a stool blocking a pathway or offering water to the thirsty—and continued this for over forty years without fail. This demonstrates that regardless of wealth or poverty, anyone can practice goodness; what matters is perseverance.

For those with greater means, more good deeds should be undertaken. Wu Yishan of Yixing, originally childless, performed ten major acts of charity during a famine: paying taxes for the poor, redeeming petty offenders, setting up soup kitchens, aiding relatives and friends, personally distributing grain to the destitute, providing medicine to the sick, burying the dead, repairing bridges, establishing charitable estates, and funding schools. Later, he was blessed with three sons. This shows that wealthy families in particular should practice generosity.

The principles of virtuous action are: do as much good as one's capacity allows, and maintain a benevolent heart when resources are insufficient; avoid seeking empty fame, fear no hardship, and persist to the end. By this measure, performing one good deed daily would accumulate 1,300 merits in four years; three daily deeds would complete 300 merits in a single year. Seen this way, how difficult is it to do good?

Finally, it emphasizes that compassion is the root of all goodness—one should love not only people but all living beings. Buddhist scriptures state that refraining from killing brings blessings of longevity. The text particularly reminds us that when children harm insects in play, adults must stop them promptly to nurture their compassion.

This scripture expounds two fundamental principles: reverence for life and the primacy of loyalty and filial piety.

Regarding reverence for life, several examples are given: even small creatures like birds should not be harmed, as killing not only creates karmic consequences but also fosters cruelty in human nature. In daily life, whenever encountering any living being in danger, one should make every effort to help. Even the tiniest creatures near candle flames can perish from a human breath—thus practitioners are cautioned against blowing out candles with their mouths. Water contains microscopic organisms invisible to the naked eye, so it must be filtered through cloth before drinking. Even Tao Hongjing (Master Tao the Recluse), an accomplished Daoist adept, nearly failed to ascend to immortality because his Materia Medica (Bencao) included leeches and horseflies as medicinal ingredients, harming living beings. Only after substituting herbs did he achieve transcendence. This illustrates how harming life obstructs spiritual cultivation.

Concerning loyalty and filial piety, the text emphasizes these as the foundation of human virtue. Both Buddhist and Daoist traditions uphold them—those who embody great loyalty and filial piety may immediately join the ranks of immortals after death. Such virtues need not manifest in grand gestures: officials and commoners each fulfill loyalty differently; the wealthy and the poor express filial piety in their own ways. For instance, Li Shan, though a servant of the Li Yuan household, protected the family’s sole surviving heir, Li Xu, during a plague that wiped out the clan—an example of ordinary loyalty.

The text specifically clarifies that Buddhist and Daoist practice does not neglect loyalty and filial piety; rather, these are its very basis. True loyalty and filial piety lie not in outward forms but in wholeheartedly fulfilling one’s duties.

This passage recounts several stories illustrating loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness.

The first story tells of Shan (a person's name) protecting his young master Xu (another person's name). At the time, Xu was less than a year old, and the household servants plotted to kill him and divide the family property. Shan secretly carried Xu on his back and fled into the mountains, raising him personally. He gave the dry spots to the child while sleeping in damp places himself, enduring great hardship. Though young, Xu treated Shan with the respect due an elder, kneeling and asking for permission before going out. Over a decade later, they emerged from the mountains and reported the matter to the authorities. The county magistrate Zhongli Yi executed the treacherous servants. When the imperial court learned of this, both Shan and Xu were appointed as Palace Attendants (a government position), and later Shan was promoted to Governor of Rinan. When passing through Nanyang, Shan deliberately changed into old clothes to pay respects at his former master’s grave, personally preparing offerings and weeping mournfully.

The second story recounts the filial deeds of the beggar Yang Yiwu. He begged to support his parents, always feeding them first even when starving himself. If he obtained wine, he would kneel to offer it, singing and dancing to cheer them, persisting in this way for ten years. After his parents died, he begged for coffins and used his own clothes to shroud them, disregarding his own shivering from cold. Once buried, he kept vigil day and night, wailing sorrowfully and never neglecting timely sacrifices.

The third story discusses the proper way for brothers to treat one another. It emphasizes that brothers are like limbs—neglecting them is neglecting one’s parents. Quoting the Book of Rites, it states: "What parents love, children must also love." Truly filial people never mistreat their brothers.

Finally, a negative example is given: A wealthy man from Wuxing, surnamed Mo, had an affair with a maidservant and fathered a child. When the boy was ten, the man died. Villagers incited the child to claim the family fortune, teaching him to dress in mourning clothes, kneel before the coffin, and then sue for inheritance—revealing the treachery of human greed.

These stories collectively demonstrate that even servants and beggars can fulfill loyalty and filial duty, so those who hold office and enjoy privilege should hold themselves to higher standards. Brothers should live in harmony, while the passage also exposes the disgrace of those who forsake righteousness for profit.

This passage recounts several stories about brotherly affection and moral exhortations, which I will explain section by section:

A stranger suddenly burst into a household, weeping and prostrating himself, alarming the entire family. When the elderly matriarch tried to drive him away, the eldest son quickly intervened. Embracing the man, he asked, "Aren't you the child from that family who used to sell soup?" After confirming his identity, the eldest son presented him to their mother, saying, "She is your birth mother, and I am your eldest brother." He then had the man pay respects to each family member: "This is your elder sister-in-law, these are your second elder brother and his wife, and these are your nephews." After the greetings, the eldest son instructed him to stay for mourning rites, arranged for his bathing and change of clothes, had him live with the other brothers, and even brought his birth mother to be cared for. Through this sincere display of brotherly love, the eldest son preserved the family lineage while preventing potential discord.

Yet in this world, some blood brothers from the same parents become like strangers—mostly due to property disputes. People should understand that wealth can be easily regained, but brotherly affection is hard to come by. Even friends practice mutual aid—how much more should flesh-and-blood siblings?

The narrative then tells of Zhao Yanxiao: his elder brother Zhao Yanyun squandered the family fortune. When repeated admonitions failed, Yanxiao chose to divide the household. Five years later, when his brother went bankrupt, Yanxiao hosted a New Year's Eve banquet, declaring: "I never wanted to divide our family—I was merely preserving half our ancestral estate for you." He burned the division contract on the spot, returned management of the property to his brother, and even used his personal savings to settle his brother's debts. The following year, both Yanxiao and his eldest son passed the imperial examinations. Contrast this with modern people who value wealth over kinship—their karmic retribution is predictable.

Chan Master Fazhao left this instructive gatha: "Branches from the same root grow separately—don't let trivial matters wound your bond. Each meeting means one less encounter—how long can you remain brothers? Practice patience in fraternal relations—don't quarrel over minor matters. We were brothers in past lives too—set an example for future generations." These words are profoundly thought-provoking.

Regarding the principle of "rectifying oneself to transform others": only by being upright can one influence people. Like shadows following forms, how can the crooked straighten others? From refusing to take shortcuts when walking—all such acts cultivate the self. Transforming others is likewise part of self-cultivation. When scholar Chen Baisha encountered pirates during a boat journey, he called out from the stern...

Here are two stories about transforming thieves through moral influence. The first tells of Chen Xianzhang (a Ming Dynasty philosopher) encountering thieves who recognized him as a virtuous man and voluntarily returned his belongings before leaving. The second describes how Wang Xinzhai (a disciple of Wang Yangming) used the doctrine of "innate moral knowledge" (liangzhi) to enlighten thieves: he instructed them to remove their clothes layer by layer until they refused to take off their final undergarments. Wang pointed out this refusal itself demonstrated liangzhi—the innate human sense of shame. The thieves, awakened by this realization, departed repentant.

The text then discusses the principle of "showing compassion to orphans and widows"—the most helpless members of society. Helping them compensates for what Heaven and Earth might overlook in nurturing all beings. An example is given of Chen Yu from Langzhou: after attaining immortality and becoming Judge under the Perfected Warrior Emperor (Zhenwu), he heard his mortal wife's weeping and obtained permission to appear in her dream, instructing her to raise their children well. This illustrates that even immortals care for their families—how much more should ordinary people cherish orphans and widows? Such actions accumulate earthly virtue (De) while comforting departed souls.

Regarding "respecting the elderly": elders possess hard-won wisdom, and while the young often die prematurely, the aged attain longevity—both reasons to honor them. As the proverb wisely states: "Those who respect age will attain old age." The text cites the Song Dynasty's Yang Yi, who achieved early success but scorned elder statesmen like Zhou Han and Zhu Ang. Zhou warned him against disrespecting the aged, while Zhu predicted future generations would mock him—prophecies fulfilled when Yang died young. The passage concludes: those who fail to honor their own elders while preaching filial piety invite karmic retribution through their hypocrisy.

These stories collectively demonstrate: to transform others, one must first rectify oneself. When the unvirtuous attempt to teach virtue, even close relatives will distrust them.

This scripture conveys the principles of filial piety and caring for the young through several historical anecdotes.

The first story tells of Yuan Gu's filial devotion: When Yuan Gu's aging grandfather became difficult to handle, his parents ordered him to build a litter to abandon the old man. Unable to dissuade them through tearful pleas, Yuan Gu kept the litter. Asked by his father why he preserved it, he replied, "For when you grow old." Struck by this response, the father immediately brought the grandfather home, eventually becoming a filial son himself. Though peculiar, this story offers valuable lessons.

The second account describes the benevolence of Yang Zhu, a Ming dynasty official who normally rode only a donkey. When elderly neighbors had a late-life child, fearing his donkey might frighten the infant, he sold the animal and walked instead. This demonstrates care for the young that transcends personal boundaries.

Ye Mengde, a Song dynasty official stationed in Xuchang during a major famine, opened granaries to save over 100,000 lives. Noticing many abandoned children went unadopted because rescuers feared biological parents might later reclaim them, Ye instituted an "empty deed" system: adopters could register permanent custody, severing original parental ties. This ultimately saved 3,800 infants.

Another method preserved babies during wartime: stuffing cotton in infants' mouths (while maintaining breathing space) with licorice powder to chew. This prevented crying that might reveal their location while keeping them unharmed—a technique that saved many children during conflicts.

The scripture concludes by observing that child abandonment occurs not only in disasters but also peaceful times, reminding people to consistently protect the vulnerable. These stories collectively embody the Daoist values of filial devotion and universal compassion.

The passage presents two key themes: the benevolent practice of rescuing abandoned infants, and the principle of compassionate treatment toward all beings.

In Yangzhou, a resident named Cai Lian established an organization called the "Infant Nurturing Society" dedicated to caring for abandoned children. Their method involved four sponsors jointly supporting one foundling, with each contributor donating one qian and five fen of silver monthly. When abandoned infants were discovered on roadsides, they were brought to the society where impoverished wet nurses were employed, receiving six qian monthly. On the fifteenth of each month, the infants' health was examined, with rewards or penalties given based on weight gain, continuing for three-year cycles. This system not only saved children but also provided livelihoods for poor women, preventing tragic infanticide. After retirement, Chen Manxian further developed detailed "Infant Nurturing Regulations" as a model for other regions.

The latter section expounds the philosophy of universal compassion. If even insects and plants—the smallest forms of life—should not be harmed, how much more should humans be treated with mercy? Even wrongdoers deserve pity, for they may simply be temporarily misguided. The text cites the example of Duke Wenxiang of Zhou reviewing capital cases: he meticulously examined legal documents until finding grounds for clemency, demonstrating true compassion toward offenders. When witnessing others' good deeds, one should rejoice, knowing virtuous acts receive celestial protection.

People often commit wrongdoings out of jealousy. Yet even if you envy others, their virtuous deeds remain unchanged; the more you resent them, the more their goodness shines. This jealousy only corrupts your own character—what benefit does it bring you?

If instead you rejoice in others' good deeds—not merely encouraging, guiding, and rewarding those who do good—but truly understanding that when others accomplish virtuous acts, their merits become your merits too; when their goodness is achieved, you can help spread it, strengthening the resolve of the virtuous and inspiring others to follow their example—this is immeasurable merit. Who says others' good deeds have nothing to do with you?

Consider Fan Zhongyan (Duke Wenzheng of Fan) when selecting his residence. A feng shui master told him the Qian family garden would produce high-ranking officials for generations. Fan replied, "Rather than my family alone enjoying prosperity, why not let all scholars of Wu region receive education here?" He petitioned to convert the land into an academy. This is the mark of one who truly delights in others' virtue.

Relieving others' urgent needs (济人之急) takes many forms: medicine for the sick, burial for the deceased, food and clothing for the hungry and cold—such crises are countless, and the key lies in offering aid according to circumstance. When Deng Yuanfa served as prefect of Yunzhou during the great famine in Huainan and Jingdong, he foresaw that refugee gatherings would breed plague. He prepared makeshift shelters on empty land outside the city, mobilizing the wealthy to contribute. Overnight, 2,500 shelters were built, complete with wells, stoves, and utensils. Refugees settled as if returning home, receiving immediate medical care—50,000 lives were saved. Later, he rose to Academician of the Dragon Diagram Pavilion and died peacefully at eighty-five.

Physician Zhang Yanming, a master healer, treated the poor for free and even paid their expenses, while charging the wealthy without haggling, always giving extra herbs. When summoned, he departed instantly regardless of distance. Once, his family tried stopping him from a snowy night visit. He said, "How can I delay while the patient suffers?" Later, when fire razed the city, his home alone stood untouched, and his descendants achieved prominence. Such is the karmic reward for relieving medical emergencies.

As governor of Weiyang, Liu Cen was approached by an old friend's son who lacked funds to bury his father. After detailing the costs, Liu said, "Stay with me awhile," while secretly sending an aide with money to arrange the funeral. Two months later, when the aide returned, Liu told the young man, "All is settled—you may go home." He explained: "This youth was impulsive; had I given him money directly, he might not have prioritized the burial. Better to keep him here while I fulfilled my late friend's wish."

The Story of Ning Chongli: This benevolent man from Fuliang County (present-day Jingdezhen, Jiangxi) often made coffins to give to the poor. When he passed away at eighty, he appeared in his family's dream saying: "Throughout my life, I frequently made coffins to help others in urgent need. These accumulated hidden virtues (Yinde) will bring blessings to my descendants." He specifically mentioned that the fourteenth son (referring to Fan Qiangguang) would surely pass the imperial examinations the following year. Indeed, Fan Qiangguang succeeded the next year, and from then on, the family produced a continuous line of successful examination candidates. This exemplifies the karmic reward for aiding others in funeral emergencies.

While serving as prefect of Qingzhou, Fan Zhongyan encountered a severe famine and requested opening the granaries to relieve the victims. Subordinate officials insisted they must first petition the court, but Fan replied: "People starve to death after seven days without food—how can we wait for an official reply? Don’t worry, gentlemen; I’ll take full responsibility." He opened the granaries that very day. Han Lewu of Xinghua, Yangzhou, lived in poverty and pawned belongings to survive the famine. One day, with only two and a half liters of rice left at home, he learned his neighbor had run out of food and wanted to share half. His wife asked, "What will we do tomorrow?" Han answered: "We might starve tomorrow, but our friend will starve today." In the end, he gave the rice away. These cases illustrate the merit of relieving others’ hunger crises.

The teachings of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun) state: When aiding others in peril with kind words, such virtuous deeds glorify one’s ancestors above and bless descendants below. It further says: The same hand that pushes someone down can lift them up; the same mouth that slanders can praise. Better be a lifting hand than a harming mouth. Those who follow these teachings will surely have a stable future. According to the Seven Bamboo Tablets of the Cloudy Satchel (Yunji Qiqian), saving a life in peril extends one’s lifespan by twelve years—doubled if the rescued is virtuous.

Fan Yuanzhi, an impoverished scholar from Quzhou, found a bag of gold while bathing by the river. Returning home, he told his son: "People often risk lives for wealth—how could I keep this?" The next day, he waited by the riverbank and encountered a weeping woman. Upon inquiry, he learned her husband faced execution after she lost the money raised by selling their property to pay his ransom. After verifying her story, Fan returned the gold. The following year, both he and his son passed the imperial exams—a karmic reward for his integrity and lifesaving act.

Wang Zhiren, a childless thirty-year-old merchant from Huizhou, was warned by a fortune-teller of impending disaster in October. Taking this seriously, he hurried to Suzhou to collect debts. During an evening stroll, he saw a woman attempting suicide by drowning and immediately offered twenty taels of silver to save her. The woman had been driven to despair after money from her husband’s pig sale was stolen. That night, Wang’s lodging collapsed, but he survived unharmed—later fathering eleven sons and living to ninety-six. This mirrors the Tract of Actions and Retributions (Ganying Pian)’s teaching: "Saving others from peril" brings visible karmic rewards.

This passage recounts several true stories illustrating the principle of karmic retribution:

A merchant named Wang encountered a woman about to drown herself in a river. Upon inquiry, she explained her husband worked odd jobs to make ends meet and had raised a pig to pay rent. After selling it, she'd received counterfeit silver. Certain her husband would beat her to death upon returning, she preferred suicide. Merchant Wang bought the fake silver at double its value. When the woman told her husband, he disbelieved and dragged her to Wang's house to confront him. Wang had already retired for the night when they knocked. The woman called out her thanks, but Wang sternly replied, "You're a young woman and I'm a bachelor—how could we meet at this hour?" She explained her husband was present. Just as Wang donned his robe and opened the door, the wall collapsed—directly onto his bed. The astonished couple departed. Later, a physiognomist noticed Wang's face bore special "virtue lines" (yinde wen) indicating not only survival from disaster but future blessings. Indeed, Wang later fathered three sons, two of whom became imperial scholars. This exemplifies rescuing others through wealth.

When Zhou Bida supervised Lin'an Prefecture's medicinal bureau in Luling (modern Ji'an, Jiangxi), a fire broke out. According to law, the night watchman faced execution. Zhou asked subordinates, "What punishment would an official face for causing such a fire?" They answered, "Dismissal from office." Zhou voluntarily accepted responsibility, sparing the watchman's life. Later, Zhou passed the imperial examinations, rose to become prime minister, and was ennobled as Duke of Yi. This demonstrates saving lives through official position.

During their studies at the Imperial Academy, Wu Xianchen cared for his plague-stricken classmate Luo Qi after Luo's servant died from the disease. Wu personally cooked congee, carried Luo to the latrine, and tended to him day and night through dozens of crises. After Luo recovered, both men passed the imperial examinations together. This shows rescuing others through personal sacrifice.

Such responsive phenomena are too numerous to record—some even more remarkable: Gaoyou commander Zhang Baihu, returning from Huaian, saw a sinking boat on the lake and urgently paid ten taels to hire fishermen for rescue—only to discover the saved boy was his own son. During the Zhengde reign, a tsunami swept a woman clinging to a bamboo chest toward shore. A greedy man, coveting the chest, pushed her underwater—then opened it to find his own betrothal contract inside. The rescuer coincidentally saved his own child; the wrongdoer unwittingly harmed his future wife—how exquisitely precise is Heaven's retribution!

The scripture's conclusion reveals the key principle: Rejoice in others' gains as your own; grieve their losses as your own. Ordinary people often envy others' gains and delight in their misfortunes—all from unbalanced hearts. In truth, what others obtain was never yours to begin with—why envy?

This scripture elucidates important principles for human conduct through several historical anecdotes:

During the Ming Dynasty, Prince Jiande Benli once recounted an incident where two local officials—the Defense Commissioner and the Surveillance Commissioner—interviewed scholars in markedly different ways. The Defense Commissioner only inquired about outstanding students and supplemental admissions, while the Surveillance Commissioner exclusively asked about those who had failed or been demoted. Later, the Defense Commissioner rose to become Vice Minister of Revenue (equivalent to Deputy Finance Minister), and his son passed the imperial examinations. The Surveillance Commissioner, however, was executed by waist-cutting during a rebellion after being promoted to Vice Commissioner of Shaanxi. This wasn’t because their questions directly caused fortune or misfortune, but because their inquiries reflected two contrasting mindsets: benevolent individuals naturally speak and act with kindness, while harsh individuals inevitably behave with cruelty.

The text then cites positive examples: Han Qi (Duke Wei) of the Song Dynasty, when serving as prime minister, would seal any memorials that exposed others’ private affairs; Wen Zhengming (Scholar Wen) of the Ming Dynasty would tactfully change the subject whenever he heard someone discussing another’s faults. Two particularly exemplary cases follow: Luo Xun, father of the Zhuangyuan (top imperial examinee) Luo Hongxian, discovered a classmate stealing his blanket but not only refrained from exposing the thief but also deliberately avoided the situation. Wang Hua, another Zhuangyuan, chose to endure false accusations implicating him in a colleague’s legal case without defending himself, and later prevented his son from clearing his name.

These stories collectively demonstrate that taking pleasure in others’ failures or resenting their successes stems from a petty and unkind disposition. Truly virtuous individuals understand the principle of "not exposing others’ shortcomings," because revealing faults can destroy reputations and corrupt minds. The magnanimous character displayed by ancient sages in treating others with kindness remains worthy of emulation today.

This passage expounds two crucial principles for conducting oneself in the world: not flaunting one's strengths, and restraining evil while promoting goodness.

First, the principle of "not flaunting one's strengths": every person has both merits and shortcomings, and deliberately showcasing one's strengths is itself a shortcoming. The text provides two examples: Ouyang Xiu excelled at writing, yet when conversing with guests would discuss governance rather than literature; Cai Xiang was versed in statecraft, yet often talked about poetry rather than political affairs with visitors. Both understood the wisdom of concealing their advantages. The author laments how contemporary youths often relish flaunting their brilliance—what appears as distinction is actually mediocrity, with some even ending in lifelong destitution due to this tendency, all stemming from shallow blessings and ignorance of restraint. The Tang Dynasty child prodigy Li Bi could compose poetry at seven; when receiving widespread praise, Chancellor Zhang Jiuling warned him that premature fame would diminish one's blessings, and that poetry should celebrate landscapes rather than boast of oneself. Moved to tears, Li Bi thereafter refrained from ostentation and ultimately became a renowned statesman.

Regarding "restraining evil and promoting goodness": evil spreads like wildfire and must be promptly checked to reform offenders, while goodness resembles a feeble flame requiring encouragement to grow. Ming Dynasty official Huang Zhongzhao, while serving in the Ministry of Personnel, particularly emphasized discovering talent. He remarked that a nation's need for capable individuals resembles farmers' need to store grain—if scholars all secluded themselves pursuing empty fame, how could genuine talent be found? Thus he engaged earnestly with every visitor, recording promising individuals in his register without neglecting minor officials. Restraining one evildoer prevents ten thousand crimes; commending one virtuous act inspires myriad good deeds. Some fear that distinguishing right from wrong may invite misfortune, but the author maintains we must restrain what requires restraint and praise what deserves praise, for this aligns with the Dao of Heaven. The passage concludes with the contrasting story of Han Dynasty's Wang He: as censor he tolerated bandits, believing it would accumulate blessings for his descendants. While his lineage indeed achieved prominence, it produced the usurper Wang Mang who brought familial ruin—illustrating how indulging the unworthy resembles releasing a tiger back to the mountains, breeding endless calamity.

This passage elucidates two essential principles for navigating human relationships: "yielding abundance while taking little" and "enduring humiliation without resentment."

The principle of "yielding abundance while taking little" teaches the virtue of deference in interpersonal conduct. The text cites two exemplary cases: Xue Bao, when dividing family property, deliberately chose the poorest fields, dilapidated houses, elderly servants, and worn-out utensils, later frequently assisting his bankrupt brothers; Zhang Shixuan insisted on dividing his uncle's estate into eight equal shares rather than claiming half, and subsequently achieved top honors in imperial examinations. These examples demonstrate that those willing to accept apparent disadvantages are actually accumulating De (Virtue/Power), which ultimately brings favorable retribution. This wisdom applies not only to property division but should permeate all aspects of human conduct.

Regarding "enduring humiliation without resentment," the text advocates maintaining magnanimity when facing insults. Prime Minister Lü Mengzheng ignored malicious gossip about him; young Fu Bi pretended not to hear when verbally abused. Their broad-mindedness later brought them great blessings. Merchant You Weng, when confronted by an unreasonable customer at his pawnshop, not only remained unangered but gifted the man clothing—thereby avoiding litigation. These cases collectively illustrate that when encountering humiliation, one should first examine whether any fault truly lies with oneself. If blameless, there is even less reason to engage, as such forbearance often dissolves conflicts and averts misfortune.

Both principles instruct people to "repay resentment with De (Virtue/Power)" and maintain generous-heartedness. This approach not only accumulates hidden virtue (yin De) but prevents unnecessary troubles.

This passage conveys several principles for personal conduct:

The first principle concerns the importance of "forbearance" (ren). There was a debtor who tried to extort Elder You. The wise elder taught people that whenever someone makes unreasonable demands, there must be ulterior motives behind it. If one cannot restrain momentary anger, disaster will swiftly follow. Ancient sages said the character for "forbearance" (忍) can dispel calamity—those who cannot endure humiliation will struggle to bear disgrace. Thus Buddhism considers patient endurance (renru) as paramount spiritual practice.

The second principle explains "being overwhelmed by favor" (shouchongruojing). Here "favor" refers to fame, wealth and status. Since worldly fortunes are unpredictable, arrogance during prosperity plants seeds of future misfortune. Two examples illustrate this: When Lu Duoxun attained high office, his scholar-father worried, "Our family has been scholarly for generations—such sudden wealth makes me fear the consequences." When Chong Fang gained imperial favor and fame, his mother warned, "I advised against pursuing reputation—now that you're known, you'll find no peace." Both ignored these warnings and ultimately fell due to their attachments. Thus Confucianism considers excessive concern for others' approval a flaw, while Buddhism compares craving reverence and offerings to "soft thieves" (gentle traps)—showing how the Three Teachings' wisdom converges.

The third principle teaches "giving without seeking reward." When Emperor Wu of Liang asked Bodhidharma about merit from his lifelong almsgiving, the patriarch replied there was none—because seeking repayment voids true virtue. Scriptures call reward-seeking charity "impure giving," akin to mercantile exchange. Two positive examples follow: During famine, Northern Wei's Li Shiqian lent grain to villagers; when disaster struck again, he publicly burned the promissory notes. Later while distributing porridge to save lives, others praised his accumulated "hidden virtue" (yinde), but he responded, "True hidden virtue should be like tinnitus—known only to oneself." Another example is Yixing's Shao Lingfu, who during famine neither sought profit nor fame, but used stored grain to employ workers in building roads and canals—truly benefiting the people.

This passage recounts several stories about accumulating virtue through good deeds, illustrating the principle of "doing good without seeking reward."

The first story describes how when Tongyan Creek was channeled into Zhenze (the ancient name for Lake Tai), the local people all benefited from the water conservancy project. The official who oversaw the project later lived past ninety, and his descendants all achieved scholarly honors. This shows that those who genuinely do good may not seek rewards, but blessings naturally follow. As the saying goes: kindness given unintentionally may bring unexpected returns, while enmity should be avoided, for paths will inevitably cross again.

The second story tells of Fan Chunren (courtesy name Yaofu), son of the renowned statesman Fan Zhongyan (posthumously titled Duke Wenzheng), who used his boatload of wheat to help his friend Shi Manqing bury family members. After giving away the entire shipment, Fan Chunren returned home empty-handed. When Fan Zhongyan heard this, he was delighted, considering it the right action. This demonstrates how the magnanimity of sages far surpasses ordinary people.

The third story occurred during the Zhengde era of the Ming Dynasty. Elder Shu from Jiangxi, while teaching in Huguang, encountered on his year-end journey home a weeping woman whose husband owed official silver and was about to be sold. Shu gave her all his savings—thirteen taels of silver from his teaching wages—leaving himself without food for two days. Upon returning, the couple could only dig bitter herbs to eat, yet his wife voiced no complaints. That night, a divine voice outside their window prophesied: "Eating bitter herbs tonight, next year bears a top scholar." They indeed later had a son who became the top imperial examinee. This illustrates how those willingly enduring hardship without regretting their good deeds ultimately receive blessings.

These stories collectively elucidate the Daoist concept of karma: sincere virtue requires no calculation of immediate gain or loss, as heaven naturally bestows corresponding blessings. They also remind us that good deeds must stem from genuine intent—regret afterward can obstruct future virtuous inclinations.

This passage illustrates the blessings that naturally arise from accumulating virtue (De) through good deeds, a principle that is profoundly clear. Those who can practice the various virtuous acts mentioned earlier are truly good people. Such individuals naturally command respect from others—because human nature is fundamentally good, and no one fails to revere a genuinely virtuous person.

For example, after Wang Shu of the Ming Dynasty retired from his position as Minister of Personnel, officials passing through his hometown of Sanyuan would visit him in modest attire. Similarly, when Liu Daxia served as Minister of War, his hometown of Huarong County was threatened by rogue soldiers. Yet upon seeing him, the soldiers knelt and said, "This is Minister Liu’s homeland—how could we dare to harm it?" Even Chen Xianzhang (styled Baisha), though merely a scholar, was so revered that when students from Lingnan traveled to the capital, northern scholars would ask if they had been taught by Master Baisha. Wen Zhengming (styled Hengshan), while residing in Wu, was so respected that envoys who failed to meet him would bow toward his residence from afar. The admiration these virtuous individuals received stemmed from the natural influence of their goodness.

The Dao of Heaven also protects the virtuous. As the ancients said, "The Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism, yet it always sides with the good," because the actions of virtuous people align with the will of Heaven. For instance, during the Song Dynasty, Liu Qizhi was exiled to Lingnan for impeaching the corrupt official Zhang Dun. At the time, a saying described the region’s harsh conditions: "Chun, Xun, Mei, and Xin—neighbors of death; Gao, Dou, Lei, and Hua—just hearing their names brings fear." Yet Liu Qizhi traveled through seven of these prefectures unharmed. A subordinate seeking to curry favor with Zhang Dun attempted to kill Liu but suddenly died just twenty li away—a clear sign of Heaven’s protection.

Fortune and prosperity also follow the virtuous naturally, without forced pursuit. Take the case of an ordinary physician named Zhen Baili, who diligently treated patients without complaint. By chance, he cured the emperor’s illness and within months amassed great wealth. This exemplifies how virtuous actions naturally attract blessings. When one cultivates goodness, all malevolent forces instinctively withdraw.

Integrity and wickedness are like the sun and an iceberg that cannot coexist—when sunlight shines upon them, the sun remains unchanged while the iceberg naturally melts away. This illustrates the principle that "evil cannot prevail over righteousness."

There was once a man named Jing Qing, a scholar of upright character. While traveling to the capital for the imperial examinations, he stayed at the Chunhua post station, where he encountered a woman plagued by a malevolent spirit. The moment Jing Qing took up residence, the spirit dared not approach. Yet when he departed, the haunting resumed. When the woman questioned the spirit, it replied, "I must avoid Scholar Jing." Upon hearing this, her father sought out Jing Qing and explained the situation. Jing Qing simply wrote the words "Jing Qing is here" and posted them on the door—thereafter, the spirit never returned. This demonstrates how a mind grounded in integrity can indeed suppress malign forces.

Divine beings protect those who walk the path of righteousness (The spirits are omnipresent—they revere those with virtue, aid the loyal and sincere, affirm the upright, and safeguard those who accumulate hidden merit. All who embody true goodness receive their guardianship). During the Three Kingdoms period, Guan Ning was returning from Liaodong by sea when a violent storm arose. Reflecting on his conduct, he realized he had only two faults: going bareheaded one day and rising late on three occasions. While other ships foundered in the tempest, his vessel alone remained unharmed. That night, amid pitch darkness, the crew spotted distant firelight and steered toward it, only to find an uninhabited island devoid of any actual flames—all recognized this as divine guidance.

In the Jiajing era of the Ming dynasty, when Xinghua City was attacked by Japanese pirates, only three households were spared: those of a loyal official, a filial son, and a family with accumulated virtue. Earlier, this virtuous household had lost a pair of pearl earrings. Their maidservant, fearful of punishment, hid in the City God Temple, where at midnight she overheard the Mysterious Maiden of the Nine Heavens ask the City God: "What shall be done when Xinghua falls?" The deity replied: "This is heaven's decree—beyond remedy. Yet I come specifically to preserve three households: the loyal, the filial, and the virtuous." The goddess then summoned the maid, revealing: "Your earrings were accidentally swallowed by a pig—this is trivial. Your family's generations of accumulated merit demand you warn your masters to flee." Upon returning home, they slaughtered the pig and recovered the jewels, escaping just before the pirates arrived—who themselves avoided harming the loyal and filial households.

Deeds aligned with heaven's will inevitably succeed (When human affairs accord with celestial intent, providence fulfills mortal wishes. The virtuous meet no failure in their endeavors, for heaven lends its aid). When Magistrate Mei Gongyi governed Huazhou, the Yellow River's dike ruptured at night. Leading the emergency repairs himself, he was miraculously assisted by an aged man with white whiskers who ferried bundles of reeds to plug the breach. At dawn, the old man vanished and the floodwaters receded, completing the successful repair.

Yu Yongning's grandfather from She County once resolved to single-handedly fund the construction of a stone bridge requiring four thousand taels of silver—precisely the sum he possessed from his timber business. Having already purchased mountain timber for this sum, he rushed to sell it. Upon reaching the market, timber prices suddenly surged, and the sale yielded exactly the required amount for the bridge.

When lumber prices soared, some reaped multiple profits, yet when the bridges were built, the costs remained unchanged—such opportunistic schemes often meet this very end. In truth, attaining immortality is not beyond reach. Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) once said that celestial beings seek worthy disciples more urgently than mortals seek the Dao. Lü Dongbin also lamented how people search everywhere for immortals yet neglect self-cultivation. History records many who achieved immortality through accumulating virtue: Zhang Liang (Zifang) was renowned for loyalty, Wu Meng for filial piety, Lan Qi for brotherly love, Wang Weixian for upholding womanly virtue, Liu Yi for selfless aid, Zhao Sutai for relieving the poor, Xu Xun (the True Lord) for using talismans (fulu) to control floods, Yan Junping for guiding others toward goodness, Zhou Bochi for burying nameless bones, Li Wulang for fair trade, Chen Anshi for sparing living creatures, Li Xizi for feeding starving birds, Tang Ruoshan for never harboring anger, and Jing Xiang for his passion for releasing captive animals—all ascended to immortality through persistent good deeds. If everyone could accumulate merit this way, why worry about failing to attain immortality?

To pursue the highest rank of celestial immortality (tianxian), one must complete 1,300 virtuous acts; for earthly immortality (dixian, longevity in the mortal realm), 300 suffice. This passage emphasizes that virtuous deeds are the foundation of cultivation: those whose merit is complete ascend to the celestial grottoes as tianxian, while those whose physical form endures become dixian. The term "establish" (立) refers to sustained accumulation, and "1,300" sets a clear goal. The Medicine King Sun Simiao once said: "Cultivating one’s nature can prolong life even without elixirs, but if virtue is lacking, even divine pills will prove useless." These words reveal the essence of immortality cultivation.

Should someone act contrary to heavenly principles (as detailed later—killing turtles, beating snakes, and hundreds of other transgressions fall under this category), these lines first summarize the harm. Wrongdoing often begins with subtle thoughts—how can violations of righteousness and principle be measured by scale? Worse still are those who pride themselves on wickedness (such as wielding cunning tactics), briefly reveling in their cleverness, only to ultimately reap what they sow, gaining not the slightest advantage.

During the Zhengde era of the Ming dynasty, a man named Chen Liangmo recorded this incident: In the year Jǐmǎo of Zhengde (1519), while traveling north, I passed by the Zheng Family Ferry in Huoxian County. Several boats were moored by the riverbank, all carrying fellow provincial graduates. Suddenly, I heard boatmen fighting with locals, only to discover my own servant had provoked the conflict. After briefly disciplining the servant and dispersing the locals, a fellow graduate from Xinyu on the same boat suddenly flew into a rage, shouting: "Who do you think you are, daring to board my official vessel with your men to rob us?" He then had the man tied up and flogged. Only after repeated kowtows and pleas was the offender driven away. Those present praised his competence, and he smugly told me: "You're too pedantic, old friend! Nowadays, officialdom requires strategy and cunning—things like 'human conscience' and 'heavenly principle' are utterly useless." I remained silent. Later, this man became the judicial officer of Shaoxing, where he tyrannized the people until demoted to deputy magistrate of ⬤yang. He eventually died from a festering boil that pierced his chest, leaving no heirs and reducing his household to such ruin that it pained others to hear of it. Alas, how can one disregard human conscience and heavenly principle?

The account continues with the matter of harming living creatures. What prevents humans from evil deeds is solely that spark of compassion in their hearts. Once cruelty takes root, nothing remains forbidden. A Fujianese military officer once forged a sharp sword and vowed at Lishan Temple to kill a thousand men with it. That night, a deity appeared in his dream saying: "Men should not make wicked vows. I shall ensure you die by no hand but your own." Later, he indeed took his own life with that very sword. If this officer suffered retribution merely for an empty vow, how much more severe must be the consequences for actual bloodshed?

Several examples of immediate karmic retribution follow: Wang Yu, annoyed by magpies' noise, cut out their tongues—later dying from tongue ulcers; Zhang Lin scalded croaking frogs with hot ashes—only to be boiled alive; Zhou Ang, disturbed by fledgling swallows' chirping, fed them thorns—and subsequently fathered three mute children. These repercussions follow like shadows, never missing their mark.

Finally, the text addresses secretly harming virtuous people. Good individuals form the nation's pillars and community exemplars. To plot against them with hidden schemes is more vicious than striking with concealed arrows. Such perpetrators invariably find no quarter between heaven and earth.

Zhuangzi said: "Those who commit evil in the open will be punished by men; those who commit evil in secret will be punished by spirits." Today, corrupt officials fabricate charges, bribe informants, secretly frame innocent people, and file anonymous accusations—these underhanded schemes cause immense harm. Some believe that chanting Buddhist sutras and maintaining vegetarian diets can absolve their sins, yet fail to realize that shielding wickedness will never earn Buddha's protection. Those who do evil will ultimately reap what they sow, for the Dao's cycles never fail to deliver retribution.

To secretly deceive one's ruler or parents (The kindness of rulers and parents is as vast as heaven and earth—everything we have comes from them. The only way to repay this debt is with sincere devotion. How could one deceive them in secret? Deceiving a ruler isn't limited to open defiance—any duplicity, feigned compliance, or abuse of power that one dares not reveal constitutes deception. Deceiving parents isn't limited to outright disobedience—any superficial filial piety with hidden insincerity that one cannot face openly is deception). Consider the exemplary conduct of Shi Fen, Marquis of Wanshi, who would kneel in reverence when receiving imperial gifts at home as if standing before the emperor himself; or Yin Tun of the Hejing Academy, who would bathe, change into ceremonial robes, and arrange the scriptures with utmost care before lecturing to the emperor—these are true models of undeceiving loyalty. Gu Ti would kneel while reading his father's letters, responding respectfully to each line, weeping openly upon learning of his father's illness. Guo Cong served his widowed mother for thirty years, abstaining from meat and wine while praying day and night for her longevity—she lived to 104. These exemplify true filial piety without deception. Extending this principle: Liu Jin would rise from bed, dress properly, and stand attentively before answering his elder brother's nighttime summons—this is how one doesn't deceive siblings. The calligrapher Mi Fu would physically kowtow three times whenever writing "I bow my head" in letters to friends—this is how one doesn't deceive companions. In essence, the phrase "secret disrespect" should never apply to any circumstance—what can be hidden in darkness may eventually break into open defiance. The Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Taishang Laojun) didn't say "open rebellion" but specifically warned against "secret disrespect"—a stern admonition indeed.

To neglect one's teachers (In human life, ruler, parents, and teachers deserve equal reverence—a teacher's status equals that of sovereign and progenitor). During the Ming Zhengtong reign, Imperial Academy Chancellor Li Shimian was imprisoned after offending the eunuch Wang Zhen. His former student Shi Dayong petitioned to suffer punishment in his teacher's stead. When officials threatened him with prosecution, Shi declared: "What fear should one have in dying for righteousness?" The emperor ultimately pardoned both. This exemplifies the courage to rescue one's teacher in times of peril.

This passage recounts several stories and principles concerning proper conduct, loyalty, and integrity in human relationships.

The first story describes the reverential attitude of Northern Song official Peng Ruli (courtesy name Shaoshi) toward his teacher Ni Tianyin. Even after attaining high office, Peng welcomed his teacher into his home, maintaining the utmost respect as a disciple. After the teacher's passing, Peng arranged funeral matters for the teacher's mother and wife, and married the teacher's daughter to fellow imperial graduate Song Huan. This illustrates that respect for teachers should remain constant, not changing after their death.

The second story exemplifies loyalty of subordinates to superiors and servants to masters. It recounts how Zhao Yansi, after his master Jiangling's death, devotedly raised the master's three daughters for over a decade without ever seeing their faces. Later, he escorted the girls to the capital and entrusted them to his master's old friends Song Bai and Yang Huizhi, who were so moved they found them good marriages. This demonstrates how one should remain loyal and trustworthy, not altering one's devotion after a master's passing.

The third story warns against deceiving the ignorant. When dealing with those lacking knowledge, one should patiently instruct rather than mislead with falsehoods. Quoting the Śūraṅgama Sūra, it states that deceiving the ignorant leads to hell. The example of Bai Cen is given: after obtaining a secret recipe for treating back sores, he deliberately gave a fake version to a courier official, only to be eaten by a tiger himself while the true recipe remained on the roadside. This cautions medical practitioners and other specialists against exploiting their knowledge to deceive others.

The text also mentions ancient customs: treating those ten years older as elder brothers, those twenty years older as fathers, and addressing all elders respectfully as "xiānshēng" without any discourtesy. These stories collectively embody traditional virtues of honoring teachers and the Dao, maintaining loyalty and trustworthiness, and never deceiving the ignorant.

Deception is a vice that must be strictly abstained from. Slandering fellow practitioners (referring to Daoist companions who share bonds as close as brothers) is truly the behavior of petty individuals. Outwardly, one should mutually encourage virtuous conduct, while inwardly maintaining a protective mindset. To engage in reckless slander is the mark of a base character. Consider the example of Guo Zhi, a Tang Dynasty minister who gained early fame for his poetic compositions. His classmate Li Mian, consumed by jealousy, spread malicious rumors everywhere. Later when Guo Zhi passed the imperial examinations and presided over the civil service exams, Li Mian happened to be a candidate. On the day results were posted, Li Mian was overwhelmed with shame. This demonstrates how slander ultimately cannot conceal another's merits—how could it truly harm them?

During the Southern Song Dynasty, Su Dazhang of Sanshan (modern Fuzhou) mastered the "Book of Changes." Before the provincial examinations in the wuwu year, he dreamed of ranking eleventh. He casually mentioned this to a fellow "Book of Changes" examinee, who then falsely accused him to officials of colluding with examiners. When the rankings were finalized, the eleventh position indeed went to a "Book of Changes" specialist. The magistrate confronted the examiners with the accusation, prompting them to substitute a reserve candidate. Upon unsealing the names, it was revealed that the selected candidate was Su Dazhang himself, while the accuser was demoted from the main list to the reserve. Thus we see how slandering others may ruin one's own prospects—what benefit does such behavior bring?

Falsehood, defamation, deceit, and hypocrisy are all forms of dishonesty. Falsehood means baseless speech; defamation is malicious slander; deceit employs cunning deception; hypocrisy feigns authenticity. Though such people may deceive temporarily, truth will eventually emerge. The Northern Song villain Ding Wei never spoke truthfully in his life, believing others couldn't see through him, yet he was universally condemned as one of the "Five Ghosts"—wasn't this effort utterly wasted? Master Yaoshan said: To understand the realm of hungry ghosts, observe those whose words are mostly empty, rarely truthful, and utterly untrustworthy. Both the yang world and yin realms despise hypocrites.

Attacking one's own clan members is particularly immoral. Kinsmen should maintain harmony—to exchange harsh words over minor grievances reveals shallow virtue. Moreover, when clan members behave improperly and dishonor ancestors, attacking them means attacking one's own forebears. Is this not grave impiety? Fan Zhongyan remarked: Our clan has many members, some closer to me than others, yet in our ancestors' eyes, all are descendants. Our forebears accumulated virtue for over a century until prosperity manifested in my generation. If I alone enjoy wealth without supporting the clan, how could I face our ancestors hereafter? How could I enter the ancestral temple now? Therefore, he always shared imperial rewards with clansmen and established charitable estates with hundreds of fertile acres in Suzhou to aid impoverished relatives.

Fan Zhongyan (a renowned Northern Song statesman) distributed a liter of rice daily, a bolt of silk annually, and even provided relief for weddings and funerals. His son Fan Chunren carried on his father's mission, devoting his entire salary to charitable estates. If people today cannot emulate the Fan family's generosity in benefiting their clan and fostering harmony, how can they recklessly attack others and undermine their own foundations?

The passage on "unyielding cruelty" critiques those with violent tempers. Those who persistently act with brute force and approach others with hostility—how could they possibly embody benevolence? Thus Laozi states, "The violent and fierce do not die a natural death," and adds, "What is rigid belongs to the category of death." The stubbornly self-willed in this world may not necessarily harm others, but they often harm themselves first. Even the wise are not immune to such errors—this should serve as a stern warning.

The section on "ruthless self-assertion" targets those who flaunt their talents arrogantly. When ordinary people handle affairs, employing others' wisdom appears judicious, while obstinacy appears foolish. If mere stubbornness is inadvisable, how much worse is malicious intransigence? We often see brilliant scholars whose unique insights ultimately lead to their downfall—even catastrophic consequences—precisely because they obstinately reject others' counsel. Such behavior alienates even close friends, leaving them without honest advice, resulting in lifelong grave mistakes. Clearly, ruthless self-assertion is itself a great vice.

The passage on "distorting right and wrong" discusses principles for handling affairs. Matters under heaven are either right or wrong—this is self-evident. To call wrong right and right wrong is to invert truth. Such errors, when committed by individuals, tarnish personal reputations; when committed locally, affect regional welfare; when committed nationally, jeopardize the world's safety. How can such willful actions be without consequence?

The section on "misguided allegiances" concerns interpersonal conduct. People divide into upright and wicked—drawing close to integrity and distancing from villainy is the correct path. This demands particular caution in official circles. Yin Se of the Southern Song enjoyed high esteem in youth, but after entering office, he attached himself to the treacherous minister Tang Sidui, slandering the loyal official Zhang Jun. Though promoted to Remonstrance Counselor, he was ultimately exiled to Lingnan. Later, confessing to Zhou Bida (Duke Yi), he lamented: "Thirty years of reputation destroyed in a moment of poor judgment." Gaining mere vanity at such bitter cost, Zhou often cited this case to warn fellow officials.

The passage on "extorting subordinates for merit" condemns exploiting inferiors for personal achievement.

This passage illustrates principles of governance through historical anecdotes: one should neither harm the people in pursuit of merit, nor flatter superiors by endorsing their misguided decrees.

First, regarding the pursuit of merit. When Wang Anshi proposed dredging the Huai River and constructing two hundred li of embankments, Fan Ziyuan volunteered to curry favor, squandering millions in funds and drowning over a thousand people. The project ultimately failed, and Fan was exiled to Xiazhou—a classic case of seeking fame only to incur punishment. During the Jiajing reign of the Ming dynasty, censor Wang Xun was inspecting the Three Wu regions where the customary benchmark for promotion was arresting three hundred bandits. His subordinates detained thousands, but Wang investigated and released most, declaring, "I cannot earn merit by killing the innocent." He was later promoted to Left Censor-in-Chief, and all four of his sons passed the imperial examinations. As Yin Tangchuan rightly observed: Officials exist to relieve suffering, yet during floods or droughts they intensify tax collection instead of disaster relief; failing to aid the people, they resort to harsh interrogations while claiming "this preserves official merit." Merit may be pursued, but never through oppressing the people.

Concerning sycophancy, during the Han dynasty, Prefect Shi Bi of Pingyuan refused to arrest partisans when ordered, unlike other officials. Challenged by an imperial envoy, he replied: "Local customs differ—Pingyuan truly has no partisans. If forced to frame innocents to please the throne, I’d rather die." When the partisan ban was lifted, Shi was exonerated. During the Ming Jingtai era, Wang Han had petitioned to depose the crown prince and confine Emperor Yingzong, yet after the emperor’s restoration, he vehemently disavowed his own proposal. One day, a sudden breeze blew a memorial into the emperor’s chamber—revealing Wang’s original petition. This proves that opportunists are eventually exposed.

These stories teach us: Governance requires impartiality—never sacrifice the people for personal advancement; when superiors err, remonstrate rather than comply. This is the Dao (Way) of rescuing one’s era.

This passage discusses two types of wicked deeds and their karmic retribution: flattery and ingratitude.

First, regarding flattery. It's not just ministers currying favor with rulers—subordinates pandering to superiors, local gentry fawning over officials, petty clerks buttering up their superiors, or wicked servants groveling before their masters. These underlings who distort their principles to please others and commit misdeeds are obviously guilty. But what about those in high positions who delight in flattery, giving opportunists openings that ultimately lead to endless poison and cycles of vengeance? Can they escape Heaven's punishment?

Now concerning ingratitude. The ancients would repay even the kindness of a single meal—if unable to reciprocate, they'd at least remain grateful. During the Three Kingdoms period, a man named Li Xinchun kept a dog. Once, drunk, he collapsed in a field of wild grass when the governor ordered hunting fires set to clear brush. The dog desperately tugged his clothes but couldn't rouse him, so it jumped into a stream to wet itself, then drenched the grass around its master. Exhausted, it died. Upon learning this, the governor erected a "Loyal Dog's Tomb." Shouldn't those who are ungrateful die of shame upon hearing this? Ge Xuan, the Taiji Immortal Master, taught in the Great Repentance Ritual that humans must repay four great kindnesses: Heaven and Earth's nurturing grace, parents' life-giving grace, rulers' governing grace, and teachers' instructive grace. Yet deluded people neglect these profound debts while obsessing over trivial favors—this is the ultimate ingratitude.

Finally, the consequences of holding grudges. While resentment is natural when harmed, one should let go afterward. If grievances are nursed endlessly, when will the cycle of vengeance cease? Wang Zeng (posthumously titled Duke Yi) of the Song Dynasty reflected in his childless old age: "My conscience is clear—why this retribution? Perhaps one regret: as Yunzhou prefect, I was slighted by a surveillance commissioner. Later when in power, I secretly transferred him to a harsh post where he died en route." Even a virtuous chancellor like Wang Zeng suffered retribution for harboring resentment—how much more ordinary people?

This passage from the Collected Commentaries on the Treatise of the Most High on Action and Response discusses three behaviors that inevitably bring negative consequences:

The first is contempt for common people. The text states that all living beings under heaven are children of Heaven (called "Tianmin" or Heaven's people), and to despise them is to despise Heaven itself, which will surely incur hidden celestial retribution. Tao Wengong (Tao Dalin) once lamented that officials like himself should constantly consider how to assist the people. He recalled traveling thousands of miles on official business, witnessing porters laboring under extreme heat and bitter cold, some even dying on the road—all of which he regarded as karmic burdens he had helped create.

The second is disrupting state governance. Government affairs are public matters, and altering them arbitrarily for private motives creates chaos. When ancestral laws that people have grown accustomed to are recklessly changed, calamity inevitably follows. The text cites Wang Anshi's New Policies (Xining Reforms) of the Song dynasty as an example of reforms causing long-term harm. It also mentions Li Wenjing (Li Hang), who as chancellor adhered to the principle of "not disturbing the people," believing it better to maintain the status quo than implement new policies that might harm them.

The third is improper rewards. Rewards should go to the deserving; bestowing them on the unworthy (termed "contrary to righteousness") fosters wickedness. Those warding the power to reward must exercise particular caution. Hu Jiajian observed that proper rewards encourage loyalty while appropriate punishments deter evil. Yet many officials now make decisions based on hearsay rather than firsthand investigation—a deeply flawed practice.

Note: The term "Buddhist retribution" (Shishi guobao) refers to karmic consequences in Buddhist doctrine; the "Xining Reforms" were the policy changes implemented by Wang Anshi during the Northern Song dynasty; "Li Wenjing" was the posthumous title of the renowned Song statesman Li Hang.

This passage discusses the principle of exercising caution in judicial punishment in ancient times, with particular emphasis on avoiding wrongful convictions of innocent people.

Several historical cases are cited: During Wu Zetian's reign, when she feared conspiracies against her, cruel officials like Zhou Xing and Lai Junchen falsely accused prominent figures across the land, labeling many as rebels. Only Xu Yougong insisted on following the law strictly, thereby saving thousands of families. Ironically, Zhou Xing and others impeached Xu Yougong for allegedly releasing rebels intentionally, nearly resulting in his execution. Later, however, Zhou Xing and his cohorts met with extermination of their clans, while Xu Yougong enjoyed an illustrious official career, with his descendants attaining high status. This illustrates how the Dao of Heaven cherishes life—those who indiscriminately kill the innocent ultimately face retribution.

Another case involves Zhao Shi, an instructor in Wuwei Commandery, who dreamed of a prisoner claiming to have been wrongfully executed due to Zu Xiang's judgment. Though Zu Xiang acted without malice, he had ruled based on a single doubtful point. Shortly thereafter, Zu Xiang died, demonstrating that even unintentional miscarriages of justice incur accountability.

Finally, the text quotes Lü Shuzu's "Eight Admonitions on Punishment," outlining prohibitions in judicial practice: five types of people who should not be beaten (the elderly, children, the sick, those too poor to eat, and those offering no resistance), five types requiring careful handling (imperial relatives, officials, scholars, envoys from superiors, and women), and five situations warranting postponement of punishment (when parties are emotionally agitated, angry, drunk, when cases remain unclear, or when evidence is insufficient). These represent valuable lessons distilled from ancient judicial experience.

The core message is this: While law enforcement must be strict and impartial, greater caution must be exercised in meting out punishments to prevent wrongful convictions. Wronging the innocent is more harmful than letting the guilty go free—a reflection of Daoism's principle of "cherishing life and abhorring killing."

This scripture expounds on penal codes and moral principles for conduct, presenting several key admonitions:

Regarding judicial punishments, it establishes the "Seven Do Not Strike" principle: one should never administer beatings to intoxicated individuals, those exhausted from long journeys, persons panting from recent running, at dawn, in moments of anger, while drunk oneself, during illness, when facts remain unclear, or when unable to make sound judgments. Nor should punishments be repeated on those already sentenced, those who voluntarily surrender, or those requiring cangues. Extreme cold or heat, festival days, or when the accused is grieving all warrant compassion without corporal punishment. Elders deserving punishment due to disputes with juniors, commoners clashing with officials, or laborers working on private government buildings or procurements should all be exempt from beatings. Three punishments are expressly forbidden: using excessively heavy rods, striking upward from below, and deputies employing illegal penalties. Master Zou Nangao once had these prohibitions engraved on stone tablets at the Ministry of Justice.

The section on ill-gotten wealth illustrates through the story of Provincial Graduate Jiang from Dongting Mountain how coveting unrighteous gains invites retribution. Jiang's miserly accumulation of wealth through harsh means ended with bandits plundering his entire fortune, who subsequently froze to death drunk after temple sacrifices. The text clarifies that "killing for profit" encompasses not just banditry but also corrupt officials, powerful families, and incompetent physicians whose actions indirectly cause deaths—all such deeds invite karmic consequences.

Concerning official appointments, the scripture quotes the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign (Yuanshi Shangdi) stating that government positions are heaven-ordained and should never be obtained by framing others. The example of Mi Dechao slandering General Cao Bin to become Privy Councilor—only to be swiftly exposed by Chancellor Zhao Pu—demonstrates the inevitable repercussions of such actions.

This passage illustrates the principle of karmic retribution through historical anecdotes:

Lu Duoxun conspired to frame Chancellor Zhao Pu, only to end up exiled to Zhuya (modern-day Hainan). It resembles two drinkers facing each other—the one who tries to intoxicate another often gets drunk first. Harming others ultimately harms oneself.

The renowned Han dynasty general Li Guang achieved countless military feats yet never received nobility. Diviner Wang Shuo revealed this was because Li had deceitfully executed 800 surrendered Qiang tribespeople (ethnic minorities from the northwest). This slaughter of prisoners invited retribution. Li Guang eventually committed suicide after losing his way during a campaign. Today, some commanders commit worse atrocities—when enemies attack, corpses litter the battlefield, yet after retreats, they decapitate the dead to fake military merits, even massacring merchants and villagers to inflate numbers. Such cruelty inevitably invites heavenly punishment.

During Emperor Houzhu of Chen's reign in the Southern Dynasties, the sycophantic minister Sima Shen—who specialized in persecuting loyal officials—was suddenly pecked to death by a strange bird while napping at the Imperial Secretariat, his mouth torn open and blood soaking his mat. Similarly, Tao Gu of Later Zhou dynasty in the Five Dynasties period had his grave struck by lightning posthumously, scattering his bones, due to his history of framing others. These cases prove that persecuting the virtuous invites terrible retribution.

Oppressing orphans and widows (the defenseless) constitutes particularly grave evil. In Jiangxi's Jishui county, a local bully named Zhou Jie forcibly seized his nephew's land to build a mansion, leaving the orphaned nephew no choice but to burn incense and appeal to Heaven. By 1489 (Hongzhi 2nd year), retribution came... (the text breaks off, implying the tyrant's eventual downfall).

The passage particularly emphasizes three categories of evil: slaughtering surrendered troops, persecuting virtuous officials, and oppressing widows and orphans. Heaven and earth's deities secretly record such deeds, ensuring perpetrators reap what they sow. Just as officials who cover up fraudulent military merits share the criminals' punishment, these historical lessons all confirm the supreme truth of "Taishang's Response"—the Daoist classic on cosmic retribution.

On the eighteenth day of the lunar month, a sudden storm arose with violent winds, thunder, and lightning. Remarkably, an entire building was lifted and relocated to another open space without any change in its structural integrity. A man named Jie knelt on the original foundation, rendered speechless for seven full days before he finally spoke: "Now I understand the sin of oppressing the orphaned." Within two years, he contracted a severe illness and died.

This is an example of retribution for bullying the helpless. In Fangcheng, a man named Gong amassed wealth through deceitful schemes. His neighbor, the Zhou family, had once been prosperous, but after the men of the household succumbed one after another to plague, only an elderly widow and her ten-year-old grandson remained. Gong invited the old woman to a banquet and persuaded her: "You're advanced in years—managing such extensive property is impractical. Why not sell it to me? I'll safeguard it for you and return it when your grandson comes of age." Trusting him, the widow agreed. Yet less than a year after Gong and his family moved into the Zhou estate, bandits raided Tangzhou, slaughtering every last member of the Gong household. After the bandits withdrew, the Zhou widow reclaimed her original property.

This illustrates the retribution for exploiting widows. Officials who take bribes and pervert justice, twisting right and wrong, fail to realize that every law is overseen by unseen spirits. Corruption inevitably erodes their merit, rank, and lifespan. When Wei Zhao, a judicial officer (equivalent to a modern judge) from Jingzhou, passed through a town on official business, the local gentry Xu Shaoqing dreamed of a deity who told him: "Tomorrow, Judge Wei will arrive. His future is illustrious—he will rise to high office in the Ministry of Personnel. You should befriend him in advance." The next day, Wei Zhao indeed arrived, and Xu Shaoqing hosted him warmly. Days later, Xu dreamed again: "Strange—Judge Wei accepted four hundred taels of silver in bribes for this case, deliberately exonerating the criminal and leaving the deceased wronged. The Heavenly Emperor has stripped him of rank, and his remaining years are few." Upon inquiry, Xu confirmed the truth. Soon after, Wei Zhao returned home for mourning, and within a year, he died, his family fortunes collapsing.

That corrupt officials face retribution is just. But what of the gentry who facilitate bribery and intercede unjustly? Can they escape punishment? Zuo Bi, a provincial graduate from Taizhou, traveled to the capital for the imperial examinations. His exam essay was outstanding, and the examiner initially ranked him first. Suddenly, the examiner dreamed of a deity saying: "This is Zuo Bi's paper. Previously, in his hometown, he accepted bribes to manipulate lawsuits, resulting in wrongful deaths. His blessings and emoluments have been reduced—he cannot pass." Zuo Bi failed the exams and later died in the capital. Zhu Ji remarked: "Corruption is not limited to officials; clerks and runners face the same retribution."

The eyes and ears of officials are limited, and many affairs must be handled by their subordinates. These underlings often abuse their authority, manipulate legal statutes to create confusion, and employ endless schemes of fraud and malpractice. Those who commit evil deeds never escape Heaven's punishment—otherwise, how could wealth obtained by oppressing the people ever be enjoyed with peace of mind?

Han Qi (a renowned Northern Song statesman, posthumously titled Duke of Wei) once said: When two parties bring a dispute to court, before right and wrong are determined, life and death hang on the words of the official. How can such matters be treated lightly? Nowadays, some officials pervert justice—whether accepting bribes, acting out of personal favoritism, or simply through reckless negligence. How can such men be called "father and mother officials" to the people?

When Qian Ruoshui served as a judicial officer in Tongzhou, a wealthy household lost a maidservant. The girl’s parents filed a complaint with the prefecture, and the case was assigned to a subordinate official. This clerk, who had long harbored a grudge against the wealthy family, falsely accused the father and son of conspiring to commit murder. Under duress, the family confessed, but Qian Ruoshui found the case suspicious. When the clerk pressed him, Qian smiled and said, "Both father and son face the death penalty—can you not allow me to investigate carefully?" For over ten days, he delayed the verdict despite the prefect’s urgings, refusing to change his stance. Later, he privately informed the prefect: "I’ve spent my own money to locate the maidservant—she’s been found." The wealthy family was exonerated. When they came to thank him, Qian shut his door and refused to meet them. The prefect wished to recommend the matter to the court, but Qian declined: "I only sought to clear an injustice, not rewards. Moreover, if the court learns of this, what will become of that clerk?" The prefect deeply admired him. Emperor Taizong of Song, hearing of this, promoted Qian to drafting edicts, and he later rose to become Military Affairs Commissioner, eventually passing away peacefully in old age.

When Chen Xiliang served as a judge in Kaifeng, Empress Dowager Zhangxian was regent. A member of her clan had beaten a soldier to death, and an autopsy was required by law. The empress sent over a dozen eunuchs to pressure the officials, who grew fearful and wanted to declare the death natural. Only Chen Xiliang sternly declared: "This man died unjustly—it falls to me to uphold justice. How can we falsify the report for fear of offending the powerful? Do not worry—I take full responsibility." Though his memorial greatly displeased the empress dowager, Chen suffered no punishment. His reputation soared, and within years he was promoted to high office, including Commissioner of Finance.

These two cases—one refusing to turn right into wrong, the other refusing to turn wrong into right—demonstrate how major principles apply to minor affairs. All judgments must be fair. The common people are mostly simple and honest; if they suffer a single injustice, they may harbor lifelong resentment or even die of despair. Thus, in adjudicating cases, one must discern with the finest clarity.

This passage discusses the issue of "imposing excessive punishment for minor offenses" in judicial proceedings and the principle of karmic retribution for good and evil deeds. Ancient texts advise that "when in doubt about a crime, lean toward leniency" and state that "it's better to err on the side of acquittal than wrongful conviction." If a defendant deserving mild punishment receives severe sentencing, where then lies the so-called compassion?

The narrative then recounts the story of Yang Xun, who served as a judicial officer in Kuizhou (modern-day Fengjie, Chongqing). Known for his integrity, he quietly accumulated virtuous deeds. His son Yang Chun achieved the highest honor in the national imperial examinations at just twenty-four. When the Kuizhou governor inquired how Yang Xun had raised such an exceptional son, Yang Xun explained that during forty years of public service, his family had amassed no wealth—only three bags of "hidden virtue." The first bag contained thirty-nine high-denomination coins, the second held over four thousand medium-value coins, and the third contained ten thousand small coins.

Yang Xun revealed his system: for each death sentence commuted to exile, he deposited one high-value coin; for exile reduced to flogging, one medium-value coin; and for flogging commuted to acquittal, one small coin. "My son's success as the top scholar," he said, "is simply the karmic return of these daily acts of mercy. How could I ever compromise justice for personal gain?" Though government service provides ample opportunity for virtue, few maintain such principles as steadfastly as Yang Xun.

Another account features Chen Xuan, who in youth dreamed of an official gate displaying a golden roster listing him as "Left Chancellor" alongside Huang Lü as "Right Chancellor." While Huang Lü eventually attained that position, Chen Xuan only rose to Academician of the Dragon Diagram Pavilion. Reflecting in old age, he told descendants: "Though my conscience remains clear of wrongdoing, my rank fell short of the dream's promise—likely because during my Hangzhou magistracy, I yielded to a superior's pressure to flog an old soldier whose offense didn't warrant corporal punishment. The man died from the beating. For twenty years this haunted me as karmic retribution for bending the law. My initial reluctance gave way to fear of authority—but what truly merits fear? Career concerns blinded me, costing the very high position I coveted."

Finally, the text mentions Wanji Wang, an early Wanli-era River Inspector renowned for integrity but excessive harshness in meting out severe penalties for minor infractions. These accounts collectively warn officials: those who impose disproportionate punishments to curry favor with superiors will ultimately reap what they sow.

This passage expounds on principles for governance, personal cultivation, and correcting faults. It begins by noting how those who treat others harshly often meet swift retribution. For instance, in government offices where the cries of wronged ghosts are heard by visiting colleagues, the harsh official typically dies within days. While maintaining personal integrity is crucial, one must not become severe toward others. History shows many upright officials whose descendants fell into poverty after their death—likely due to this very failing.

The text then discusses how to regard those who err. Though people bring misfortune upon themselves through wrongdoing, the dead cannot return to life; we should respond with compassion rather than anger. The example of Zigao illustrates this: As a judge, he once sentenced a man to foot amputation. Later, during political turmoil in Wei, this same amputee helped him escape, explaining, "I saw the reluctance in your expression during sentencing, so I repay this kindness." This demonstrates how treating offenders with empathy bears unexpected rewards.

Finally, it addresses the danger of persisting in known errors. Mistakes differ from crimes—the former being unintentional faults. But when recognized yet unamended, these unintentional lapses become deliberate transgressions. Yuan Liaofan advised that "cultivating virtue begins with correcting faults," while Buddhism emphasizes repentance for the same reason. Two Ming Dynasty examples follow: Ge Shouli, discovering his subordinate was mistakenly listed for dismissal due to "old age and illness," personally admitted his department's error to the Ministry of Personnel; and provincial graduate Zhang Weiyan, who raged at examiners after failing, was admonished by a Daoist priest that "true writing flows from tranquil qi (energy)," revealing the need for honest self-reflection.

This passage recounts several stories about changing one's fate through virtuous deeds, with the core message urging people to practice genuine kindness in a timely manner.

There was a man named Zhang Bujue who was initially arrogant by nature. Later, he dreamed that many spots on the imperial examination roster were left vacant. Someone in the dream explained these vacancies occurred because candidates who had committed wrongdoings were removed, pointing to a particular line and saying: "Through three years of self-reformation, you qualify to fill this position." Eventually, Zhang indeed passed the exam in 105th place.

Changchun Zhenren (Qiu Chuji, patriarch of the Quanzhen Daoist school) taught: Practicing virtue is life's most urgent matter. When capable, one must act immediately—missing such opportunities is truly regrettable. Those who fail to do good often err in three ways: some aim too high, neglecting small deeds while chasing grand ones; others start enthusiastically but grow lax over time; still others perform good deeds expecting rewards. All these attitudes are misguided.

Liu Che from Nanfeng repeatedly failed the imperial exams and sought divine guidance through dreams. A deity revealed his moral failing: he had refused to help his younger brother repay official debts, resulting in the brother's fatal beating. When Liu defended himself by citing his brother's poor character, the deity retorted: "Shouldn't any bystander aid someone in peril, let alone one's own brother? Have you not heard of Zhu Shi helping others pay their crop loans?" Later inquiries showed Zhu Shi—who used his teaching income to settle a stranger's debt—was rewarded with three sons who all became high officials.

The author reflects: Many claim to be virtuous despite never performing a single good deed, or donate lavishly to build temples while ignoring suffering relatives. Like Xia Yuanji, the Minister of Revenue who took blame before the emperor when a subordinate soiled important documents—claiming personal negligence to protect the minor clerk. This exemplifies true virtuous responsibility.

These stories collectively demonstrate: Good deeds must be performed sincerely, regardless of scale or expectation of return; evil inevitably brings self-inflicted consequences, and evading responsibility compounds guilt. The Dao's justice is manifest—retribution for good and evil follows like shadows.

This passage discusses several types of transgressions and their consequences. The first is "obstructing practical arts" (fangshu), which refers to hindering others' legitimate means of livelihood. Practical arts (including agriculture, medicine, divination, and other skills) are essential for people to make a living and benefit society. Deliberately preventing others from practicing these skills constitutes a transgression. The text cites the example of Zhai Qianyou: he initially intended to use magic to calm the treacherous rapids of Yun'an River for safer navigation, but the River God pointed out this would deprive hundreds of riverside families who relied on towing boats for their livelihood. Upon hearing this, Zhai immediately stopped. This illustrates that obstructing legitimate skills is indeed wrong, but context must also be considered.

Next is the story of Zhu Xi (Master Zhu Wen): when a Daoist priest cured his foot ailment, Zhu expressed gratitude with a poem. Later, when the illness recurred, Zhu sought to retract the poem, fearing the priest might misuse it for fraud. This shows that while charlatans should be guarded against, one shouldn't dismiss all practical arts because of them. As for harmful practices like sorcery (wugu) or exploitative sexual techniques (caizhan), these must be prohibited.

The second part addresses the transgression of "slandering sages." The sages of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all deserve respect. Those who vilify them fall into two categories: the ignorant and the arrogantly self-assured. Some scholars, upon encountering corrupt individuals among monks or priests, attack the entire religion, forgetting that Confucian scholars also include morally bankrupt figures—would that justify slandering Confucius? The text notes that retribution for slandering Buddhist or Daoist teachings has always been swift, yet because Confucianism avoids discussing karma, some grow even more unrestrained.

The passage primarily warns people: do not obstruct legitimate livelihoods, and learn to distinguish between proper and harmful arts; maintain reverence for sages, and avoid slander born of prejudice.

This passage recounts several karmic retribution stories that emphasize how disrespect toward sages, written words, and spiritual practitioners invites misfortune.

The first incident occurred during the Chunyou era of Southern Song Dynasty when Nanchang's Confucian Temple collapsed. Magistrate Li Zuo oversaw the temple's reconstruction and relocation of sacred statues. While a dozen strong men couldn't lift a sage's statue, a scholar joked, "This must be what they call 'heavy mud' (a pun mocking Confucius as 'heavy nun')." That night, the man dreamed of a crimson-robed deity striking him thirty times. Upon waking, he'd become completely illiterate, unable to recognize a single character. The commentator marvels: if such severe punishment befell a mere joke, how much worse for those who slander sages!

The text then quotes Zhu Ji on respecting paper bearing written characters. The Emperor of Zitong (Wenchang Dijun) warned: Yang Baixing contracted leprosy for his whole family after sitting on scriptures; Xian Zikun's entire lineage perished after he destroyed Mencius' texts. Conversely, Yang Quan prospered for five generations of imperial graduates after burying discarded papers; Li Zicai rose to official prominence through similar reverence. These clear karmic consequences prove that defiling written words equals slandering sages.

The third story tells of a Ming Dynasty censor who despised itinerant monks. Hearing of a bridge preacher, he led guards to arrest him but found himself paralyzed. When the censor ordered the monk slapped, moonlight radiated from the monk's face. The terrified official confessed to his wife about offending an enlightened master and died immediately.

Finally, the cruelty of "shooting birds and chasing beasts" manifests in Zhenjiang: A general's soldier caged a wild goose aboard his boat while its mate cried overhead. Docking ashore, the captive stretched its neck screaming—its partner swooped down, their necks entwined in death. This tragedy proves harming creatures invites inevitable retribution.

This scripture conveys its moral teachings through several cautionary tales about showing compassion to animals and refraining from harming living creatures.

The first story tells of Pan Cheng from Henan, an avid hunter who once shot an old monkey. Realizing it was mortally wounded, the monkey cradled its infant while nursing it, then gathered leaves to hold the remaining milk before wailing mournfully and dying. Witnessing this profoundly moved Pan Cheng—he broke his bow on the spot and never hunted again. This illustrates how animals share human emotions and family bonds.

The second narrative cites the Book of Songs (Shijing) to admonish: in spring one must not shoot birds, for nestlings await their mother's return. This serves as both a warning against bird hunting and a broader lesson for all hunters.

The third account explains the principle of "disturbing hibernating creatures or roosting birds"—dormant insects resemble reclusive humans, easily harmed when startled. Confucius praised Gao Zigao as virtuous for sparing hibernating insects, while General Cao Bin refused to repair his house in spring to avoid disturbing them. A man named Wang Zun who frightened magpies with firecrackers later died of shock himself, proving such disturbances are grave transgressions.

The fourth parable reveals the karmic consequences of "destroying burrows and nests"—animal homes are sacred. A man surnamed Zhu who habitually sealed wasp nests later fathered two sons born with sealed anuses; attempts to open them with red-hot rods proved fatal. Another tale tells of a Suzhou boy who routinely robbed birds' nests until one day, reaching into a tree, he encountered a snake devouring nestlings. Startled, he gasped—and the snake slithered into his mouth. Such retribution demonstrates the profound inhumanity of violating creatures' dwellings.

The conclusion equates destroying eggs or unborn young with killing pregnant women—an act that severs the generative vitality of heaven and earth. Those possessing true compassion would never commit such deeds.

During Emperor Zhenzong of Song's (Northern Song emperor) sacrificial ceremony at Fenyin, he witnessed a ewe collapse by the roadside. Puzzled, he inquired of his attendants, who replied: "The imperial kitchen slaughtered this ewe's lamb today." Deeply moved, the emperor henceforth prohibited the slaughter of lambs. Another account tells of scholar Zhou Yu boiling eels, when he noticed several arching their bodies upward. Upon dissection, he found them filled with roe—realizing they had contorted themselves to protect their unborn young. Can we bear to harm pregnant creatures or destroy birds' eggs after witnessing such devotion?

Buddhist scriptures state: "Fish eggs can hatch after three years even without brine immersion." During the Xuanhe era of Northern Song, wealthy merchant Yang Xu publicized this teaching on city placards, awakening many to abstain from killing. Whenever Yang witnessed fish slaughter, he returned the roe to rivers. One night, a deity appeared in his dream saying: "Your lifespan was exhausted, but through saving countless lives, it has been extended." (Even those incapable of large-scale liberations should understand this principle.)

Regarding the mentality of "wishing misfortune upon others," Lord Guan (Marquis Wu'an) declared: "May Heaven ever produce good people, may earth ever nurture virtuous deeds." Shao Yong (Shao Kangjie) daily offered morning incense with this prayer: "Grateful to Heaven-Earth and sun-moon, may harvests flourish everywhere, people enjoy longevity, nations be governed by wise ministers, households free of unfilial children distressing parents, and peace prevail without war—even if I remain impoverished." When sages made such benevolent vows, how could anyone wish others ill? Know that cursers often reap misfortune first.

When envoys Li Shiheng and Yu Ying returned from Goryeo laden with goods, Yu—fearing leaks—placed Li's cargo beneath his own. During a storm, crew jettisoned the upper layers indiscriminately. When calm returned, all discarded goods proved to be Yu's, while Li's bottom-stowed merchandise remained intact.

"Sabotaging others' success" manifests two ways: undermining near-completed endeavors or slandering achievements. Whether great or small, all accomplishments require effort—yet some deliberately destroy them. Such venom exceeds serpents'. Historically, Wang Qinruo's defamation of Kou Zhun's merits brought him early death without heirs; Qin Hui's framing of Yue Fei doomed his descendants. Yet Kou (Duke Lai) and Yue (Wumu), though wronged, achieved immortality through their deeds, while Wang and Qin earned eternal infamy. Why persist in such delusion?

"Endangering others for self-preservation" means shifting peril onto companions while securing one's safety. For instance...

During Li Xu's tenure in Yong'an Garrison, banditry was rampant. Fearing entanglement in disaster, he recommended Fan Xing to succeed him. After Li's departure, bandits sacked Yong'an, massacring Fan's entire household. Soon Li was reassigned to Hangzhou, but his family met identical fate when ambushed by robbers en route. Such karmic retribution manifested with the swiftness of shadow following form and echo answering sound.

Those who harm others for personal gain—like profiteering while ignoring others' poverty—ultimately suffer hidden losses despite apparent profits. Chen Qi, fearing his three younger brothers would claim equal inheritance, secretly mortgaged family lands to his friend Mao Lie before the division. When his brothers came of age, Chen divided only visible assets, planning to redeem the mortgaged plots later. But Mao, privy to the scheme, kept the deeds after payment. In rage, Chen lodged a complaint at the Eastern Peak Temple (a Daoist shrine overseeing underworld judgment), where both men suddenly died. During the underworld trial, Mao presented the deeds as evidence, but the judge pointed to his heart: "What proof are deeds? Only this heart matters!" Mao was condemned to hell, while Chen's lifespan was shortened for oppressing his brothers before returning to life.

Su Ye, a stingy Changzhou official who rose to Surveillance Commissioner, once haggled viciously when buying a villa, leaving the seller desperate. His son remarked: "Father, why not pay more? It'll help our resale price later." Su was startled into realization—this child's words should warn all who profit at others' expense.

Substituting inferior goods (like swapping treasures with counterfeits) differs little from theft. When Su Shi lent his fine jade to Zhang Chi for viewing, it was replaced with common stone. Su Shi laughed it off, but later Zhang died in exile in Taizhou, and the jade vanished. Worldly treasures follow natural circulation—those seized by force inevitably slip away.

Sacrificing public good for private interests—like Zhao Bian distorting judicial truths as Censor due to personal biases—typifies such misconduct. Prioritizing convenience over state affairs or warping fairness for selfish ends invariably invites calamity.

During a discussion on state affairs, Shi Shi and Fan Zhen had a disagreement. Later, when Wang Anshi became prime minister, Fan Zhen repeatedly reported Wang's faults to the emperor, earning Wang's resentment. One day, the emperor asked Wang Anshi for his opinion of Fan Zhen. Wang replied, "Ask Zhao Bian—he knows Fan Zhen's character well." The emperor did so.

Zhao Bian answered, "Fan Zhen is a loyal minister." The emperor asked, "How so?" Zhao Bian explained, "When Emperor Renzong was critically ill, Fan Zhen submitted nineteen consecutive memorials urging the designation of an heir. He waited outside the palace gates for a hundred days until his hair and beard turned white from exhaustion. If that isn’t loyalty, what is?" The emperor was deeply convinced. After court, Wang Anshi asked Zhao Bian, "Didn’t you have conflicts with Fan Zhen?" Zhao Bian replied, "How dare I let personal grudges override fairness?" Wang Anshi was ashamed upon hearing this.

Another example involves Wang Ao, who served as Minister of Personnel. His second grandson, Wang Lin, had already secured a position as a student in the Imperial Academy through hereditary privilege and was preparing for the autumn examinations. The examiner brought a pre-sealed exam paper to seek Wang Ao’s approval. Wang Ao said, "The court values fairness above all in selecting talent. If you pass by luck, you’ll rob a deserving scholar of their future. Besides, you already hold an official post—why pursue this further?" With that, he tore up and burned the exam paper. These are models of refusing to let personal interests undermine public duty. Conversely, those who do so cannot escape blame.

"Stealing others' abilities" means claiming what isn’t yours. If someone is talented, we should employ them openly and credit their achievements—how can we steal them as our own? Gao Ling studied the Dao in his youth but suffered illness in old age. When he prayed to the True Lord (Zhenjun), the divine verdict read: "Gao Ling’s virtue has long decayed, and the spirits have many grievances against him. He once plagiarized an ancient inscription as his own work. The Water Official (a Daoist deity) condemns him for stealing others’ talents to seek fame, listing deceit as his chief offense. He cannot evade punishment." Gao Ling soon died. "Stealing abilities" isn’t limited to plagiarizing texts—it includes appropriating others’ strategies as your own plans, claiming their merits as your achievements, or passing a master’s teachings off as your insights. These are acts of deception that invite retribution.

"Obscuring others’ goodness" means that any virtue in others counts as goodness. Concealing it so it goes unrecognized is "obscuring goodness." When the True Lord Xu (Xu Zhenjun) built a Daoist temple, he sought to compose a stele inscription. He found an ancient stele with faded text, scraped it clean, and carved a new one. Suddenly, a voice from the sky said, "Though the old inscription was worn away, the scholar who wrote it now accuses you of erasing his name to glorify your own. Why not reconsider?" Xu Zhenjun then tracked down the original text and erected a new stele. That night, he dreamed of a man thanking him: "You restored my name, and for this, you’ve attained Daoist fruition." Even a single text, after its author’s death—

During the Wanli era of the Ming Dynasty, when Jiangyin County was revising its local gazetteer, a scholar participated in the compilation. He happened to notice that two chaste widows were only recorded by name without any verifiable deeds, so he removed their names. Later, a Daoist priest at the City God Temple dreamed of the two women weeping and complaining: "We remained chaste our entire lives, and our names should have been preserved in the county records. Instead of investigating our virtue (De) to honor us, that scholar deleted our names." The City God declared: "This man was originally destined to pass the imperial examinations and become a jinshi. But since he disregarded moral integrity, his scholarly rank and official prospects shall be revoked, leaving him a troubled career." The two women bowed in gratitude and departed. When the scholar heard of this, he dismissed it as nonsense. The following year, he indeed performed poorly in the evaluations, was stripped of his rank, and ultimately died in resentment.

Exposing others' shameful affairs (When people face embarrassing situations—whether due to unintentional mistakes or misfortune—one ought to protect them tactfully. Deliberately sensationalizing such matters is truly unkind). Nie Congyi enjoyed composing mocking poems about others and was later exiled to Dengzhou for slandering court policies, where he died; Zhang Qiyi wrote a doggerel poem airing someone's flaws in full, and in his old age, he succumbed to a vile illness, biting off his own tongue before death. Such karmic retribution is too numerous to count, but the most virtue-eroding (De-depleting) act is gossiping about private matters from the inner chambers, leaving people humiliated for life with no chance to defend themselves. The retribution for this surely goes beyond merely biting off one's tongue?

Revealing others' secrets ("訐" means to expose). People fear nothing more than having their hidden affairs brought to light. To seize an opportunity to embarrass someone reveals a sinister heart even ghosts and spirits despise. Yao Shunmu said: Even what we see with our own eyes may not be true—how much less should we spread ambiguous rumors we've merely heard? A single untrue word can destroy a lifetime of blessings. These words are worth deep reflection. Once, Liu Bin and Liu Shu served together in the Hanlin Academy. Liu Bin casually asked Liu Shu, "I heard you went out west of the prefecture in the rain yesterday—what for?" Liu Shu replied, "Ding Jun has been idle and neglected, so I visited him." Liu Bin joked, "Ding Jun was just transferred to the Ministry of Justice—surely you weren't there to lobby him?" Liu Shu nursed this grudge endlessly. Later, Liu Bin learned Liu Shu had indeed gone to lobby and had inadvertently touched a nerve. See how even an offhand remark can breed enmity—how much worse when deliberately exposing faults?

Embezzling others' wealth ("耗" means gradual exploitation). Murder for property is a clean sweep, but slowly draining someone's assets is equally detestable. The cunning in this world often deceive the simple-minded, setting traps for profit. The gullible fall into these schemes, ultimately losing everything they own.

This scripture reveals the principle of karmic retribution through several true stories.

Xu Chi was a cunning wealthy man during the Jiajing era of the Ming dynasty. To seize the Xu family's property, he deliberately lured their son into debauchery and gambling, plunging him into massive debt, ultimately acquiring the estate at a bargain price. Later, Xu Chi's two sons and five grandsons all contracted consumption. While holding a zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) at the City God Temple to pray for blessings, a beggar told him: "Last night in the temple, I heard the deities angrily denounce your schemes to seize wealth and ruin lives." Xu Chi died of fright, and his descendants perished soon after.

Another story tells of Wen Qi from Sichuan, who pretended to master waidan (external alchemy) and swindled the merchant Li Shiwu out of his entire fortune, driving Li to hang himself. Later, while renting a house in Jianzhou to practice alchemy, Wen Qi accidentally caused a fire. Fleeing the blaze, he was chased by wild beasts and ultimately died at the very site where he had practiced his alchemy.

The commentator Mao Qizong observed: We often see prominent families or suddenly wealthy households where wastrel descendants squander fortunes recklessly. The wealth painstakingly accumulated by predecessors is casually destroyed by later generations. These prodigal sons are often quite intelligent—the root cause lies in how their ancestors originally amassed wealth through abuse of power and cunning schemes, only to have their own descendants similarly deceived. As the saying goes, "Ill-gotten gains are rightly lost."

Finally, the story of Master Yuan from Shaanxi is mentioned: After being separated from his son during wartime, he planned to take a concubine to bear heirs. However, he discovered the woman he purchased had sold herself to save her impoverished husband. Touched by her devotion, Yuan refrained from separating the couple. Zhen Dexiu (styled Xishan) commented: When encountering family discord, one should strive to mediate and restore harmony—this is the essential meaning of cultivating the Dao.

This passage recounts several true stories illustrating the principle of karmic retribution for good and evil deeds. The first tells of Merchant Yuan: A trader purchased a handsome twelve-year-old boy for twelve taels of silver and brought him to Yuan's household, only to discover the child was Yuan's long-lost son. Father and son embraced, weeping in recognition—a direct reward for Yuan's earlier kindness in reuniting another separated couple.

The second story concerns Sun Hong during his youth at the Imperial Academy. A fellow student received a letter from home describing a dream of the civil service examination results, where Sun's name bore a vermilion notation: "To be disqualified on [date] for drafting a letter of divorce." Sun then recalled having unwittingly drafted divorce papers for a quarreling elderly couple. Though done without malice, this caused him to fail the exams. Later, he located the couple, hosted a reconciliation banquet for them, and ultimately passed the highest examinations. As an official, he became particularly devoted to mediating marital disputes.

The third account describes how Sun Taishan (of Yangzhou), when entrusted by his dying aunt with her two daughters' care—with instructions to marry the unafflicted younger sister—instead married the elder sister who had an eye disability. Another time, he purchased what he thought was an iron lampstand, only to discover upon cleaning it that it was silver, which he immediately returned. When buying a country villa, he heard the elderly owner weeping for her beloved home, so he burned the deed and waived payment. Such was the ancients' refusal to take what others cherished.

Finally, the tale of Zhang Gai's magnificent mansion—mortgaged to Zhang Jun during financial hardship—serves as reminder: Can those who forcibly seize others' beloved possessions truly enjoy them with peace of mind? Just as we would resent having our own treasured belongings taken, so should we reflect this understanding to dissolve covetous desires.

This scripture illustrates the dire consequences of "aiding evil deeds" and "abusing power through intimidation" through several cautionary tales.

There was a man named Min Jun who coveted another's treasure and bribed a broker to alter the sales contract. When the original owner discovered the deception but couldn't prove it, he could only weep to the heavens. Soon after, Min Jun's descendants all became mute and died. The scripture laments: How foolish to seize what others cherish, only to repay the debt with one's own beloved descendants!

Next comes the retribution for abetting evil. Magistrate Yang Kai of Danyang County was notoriously cruel, yet maintained a close friendship with Yang Xun. Though aware of Yang Kai's misdeeds, Yang Xun constantly flattered him. One night Yang Xun dreamed of a deity rebuking him: "You're the one enabling Yang Kai's wickedness!" Within a month, he died suddenly from illness. The scripture observes: Even verbal agreement constitutes complicity in evil.

The story of Nanjing censor Shi Liangzuo proves even more enlightening. He demanded commoners rise and bow whenever he passed through the eastern district, once arresting several who failed to comply. The people explained: "When Minister Ni (a high-ranking official) passed by, he never required bows—we assumed you followed the same practice." The eastern district censor laughed and released them. The scripture remarks: Hearing such words should bring shame enough to kill a man—why wait for underworld punishment?

Finally, the text quotes Minister Lin Tuizhai's dying admonition: "In human affairs, learn to accept losses." Throughout history, countless heroes have ruined great causes through unwillingness to yield. The scripture suggests all powerful individuals inscribe this saying on their screens as constant reminder.

These narratives collectively demonstrate: Seizing by force, aiding tyrants, or bullying through power may bring temporary gain, but ultimately invite retribution. True wisdom lies in Minister Ni's compassion for commoners and Minister Lin's willingness to accept disadvantage—embodying the Daoist virtues of humility and non-contention (Wuwei).

Damaging Others' Crops (Crops growing in the fields are under the protection of agricultural deities. A family's hard work through spring planting and summer cultivation yields these crops, upon which both government and commoners depend for sustenance—how can one willfully destroy them? Methods of destruction include blocking water sources to cause drought, breaching dikes to create floods, or allowing livestock to trample and devour the crops—all profoundly unvirtuous acts. In Taizhou's Fuan district, a man named Sun routinely released his cattle at dawn to graze on others' green seedlings. During the Wanxu era (1611), he was struck dead by lightning—what people called "retribution for harming farmers." While livestock damage is relatively minor, the worst offenses come from officials and powerful figures who block waterways or recklessly flood fields. Their future karmic retribution will surely be far heavier.)

Ruining Others' Marriages (This can occur in two forms: preventing marriages before they're established, or destroying them afterward. The Emperor of Zitong (Wenchang Dijun) records in his "Chapter on Saving from Calamity": Li Tingxian of Luzhou, though brilliantly talented and self-assured, lost his scholarly honors due to his habit of sabotaging marriages. As the saying goes, "One who breaks a marriage bond will suffer poverty for three lifetimes"—for intentionally destroying unions is among the cruelest acts, warranting such retribution. Another case involves breaking one's own engagement: He Yuanyi had arranged his son's marriage to Zhao Mingfu's daughter, but when the girl went blind and Zhao's family declined, the He family canceled the betrothal to marry into the Shan family. The following year, both father and son died, while Zhao's daughter later married scholar Ye Weixian, who passed imperial exams and became a governor. This too is recorded in the "Zitong's Chapter on Saving from Calamity." Some ask: "If close relatives entrust me to investigate a potential match, should I blindly promote it even if unsuitable?" The answer: While minor flaws like plain appearance may be overlooked, if the person's character is flawed or families are truly mismatched, one should advise careful reconsideration.)

Wealth Gained Unjustly with Arrogance (Ill-gotten riches—called "fortune by foul means"—come from exploitation, profiting at others' expense, or sharp practices. Such improper gains are detested even by spirits, often turning blessings into curses, especially when paired with arrogance. In Meixi lived an exceptionally greedy miser whose wealth kept growing. Chen Dongtang observed: "This man invites catastrophe—hoarding without sharing, never performing a good deed. How can he escape disaster? Worse, his recent shift from greed to outright arrogance hastens calamity." Soon after, bandits murdered the miser. Chen's "Records of Witnessed Events" also notes: During the 1509 drought when all villages starved, only our hamlet...)

This passage recounts several stories about karmic retribution and moral teachings.

The first story tells of a village that, due to its elevated terrain, escaped flooding for two consecutive years. The villagers took advantage of the disaster by purchasing goods from affected areas at low prices and reselling them for profit, becoming arrogant and extravagant. The author predicted that the village would soon face calamity, and indeed, a plague later broke out. The four most arrogant households all perished from illness, while the remaining three families suffered misfortune one after another. This illustrates that if people grow proud and indulgent after attaining wealth and status, they will ultimately be unable to escape disaster.

The text criticizes those who, having narrowly avoided punishment, become complacent and forget their moral bearings. It cites the example of Fan Chunren, son of the renowned statesman Fan Zhongyan: though he disagreed politically with Sima Guang, he refused to exploit this disagreement to evade the imperial court’s investigation of Sima Guang’s faction, declaring, "To live with guilt is worse than to die without regret."

Two particularly reprehensible behaviors are highlighted: first, claiming credit for others’ achievements while shifting blame for one’s own mistakes. The text contrasts this with the virtuous conduct of Chancellor Wang Zeng, who recommended officials based solely on merit without letting them know he had advocated for them. Second, the story of General Cao Bin, who took responsibility for the massacre of surrendered soldiers during the conquest of Shu, shielding his colleague Wang Quanbin from blame. These two examples form a stark moral contrast.

Finally, the passage condemns the act of "shifting misfortune onto others" as even more despicable than openly evading responsibility. Like marrying off a daughter to pass on misfortune, such underhanded scheming is especially detestable.

This scripture recounts two karmic retribution stories that warn against scheming and seeking fame through deceit.

The first tale concerns Yao Zi and Wang Hu's fate: Appointed as co-supervisors of the Dayun Granary, Yao Zi accepted bribes from minor officials and falsified accounts. Unaware of this, Wang Hu later became an unwitting pawn when Yao Zi, fearing exposure, hid his ill-gotten gold and silver in a lacquer box entrusted to Wang Hu's care. During the subsequent investigation, Yao Zi framed Wang Hu as an accomplice, leading to the discovery of "stolen goods" in Wang Hu's residence. Realizing he'd been betrayed, Wang Hu died vomiting blood in rage. Though Yao Zi escaped punishment, he was haunted by Wang Hu's vengeful ghost for three years—frequently driven to madness and self-harm. During a Daoist purification ritual (Zhaijiao) performed by the prefect, Yao Zi suddenly rushed before the statue of Zhenwu the Perfected Warrior, confessed his crimes, and died of shame upon awakening.

The second section exposes the perils of reputation-hunting: While good repute is inherently virtuous, Heaven particularly detests those who attain it through improper means. Consider how ancient loyal ministers and filial sons, though earning glorious names, often met with adversity and left few descendants—this shows fame itself constitutes a form of blessing, and Heaven never permits complete enjoyment of all fortunes. As Lord Zitong (the God of Culture) warned, nothing enrages deities more than fraudulent reputation-building. Yet modern men remain deluded: officials crave praise for incorruptibility while practicing graft, demand recognition for impartiality while dispensing favoritism, even commissioning flattering recommendations and merit steles—foolishly believing their schemes escape divine notice. So-called scholars and moralists who trade empty accolades fare even worse when exposed, suffering humiliations beyond ordinary men's experience. Thus vanity-seeking transcends mere fortune-depletion; it demands solemn vigilance.

The conclusion reveals all wrongdoing stems from treacherous hearts. Though men may bury malice deep, none evade Heaven's luminous justice.

This passage discusses the consequences of malevolent thoughts and actions arising from the human heart-mind. It first points out that even when evil intentions aren't acted upon, merely harboring them in one's heart creates negative karma. Buddhist scriptures suggest that virtuous deeds like building bridges or repairing roads matter less than first cultivating peace within one's own heart-mind—when the inner landscape becomes harmonious, everything naturally follows suit.

The text then analyzes specific types of harmful behaviors in detail. The first is "suppressing others' strengths" (挫人所长), which goes beyond merely concealing others' merits to actively suppressing their talents. The example given is Song Dynasty poet Mu Xiu, whose poetic gifts earned imperial favor until the official Ding Wei maliciously suppressed him under pretext of "moral misconduct"—a case where the suppressor Ding Wei ultimately met a wretched end without even a proper burial.

The second harmful behavior is "shielding one's own shortcomings" (护己所短), referring to elaborate concealment of personal flaws. Unlike ordinary failure to correct mistakes, this involves deliberate whitewashing. Like a patient hiding illness from their doctor, such behavior inevitably leads to disaster. Scholar Mao Qizong observes that those who shield faults initially fear ridicule, but gradually come to mistake wrong for right—first deceiving others, then ultimately themselves, until their condition becomes incurable. This shielding extends beyond oneself to include tolerating misdeeds by family or subordinates.

The third is "oppressing through intimidation" (乘威迫胁), meaning bullying through power and coercion. More severe than ordinary abuse of authority, this includes officials coercing false confessions or extorting money, or the wealthy forcing families to sell daughters or property. Such behaviors all involve leveraging power to force compliance from others.

This scripture recounts two stories illustrating the principle of karmic retribution. The first tells of Mei Hengxiang, a Ming Dynasty magistrate of Gu'an County, who encountered a eunuch demanding debt repayment. A destitute debtor was being hounded by the eunuch, whereupon Magistrate Mei pretended to harshly reprimand the debtor, ordering him to repay that very day or face execution by beating. When the debtor wept, pleading genuine poverty, Mei feigned insistence that he must then sell his wife and children to settle the debt, theatrically declaring, "I'll give you one day to bid your family farewell." These words moved both debtor and eunuch to tears, ultimately leading the eunuch to voluntarily tear up the promissory note. Through this method, Mei enabled the privileged eunuch to viscerally experience the anguish of forcing families into separation, thereby resolving the dispute.

The second story concerns the fate of the Song Dynasty general Wang Shao. Having slaughtered multitudes during military campaigns in the Xihe region, he later converted to Buddhism seeking redemption in his twilight years. Yet the Chan master Zuxin warned him: just as wealthy debtors must eventually repay, the karma of killing cannot be erased simply by hearing the Dao. True to this admonition, Wang Shao ultimately died in madness, crying out that countless slain souls had come to claim his life. The text cautions: generals should remember that "behind one general's triumph lie ten thousand bleached bones." Though animals and humans differ in form, both equally cling to life and fear death. When we fall ill, we spare no effort seeking medicine—should we think creatures facing slaughter feel no terror?

Both stories demonstrate how abusing power and wanton killing invite retribution. The first shows Magistrate Mei skillfully awakening a powerful man to the suffering of the poor, while the second uses General Wang's fate to warn of karmic consequences for taking life. The passage particularly emphasizes that retribution applies not only to killing humans but also to slaughtering animals, for all living beings share the instinct to survive.

This passage expounds on the principle of treasuring material goods and practicing frugality to preserve one's blessings. It states that creating a single garment—from weaving the cloth to its completion—requires tremendous effort, particularly for luxurious fabrics like silk and brocade. The ancients said, "A single robe costs the lives of a thousand silkworms," yet modern people treat these precious materials as commonplace. Even Emperor Yongle (Zhu Di) of the Ming Dynasty, despite his imperial status, continued wearing robes with frayed sleeves. He remarked that while he could change garments a thousand times daily, true fortune lies in understanding the value of conservation.

Yet today, extravagance runs rampant among the populace—some infants still nursing already wear fine silks. Such reckless squandering of blessings will inevitably invite retribution. The text cites the example of Yuan Liaofan: when his mother wished to exchange expensive silk floss for cheaper cotton batting to make more winter clothes for the poor, Yuan advised that this act of accumulating virtue (De) would ensure their child's longevity. Indeed, his son later passed the imperial examinations and enjoyed a long life.

Regarding the taking of life, the passage clarifies that except for unavoidable circumstances like sacrificial rites or hosting guests, killing creatures to satisfy mere culinary desires constitutes grave wrongdoing. Su Dongpo recounted how he disliked killing even in his youth, and now even releases crabs and clams. Hu Lushan refuted those who claimed non-violence was solely a Buddhist teaching by pointing to Confucian classics: the Book of Rites (Liji) long decreed that emperors shouldn't slaughter cattle without reason, nor officials sheep, dogs, or swine, while Mencius taught, "Seeing them alive, one cannot bear to see them die." These teachings all guide humanity toward cultivating benevolence and cherishing life.

This scripture passage primarily addresses two acts that violate heavenly principles: wanton killing of living beings and wasting food, along with the karmic retribution they incur.

Regarding killing, the text observes that people today harbor excessive bloodlust, where a single meal may cost multiple lives. Some drown live crabs in fermented wine mash, raise fish solely for sashimi, even consume animal embryos and young, employing various cruel cooking methods. Such acts of killing inevitably invite terrible retribution. Particularly concerning oxen—these creatures have rendered meritorious service to humanity, and heaven decrees they must not be slaughtered indiscriminately. Oxen embody the primordial martial essence (Yuanwu zhi jing) of the northern Xuanwu constellation and represent a vital earthly force, so even ritual sacrifices must use them judiciously. Those who eat beef will face punishment in the underworld. The character for "prison" (牢) contains the radical for "ox," while "jail" (狱) incorporates "dog"—avoiding consumption of these animals may prevent incarceration. Citing the teachings of the Celestial Worthy of Universal Salvation (Taiyi Jiuku Tianzun), the scripture notes oxen only graze on grass without harming humans, whereas people devour everything—a truly unjust practice.

Concerning food waste, the five grains are heaven's gift to nourish humanity. Yet some allow crops to rot in fields, grains to mold in granaries, or thoughtlessly squander food, provoking celestial wrath through famines. Two illustrative cases follow: Liu Yuanzhen of Zhongnan Mountain encountered a mountain deity who revealed that because people disregarded wheat, heaven would unleash torrential rains to destroy half the harvest; another tells of Judicial Officer Shen who dreamed the Primordial Emperor (Yuandi) rebuked his household for wasting grain—upon waking, he discovered discarded leftovers in the kitchen drain.

The passage's essence urges abstention from killing and conservation of food, warning of divine punishment otherwise. Through concrete examples, it demonstrates the immediate karmic consequences of such transgressions, embodying the Daoist worldview of "heaven-human resonance" (Tianren ganying) where moral conduct directly affects cosmic retribution.

This passage illustrates the karmic consequences of "harassing living beings" and "ruining households to seize treasures" through historical anecdotes.

First, the principle of "harassing living beings": All people desire peaceful and happy lives. If one seeks personal pleasure while causing others to suffer toil and hardship, this violates both humaneness and righteousness. During the Xining era of the Song Dynasty when new policies were implemented, the common people suffered greatly. When Shao Bowen first became an official and sought advice from Cheng Mingdao, Master Cheng advised: "When executing official documents, if you can relax stringent measures by even one-tenth, the people will gain one-tenth more benefit." These were truly words of a humane person. In the Chenghua era of the Ming Dynasty, when the court coveted treasures and sought to examine the records of Zheng He's (the Three-Jewel Eunuch) maritime expeditions, Liu Daxia, then serving as a ministry official, deliberately hid the archives. He told Minister Xiang Zhong: "Zheng He's voyages exhausted the people and drained the treasury, costing tens of thousands of lives. What use are these treasures? Such old records should be destroyed." Upon hearing this, Xiang Zhong bowed and said: "Your accumulation of hidden virtue (Yinde) is considerable. Soon this ministerial position will be yours." Later, Liu Daxia indeed became Minister of War.

Next, the karmic retribution for "ruining households to seize treasures": In Zhejiang, a cunning man named Mi Xinfu instigated litigation between wealthy brothers, colluding with officials to ruin their household. Both brothers died of despair, while Mi grew suddenly rich. Over twenty years later, when falsely accused of rebellion, he encountered a bailiff at the county yamen who resembled the younger brother he had wronged, forcing his confession. Appealing to the prefecture, he met another bailiff resembling the elder brother. Ultimately, all eight family members died in prison, their wealth completely lost. In contrast, Haimen resident Cui Huan, after a silversmith defaulted on five hundred taels of tax silver he had entrusted, chose to sell his own property to make up the loss rather than sue and ruin the craftsman's family. Later, when Wang Duanyi served as prefect, he uncovered the truth of this matter.

Note: "Harassing living beings" refers not just to humans but all living creatures; "hidden virtue" (Yinde) means secretly accumulated meritorious deeds. These stories demonstrate that harming others for personal gain ultimately invites retribution, while treating people with generosity naturally brings blessings.

This scripture passage recounts several historical anecdotes illustrating the karmic retribution for evil deeds that violate heavenly principles and harm common people.

The first story involves a legal dispute: A craftsman initially intended to sue another family but later learned that the opposing household had already fallen into ruin. Realizing that further litigation would bankrupt yet another family, he felt remorse and returned the money he had taken. As a result, his descendants passed imperial examinations in succession, receiving blessings as reward.

Two cautionary tales follow, demonstrating the consequences of deliberately breaching dikes or setting fires. During the Song dynasty, Yang Bing lived by a river and hoarded straw yearly, hoping floods would break the embankments so he could sell his stock at inflated prices. Officials discovered his scheme, confiscated his straw to reinforce the dikes, and imprisoned him. Another story tells of Li Yuan, a filial son who cared for his mother. A guest, angered at being denied chicken for dinner, stormed off—only to return that night and set fire to the Li family’s home. Suddenly, rain poured from the heavens, and the wind reversed direction, extinguishing the flames while the arsonist perished in his own fire.

The text emphasizes that officials who neglect flood prevention or fire control duties, thereby causing public suffering, bear the same guilt as those who directly breach dikes or commit arson. It further distinguishes two types of sabotage: destroying accomplishments after success, or covertly undermining efforts before completion. Particularly grave is the sin of recklessly altering state laws or policies—matters vital to national stability—leading to catastrophic failure.

The passage concludes with an allusion to the Northern Song general Yang Ye during the Huanshuo Campaign: He planned to lure enemies into an ambush, ordering supervisor Wang Shen to set traps at Shijie Valley’s entrance—a strategic "framework" (guimo) in military terms. The implication is clear: sabotaging such critical operations invites severe repercussions.

Wang Shen could have assisted the renowned Song general Yang Ye in achieving a great victory, but his envy drove him to withdraw troops prematurely, leaving Yang isolated to be captured. Such sabotage driven by jealousy is as cruel as devouring a living person whole.

Destroying tools essential to others—like a farmer’s plow, a craftsman’s chisel, a warrior’s sword, or a scholar’s brush—rendering them useless in critical moments, is an act of malice that inevitably invites retribution. The Ming scholar Zhu Guozhen recorded an incident: Before the provincial examinations, one Zhejiang scholar secretly chewed the tip off his rival’s brush. During the test, the victim discovered his brush ruined and wept, ready to abandon the exam. But in a dream, someone urged him to write—and upon waking, his brush miraculously restored itself, only to revert to its ruined state after he finished. Ultimately, the chewer failed, while his intended victim passed. This proves that harming others ultimately harms oneself.

Wishing misfortune upon those who prosper ignores that wealth and status often stem from either accumulated virtue in past lives or ancestral merit. When the Northern Song official Lu Duoxun was exiled to Hainan, Li Fu slandered him to Chancellor Zhao Pu, saying, "Hainan isn’t harsh enough—send him to Chunzhou instead" (a notorious miasma-ridden region in Guangdong). Soon after, Li Fu himself was exiled to Chunzhou and died within ten days. Malicious intent inevitably rebounds. Those who speak evil have already planted seeds of malice in their hearts, waiting to sprout when opportunity arises.

When seeing others wealthy, one wishes for their ruin (A person's wealth is the karmic reward of their destiny, likely accumulated through virtuous deeds like charity in past lives—such individuals deserve respect, not envy. Others may have built their fortune through frugality and hard work—these deserve compassion rather than jealousy. Even if the wealthy behave immorally, cosmic justice will naturally prevail—how can we harbor malicious hopes for their downfall?).

In Hong County, a man named Zhou Yi abused his wealth to bully villagers. His neighbor Sun Shi often advised him to restrain himself but was instead insulted. Nursing resentment, Sun Shi muttered, "Just wait for his downfall." Later, Zhou Yi was imprisoned for a crime, and coincidentally, Sun Shi passed the imperial exams to become a transport official—he then seized the opportunity to execute Zhou Yi and confiscate his family's wealth. Within a year, Sun Shi's own home was ransacked by bandits, suffering the exact same fate as Zhou Yi. This is the immediate karmic retribution for the malicious thought of "wishing ruin upon others."

Upon encountering beauty, lustful thoughts arise (Among all sinful karma, sexual desire is the easiest to commit and brings the gravest consequences. As the saying goes, "Lust is the foremost of all evils," because once lust arises, countless other wicked thoughts follow: unfulfilled desire breeds obsession, seduction schemes lead to deceit, obstruction incites resentment, indulgence fosters greed, witnessing others' happiness provokes envy, and even murderous intent may emerge to seize what one covets. Shame is abandoned, human relations collapse, and all virtuous thoughts are devoured by lust.)

Even harboring lustful thoughts without acting upon them creates profound karmic burden—how much worse for those who brazenly commit such acts? The laws of the underworld decree: those who defile another's wife will be cut off from descendants, while violators of maidens will see their descendants mired in debauchery. In this world, some kind and virtuous men lack prosperous heirs, while talented scholars languish in lifelong poverty—the root cause lies here. To sever this cycle of retribution...

This scripture illustrates the dangers of lustful thoughts and the blessings of upholding righteous intentions through several historical anecdotes.

Lu Zhongxi was a gifted youth who, at seventeen, accompanied his teacher Qiu to the capital. They often secretly admired a beautiful woman across the way, and the teacher even suggested praying at the City God Temple for divine assistance. That night, both dreamed of being reprimanded by the City God (Chenghuang). Checking the Register of Fortunes, they discovered Lu was originally destined to be the top scholar in the imperial examinations (Zhuangyuan) in the year 1514, but his lustful thoughts had stripped him of this honor. Qiu fared worse—his intestines were ripped out as punishment. Upon waking, Qiu indeed died suddenly of acute abdominal pain, while Lu lived out his days in poverty. This shows how deities instantly perceive lustful thoughts, and punishment follows even without explicit prayers.

Yet as Xie Shangcai wisely noted: Heaven may punish lust, but forgives those who repent. Sincere remorse naturally dispels wicked thoughts. Two positive examples follow:

When Cao Nai served as a county clerk in Taihe, he detained a beautiful woman at a post station. Though tempted, he suddenly realized: "How can I violate an innocent woman?" He repeatedly wrote "Cao Nai must not" on paper, burned it, and maintained this vigil until dawn when he sent her home. Later, during the palace examination, a slip bearing those same characters floated onto his inkstone—inspired, he excelled and became Zhuangyuan.

While tutoring a wealthy family, Wang Hua was approached at night by a concubine. After refusing, he found this was actually his employer’s test. Annotating the seduction note with "Lest I startle the gods above," he resigned immediately. The next year, during the family’s Daoist ritual (Zhaijiao), the priest reported seeing next year’s Zhuangyuan list prefaced with those very words—Wang Hua indeed claimed the title.

(Notes: "Capital City God" refers to the municipal guardian deity; "conducting rituals and submitting petitions" describes Daoist blessing ceremonies; "Zhuangyuan" denotes the highest imperial examination honor.)

During his journey to the capital for the imperial examinations, Luo Lun anchored his boat in Suzhou. One night, he dreamed of Fan Zhongyan (a renowned Northern Song statesman, posthumously titled Wenzheng) visiting him. Fan said, "Next year's top scholar should be you." Luo modestly declined, but Fan replied, "Your act of refusing sexual temptation in that tower years ago moved Heaven—this is your reward." Luo then recalled how in his youth he had indeed rejected a woman who threw herself at him in a tower, realizing the dream was no illusion. Later, he indeed achieved the top rank in the palace examination. These are examples of immediate karmic retribution.

In Zhenjiang, there was an elderly man named Jin who, at fifty, still had no son and taught in Jintan. His wife sold her jewelry to buy a neighbor's daughter as his concubine. When Jin returned home, his wife prepared wine in their chamber and said, "I'm too old to bear children, but this girl is virtuous—perhaps she can continue our lineage." Jin blushed and lowered his head. After his wife left and locked the door, he climbed out the window, saying, "Your intentions are kind, but I once held this girl in my arms as a child—I cannot commit such injustice now." He promptly returned her to the neighbors. The following year, his wife gave birth to Jin Gui (posthumously titled Wenxi), who placed first in the provincial exams at seventeen and later became prime minister.

In Yugan County, a physician named Chen once cured a poor scholar's illness. Grateful, the scholar invited him to stay overnight one evening when he was away teaching. The scholar's mother instructed her daughter-in-law to share the bed with the doctor as repayment. Chen refused, but the woman insisted, "This is my mother-in-law's wish." Chen repeatedly muttered, "This cannot be." When nearly overcome by temptation, he grabbed a brush and wrote "cannot" over and over until dawn before leaving. Later, when Chen's son took the provincial exams, the examiner initially intended to reject his paper but suddenly heard someone say, "Cannot." Upon reconsidering rejection, he heard "Cannot, cannot!" Finally resolved to discard it, he distinctly heard a loud voice proclaiming, "These two words 'cannot' are hardest to uphold!" The examiner had no choice but to pass him.

In Yangzhou, the father of Minister Gao Quan once conducted business in Jingkou, where he often noticed a fragrance wafting through cracks in the inn's wall. Peering through one day, he saw a young woman sitting alone next door. Upon inquiry, he learned she was the innkeeper's unmarried daughter. Days later, Gao's father arranged her marriage to an impoverished scholar and funded their wedding. That night, he dreamed of an immortal saying, "You were fated to be sonless, but now we grant you a scholarly heir—name him Quan." The next year, Gao Quan was born.

(Note: "Taiqing" refers to the highest Daoist celestial realm; "faxie" denotes passing provincial exams; "zuofa" means matchmaking. These stories embody the Daoist core tenet of "karmic retribution for good and evil," emphasizing how upholding virtue yields tangible blessings in this life.)

This scripture recounts several karmic tales warning against lustful desires. It first observes that those who fail to maintain self-discipline in daily life will inevitably succumb when faced with sensual temptations. Modern people often entertain improper thoughts before even encountering beauty, then indulge in craving upon seeing it, ultimately falling into the pit of desire. Some foolishly believe misfortune won't befall them, unaware that heavenly retribution is inescapable.

Jiang Shan remarked: While lustful thoughts upon seeing beauty are wrong, one must be even more cautious with speech. Lewd words most effectively delude the mind—speakers feel no wrongdoing, while listeners find perverse pleasure, yet this only creates needless suffering and accumulates karmic debt. Liu Mengzhen noted: Though people enjoy hearing salacious tales, using karmic retribution stories to admonish the ignorant actually accumulates virtue (De). He cited the example of Mao Qizong from Rugao:

When Mao Qizong was still a scholar, he devoted his leisure to earnestly reciting the Tract of Taishang on Action and Response (感应篇). During the provincial examinations in the wuwu year, though gravely ill and unconscious, he somehow completed his examination papers. Later, finding his handwriting remarkably neat as usual, he suspected divine assistance. After failing the exams, he vowed to annotate the Tract, particularly expanding on passages like "seeing another's beauty" with detailed accounts of karmic consequences to awaken society. His tutor Luo Xianyue helped transcribe these notes. After returning to Nanchang, Luo dreamed of three Daoist adepts (an elder and two youths) holding a book, instructing him to recite Mao's annotations on "seeing another's beauty." After reciting, the elder had the youths compose poetry mentioning "list flowers" (榜花). Later, Mao indeed passed the imperial examinations, eventually rising to Vice Surveillance Commissioner (Xianfu, a Ming dynasty judicial title). Research revealed "list flowers" referred to Tang dynasty candidates with rare surnames—fitting Mao's uncommon family name.

This story demonstrates how the trial of sensual desire demands utmost caution. The author advises cultivating plain simplicity rather than risking temptation's allure.

Do not envy those who are romantic and flirtatious, for even if they have romantic encounters, they must face retribution in the underworld. If these words of caution sound unpleasant, can it be that past events were all false? One must heal their own ailments, and the key lies in identifying the root cause.

Failing to repay debts while wishing for the creditor’s early death ("负" means borrowing temporarily but refusing to repay for a long time). The Zhongjie Jing (Scripture of Central Admonition) states: Those who refuse to repay their debts, even if the creditor does not come to collect immediately, should remain anxious and diligently think of repayment. If someone curses their creditor to die just to avoid repayment, such a person is no better than a wolf in human form—how can they escape the retribution of being reborn as an ox or horse in the next life? This is truly the height of foolishness.

There was a man named Xu Hui in Yongjia who once borrowed over a thousand strings of coins from a wealthy merchant in Danyang. Before he could repay the debt, the merchant died. The merchant’s family was unaware of the debt and never came to collect it. Later, Xu Hui had a clever and handsome son, but at the age of eight, the child fell seriously ill. Despite exhausting the family’s wealth on doctors and medicine, there was no improvement. One day, the child suddenly said to a familiar old nun, "I must return now." The nun replied, "This is your home—where else would you return to?" The child answered, "I am from Danyang. Master Xu borrowed over a thousand strings of coins from me and took advantage of my death to avoid repayment. Now I have come to collect the debt." With that, the child passed away. Though Xu Hui never cursed his creditor to die, he merely secretly rejoiced at the other’s death to evade repayment—yet the retribution was so clear. How much worse would it be for those who truly curse their creditors?

Feeling resentment when one’s requests are unmet ("干求" refers to seeking promotions, wealth, or forgiveness). Shamelessly seeking favors from others is not virtuous in the first place, and harboring resentment when denied is the behavior of a petty person. One must understand that making demands on others is inherently unreasonable—how can one expect everything to go their way? The root of dissatisfaction lies within oneself; what does it have to do with the other party? Thus, cursing others is, in truth, cursing oneself. Zhang Shen of Xia County in Shaanxi was fond of scheming, and whenever things did not go his way, he would fly into a rage and curse. Later, he died bleeding from all seven orifices. Such is the retribution for harboring hatred toward others.

Saying someone "deserves" their misfortune when they face hardship ("失便" refers to unfavorable circumstances). How can life always go smoothly over a hundred years? When adversity strikes, it may be due to fate or mere chance. To gloat over others’ misfortunes by pointing out their past wrongs and saying they "had it coming"—how can such malicious joy escape retribution? Li Xiong was once renowned for his literary talent and virtue, yet he died young from illness (hinting that his harshness brought about this fate).

The Collected Commentaries on the Treatise on Response and Retribution conveys moral lessons through historical anecdotes, warning people to watch their words and deeds while maintaining reverential awe.

The first account concerns a man named He Shiyang who habitually boasted of his own capabilities, only to meet with misfortune later—a clear retribution for careless speech. The text then critiques later scholars who presumptuously judge historical figures based solely on success or failure, highlighting the folly of such behavior. It cites Ban Gu, who criticized Sima Qian in Book of Han for failing to preserve himself, yet Ban Gu himself died in prison after being implicated in the Dou family case. Similarly, Fan Ye commented on Ban Gu's misfortunes in Book of Later Han, only to be executed for rebellion along with his entire clan. These examples illustrate how people often discern others' faults while remaining blind to their own.

Next comes a warning against mocking physical disabilities. The story of Sun Wenyi, who had an unattractive appearance, demonstrates this: Magistrate Li Zhaoyan ridiculed him by asking, "How many people like you could possibly succeed?" That same year, Sun placed third in the imperial examinations. When Li later encountered the now-successful Sun, he resigned in shame. The text emphasizes that appearances deceive, as many with unusual features later achieve great wealth and status.

Finally, the text admonishes against suppressing talented individuals. Beyond previously mentioned behaviors like disparaging the worthy, obscuring others' merits, or undermining their strengths, it identifies even "failing to praise the capable" as a form of suppression. The author argues that talent requires recognition and promotion—withholding praise constitutes suppression contrary to heavenly principle. The example of Pang Shiyuan illustrates this: he made a habit of praising others, sometimes even exaggerating their abilities. When questioned, he explained that in these morally degenerate times when virtuous people are scarce, failing to amplify their praise would allow good reputations to fade unrecognized.

Fewer people nowadays engage in virtuous deeds. If we can find five out of ten who still practice goodness, that would already be half the battle won. Using this standard to encourage kindness and improve social customs—wouldn’t that be worthwhile? Those who serve as examiners or oversee moral education should reflect on this principle.

Regarding "burying gu to harm others" (where "ya" means to suppress): This refers to carving wooden figurines, burying them underground, and casting spells or curses to oppress others. According to the Yuandu Code, those who become shamans (those who summon spirits through dance) in this life are burdened with sins from past lives. To further assist others in performing such malevolent rituals only compounds their guilt. If someone instructs a shaman to carry out these dark arts, their offense is even greater than the shaman’s. When Lü Yongzhi was executed, soldiers dug up a stone box in his house containing a bronze figure shackled with a cangue, its back inscribed with Gao Pian’s name. This was why Gao Pian was always under Lü’s control. Alas, if Gao Pian was already ensnared, why did Lü Yongzhi still seek to harm him? Similarly, those who bury curses to harm others often fail to injure their targets—instead, they hasten their own calamities.

Regarding "poisoning trees with chemicals": Every plant and tree embodies the life-giving force of creation. In ancient times, Gao Chai refused to break living branches, earning Confucius’s praise. Buddhism also teaches that aged trees often house spirits and deities; thus, they should not be recklessly felled, as doing so invites misfortune. If even cutting them is forbidden, how much worse is poisoning them? Some, unable to legally remove another’s tree, secretly use chemicals like saltpeter or soapberry water to kill it. Recently, one household poisoned a neighbor’s large tree that obstructed their feng shui. The tree died—and both families suffered. What good comes from poisoning trees?

Regarding "resenting one’s teacher": Earlier, we discussed neglecting teachers; here, we address resentment, an even graver offense. The ancients served their teachers with neither defiance nor concealment, accepting all teachings with humility and calm. How could anger or resentment arise? Only those shallow in virtue and devoid of blessings would resent their mentors. That said, while revering teachers is a commandment of the Supreme Dao (referring to the highest Daoist deity), and disciples must uphold it, teachers must also fulfill their duties. Nowadays, frivolous and shallow individuals accept heavy responsibilities to educate the young yet idle away their days, collecting tuition without merit. Some deceive parents with falsehoods, while others lead students astray into vice. Such people incur even greater condemnation from Lord Laozi (the deified Laozi). In the past, Deng....

This passage recounts several stories emphasizing filial piety and fraternal devotion, highlighting the importance of maintaining reverence and obedience toward parents and elder siblings.

The narrative begins with Deng Zhi, a private tutor who taught his students with utmost sincerity. During Emperor Shenzong's reign in the Song Dynasty, his son Deng Wan served as a Hanlin Academician. At the palace examination when names were announced, Deng Wan's two younger brothers and two grandsons successively passed the imperial exams, each time requiring them to descend the hall to express gratitude. The emperor watched with amusement, while Minister Wang Gonggong remarked that this fortune stemmed from Deng Zhi's sincere dedication in educating students.

The text then underscores the paramount importance of filial devotion. Parents give us life, nurture us through hardship, and their kindness surpasses heaven's expanse—how could we ever confront or offend them? Siblings are like limbs—harming them means harming our parents. Even if parents show favoritism or elder brothers act unfairly, one should offer gentle remonstrance while examining one's own conduct. Should parents or elder siblings remain obstinate, one must patiently resolve conflicts with tranquility. Harboring resentment and defying parents damages one's fundamental virtue, incurring even the disdain of spirits.

Two illustrative examples follow: Zhang Yi daily confessed his sins to heaven, yet could never erase the transgression of once glaring defiantly at his father during youth; Yin Gui, after death, was reprimanded in the underworld by the City God for bullying his elder brother, frightening him into reviving immediately to kowtow in apology. Another account tells of Zheng You whose entire family perished as karmic retribution for their misdeeds.

The passage concludes by noting that "defiance" encompasses not just overt disobedience but even minor verbal or attitudinal resistance—more severe than covert disrespect. These stories collectively serve as moral admonitions to honor parents and cherish sibling harmony.

This scripture uses several parables to warn against forcibly taking wealth that is not rightfully one's own. The first story tells of Imperial Censor Zhang who, while serving in Yunnan, encountered a treasure-guarding deity offering him a thousand taels of silver. Knowing it improper for a censor to accept such gifts, he politely declined. Later, when helping a fellow examination graduate secure an official post, he reluctantly accepted two hundred taels—only to discover the deity's original offering had mysteriously decreased by that exact amount, revealing how forcibly obtained wealth never truly belongs to its possessor.

The second parable concerns Hangzhou wine merchant Shen Yi, whose greed led him to beseech five noble guests (actually the Five Path Gods) for riches. They gave him a sack filled with wine vessels, which he joyfully carried home—only to find these were his own household items temporarily transformed and returned by the deities, leaving him with empty delight.

The third account describes a Jiaxing merchant who buried several hundred silver taels underground. When his son secretly dug them up, the urn contained only clear water. Later, the father noticed his gold hairpin had moved, realizing his son had tampered with the hoard—yet the money had already vanished.

These stories collectively illustrate how worldly gains and losses follow predetermined measures. Wealth wrongly obtained, even if temporarily acquired, will inevitably be lost through unforeseen circumstances. Secretly scheming to take what belongs to others is called "encroachment" (侵), while openly seizing through power constitutes "plunder" (夺)—both self-serving acts that harm others. Forcibly seized possessions ultimately return to their rightful place through hidden channels of cosmic recompense, leaving the taker worse off. As the scripture states: if even a son cannot inherit his father's wealth when destiny denies it, how much less justified is seizing what belongs to strangers?

This scripture recounts two true stories illustrating the karmic retribution for seizing others' property through force or deceit.

The first story concerns Bi Chang, who built his fortune through ruthless schemes. Whenever neighbors owned desirable land, he would scheme relentlessly to appropriate it. When owners became desperate to sell, he'd first feign disinterest while secretly sending agents to pressure them into lowering prices. Upon closing deals, he'd invent excuses to delay payment, ultimately settling with inferior silver or grain. After a lifetime of such predatory practices, his eldest son was imprisoned for homicide, resulting in family ruin; his second son became a beggar who died homeless abroad, ultimately cutting off their ancestral lineage.

The second story tells of Lin Da, who coveted an auspicious feng shui plot in his village. He forged land deeds, falsely claiming his deceased father had purchased it, and forcibly relocated his ancestral graves there. That very night, he dreamt of his father saying: "Blessings stem from virtuous hearts, not burial sites. How could stolen geomancy possibly bring fortune? Our family line shall end." True to this warning, Lin Da and his son soon perished.

The commentary clarifies that such usurpation extends beyond land—including profiteering from others' misfortunes (like looting merchandise when travelers drown or stealing during fires), exploiting chaos (like plundering during bandit raids), and particularly officials embezzling public funds or inventing tax pretexts—all constituting "plunder-based enrichment." Some even scheme for promotions (like the imperial messenger in the text who avoided visiting his father during official Hunan-Hubei travels to campaign for censorial positions). Such crafty manipulations defy predestined fate—vain stratagems only invite celestial punishment.

(Note: "Censorial positions" refers to Ming-Qing dynasty surveillance offices; "imperial messengers" were officials handling edict deliveries and enfeoffment ceremonies.)

Zishan attempted to block someone's promotion but failed, so he feigned illness and secluded himself at home. Within days, the Ministry of Personnel unexpectedly initiated official selections, forcing him to emerge and participate. He was appointed as a supervising secretary in the Office of Scrutiny for Personnel, while the official he tried to obstruct still received an external assignment, leaving Zishan secretly frustrated. Alas! Some scheme for positions yet fail, while others obtain appointments without manipulation - such occurrences in this world are legion, extending far beyond official posts alone.

Regarding inequitable rewards and punishments: Earlier we discussed rewarding the unworthy and punishing the innocent as improper application of both. Here "inequity" refers to arbitrary determination of reward amounts for equally deserving cases, or personal bias affecting punishment severity for similar offenses. Once rewards and punishments become unfair, popular resentment inevitably follows, with accumulated grievances breeding misfortune. Thus the Treatise on the Response of the Dao (Taishang Ganying Pian) particularly warns against this.

On excessive indulgence: The Discourses of the States (Guoyu) observes that people cultivate virtue through labor but become dissolute through ease; Mencius similarly noted survival through hardship and ruin through comfort. How much more dangerous then is indulgence beyond proper limits? "Exceeding bounds" need not imply extreme debauchery - any slackening of will, excessive comfort-seeking, or even daily food and clothing beyond one's station constitutes transgression. Overindulgence inevitably brings either shortened lifespan or calamity. Fan Zhongyan would nightly assess whether his day's expenditures matched his accomplishments, lying awake if they didn't. Maintaining such vigilance would prevent indulgence. Huang Hanzhong remarked that human blessings have fixed measures - like possessing a thousand coins: spending all daily exhausts them immediately, while spending a hundred lasts ten days, and fifty lasts twenty. People should contemplate fortune thus when practicing frugality.

On harsh treatment of subordinates: Officials treating commoners cruelly or households excessively punishing servants both constitute oppression. Having previously addressed governance principles, we focus here on household management. Wang Jianyi, a military advisor in Hongzhou, developed an abdominal illness with wandering internal masses. Before dying, he told his wife: "My former excessive discipline caused a young servant's death - just now I saw him leading underworld officers to claim my life."

This story illustrates the principle of karmic retribution in the underworld. A wealthy man who abused his young servant fell gravely ill. On his deathbed, he saw underworld attendants (ghostly envoys from the nether courts) leading the very servant he had mistreated coming to claim his life. When his wife protested that a mere servant would never dare such a thing, the dying man explained: "The mortal world distinguishes nobility from commoners, but in the underworld all beings are equal." He soon perished.

The author reflects: How can one abuse servants merely because of their lowly status? Though masters and servants differ in station, we must remember these servants were once children cherished by their parents. Their sale into servitude already inflicted wounds as deep as carved flesh—to further mistreat them shows utter inhumanity. Consider this: If your own children were beaten, overworked to sickness, or locked in cold rooms when ill, could you endure it? Thus, truly benevolent people never abuse others.

Two examples follow: Yang Wanli's wife, in her seventies, personally cooked hot porridge for her maidservants on freezing mornings, saying, "These servants are also someone's children." Ma Sen's father, a Ming Dynasty Minister of Revenue, when his only son was accidentally dropped to death by a maid, not only spared her punishment but helped hide her. This maid prayed day and night for the family to bear another son—the next year, Ma Sen was born with a red birthmark on his left temple (hinting at his deceased brother's rebirth).

The text concludes by quoting Family Instructions of the Yuan Clan: Servants are naturally slow-witted—they often err, forget, and stubbornly contradict. Wise masters should compassionately accommodate their limitations through patient guidance. Frequent beatings may provoke fatal accidents.

(Note: "Fengweng" respectfully denotes elders with honorary titles; "Grand Dowager" refers to Ma Sen's grandmother. These stories embody Daoist karma ("good and evil receive retribution") and Confucian "benevolence" governing master-servant relations.)

To restrain anger, the master himself will find inner peace and contentment. Even when servants make mistakes that warrant punishment, one should not personally administer physical discipline. Instead, patiently inquire about the reasons and have others carry out the correction. After punishment, daily interactions should resume as usual to avoid further complications. As for stubborn and unreasonable women who often punish servants more harshly than men, they should be educated on proper treatment of servants and not indulged in arbitrary beatings.

Household members are also forbidden from arbitrarily disciplining servants—matters should be reported to the head of the family. Since we rely on maids and servants for labor, we must care for their basic needs: warmth in winter, shelter from mosquitoes and summer heat. These considerations reflect the compassion of a benevolent person. Alas, this discourse is worth copying and keeping on one’s desk as a constant reminder.

There are two types of intimidation: first, exaggerating dangers to heighten someone’s distress instead of offering comfort during emergencies; second, fabricating threats for personal gain or vengeance to instill fear and manipulate outcomes. Though different from direct coercion, both are forms of intimidation. When others are fearful, they need reassurance—using terrifying words that drive someone to death makes one culpable for the sin. For instance, Li Shunqing hounded his tenant Zhang San over unpaid rent until he hanged himself, and Sun Jiming investigated a feud between a maid and a young servant until she drowned. Though seemingly suicides, these deaths resulted from intimidation. The Supreme Karmic Retribution Scripture records these cases as warnings.

As for blaming heaven and others: The Jambudvīpa world (the human realm in Buddhist terms) is inherently flawed—how can everything go one’s way? Discontent often stems from insufficient merit. Take Yang Datong of Jingmen, who squandered his family fortune, then blamed heaven’s injustice and his relatives’ coldness instead of reflecting on his own faults. Later, deluded by illusions, he broke into a mansion at night and was beaten to death as a thief—what good comes from cursing fate and others?

(Note: The term "阎浮世界" (Yánfú shìjiè) is translated as "Jambudvīpa world" with a parenthetical explanation, as it is a Buddhist cosmological term. Daoist technical terms from the glossary were not present in this passage, so standard translations were used.)

This scripture primarily addresses two behaviors that violate natural principles and human ethics: cursing wind and rain, and stirring up litigation, along with their corresponding karmic retributions.

Regarding cursing wind and rain, the text explains that storms and tempests are governed by divine beings (ancient belief held that natural phenomena were controlled by deities). The Book of Rites records that when encountering violent winds, thunder or heavy rain, even at midnight, the ancients would dress properly and sit upright as a sign of reverence for celestial might. Nowadays, some ignorant commoners complain about floods during prolonged rains, drought during extended sunny periods, and excessive wind during storms, failing to recognize these as consequences of disrupted Yin-Yang balance and collective karmic transgressions. How dare they curse the wind and rain? Isn't this compounding their offenses?

Concerning litigation-mongering, the scripture presents two contrasting examples: During the Kaiyuan era, Cui Wei witnessed a tavern owner beating an old woman who had knocked over wine jars at Kaiyuan Temple. He mediated the dispute and compensated the loss with his own clothing. Later, this old woman (implied to be the immortal Bao Gu) gifted him with miraculous mugwort, enabling him to become a renowned physician and gain wealth. The negative example comes from Yongfu County's Xue Fu, who made his living by drafting deceptive legal petitions. When Daoist priest Zheng Falin performed a ritual for him, he saw the celestial officials' verdict: "Household wealth to the Fire Department, human life to the Water Department." True enough, his home soon burned down, and he later drowned when his boat capsized while crossing a river.

The text concludes with Zheng Xuan's observation: Many contemporary lawsuits stem from fabricated claims that implicate innocent parties. He recommends that authorities strictly enforce the "retributive punishment" system (where false accusers suffer the penalty intended for the accused), which would naturally reduce frivolous lawsuits. Additionally, legal proceedings should incorporate cooling-off periods, as many lawsuits arise from momentary anger that dissipates given time.

(Note: The "ritual offering" [zhaijiao] mentioned refers to a form of Daoist ceremonial practice, while "Fire Department" and "Water Department" denote the divine bureaus in Daoist belief that govern fire disasters and water calamities respectively.)

This passage primarily discusses two types of improper conduct and their dire consequences:

The first concerns the dangers of factionalism. While noble individuals (junzi) should never form cliques, petty people (xiaoren) often falsely accuse them of doing so in pursuit of selfish interests, seeking to eliminate their opponents entirely. Historical examples like Cao Jie and Wang Fu (eunuchs of the Eastern Han dynasty) serve as cautionary tales—after gaining power, they soon faced natural disasters and human calamities. Genuine friendship is one of the Five Cardinal Relationships (ruler-subject, father-son, husband-wife, elder-younger siblings, and friends), but petty people form factions merely to overpower others with numbers, aiding evil to oppress good. Once their shared interests vanish, they quickly drift apart. Both officials and commoners must guard against such mutual slander.

The second addresses the disastrous outcomes of heeding wives' and concubines' slander. While wives should ideally be virtuous helpmates, most women have limited perspectives and stubborn dispositions—yet their words often appear reasonable, easily deceiving their husbands. Some husbands fear their wives' ferocity, while others are infatuated with beauty, blindly obeying their every word. At best, this creates family discord; at worst, it invites catastrophe. Several examples illustrate this: The Zheng Lian family received imperial commendation for "not listening to women's words"; Wang Jing, who obeyed his stepmother's slander and neglected filial piety, saw his two sons die suddenly and himself go blind; Ni Jiu, incited by his wife to mistreat his birth mother, had his entire family crushed by a boulder rolling down a mountain. These cases demonstrate that one must discern right from wrong in spouses' improper remarks rather than follow them blindly.

This scripture primarily addresses the grave offense of disobeying parental teachings by heeding the counsel of wives and concubines, along with common moral failings in human interactions.

It first condemns obeying wives and concubines while disregarding parents' wishes as a serious transgression. Other reproachable behaviors include sowing discord among brothers, bullying neighbors, showing favoritism toward one's children while mistreating servants—all requiring constant self-reflection. Particular emphasis is placed on the common pitfall of neglecting one's principal wife due to a concubine's whispers, a mistake demanding utmost caution.

The text then expounds on parents' nurturing grace: their care in bearing and raising children parallels the creative power of Heaven and Earth. From washing, swaddling, and feeding at birth to meticulous care during growth, through exhausting their resources for children's weddings—their devotion knows no bounds. Life's impermanence means once parents depart, reunion becomes impossible, and their guidance can never be heard again. No parents are ever truly wrong; their teachings always aim for their children's success, and even physical discipline stems from love. To defy parental will through surface compliance while secretly disobeying constitutes unfilial conduct that Heaven and Earth abhor.

The narrative cites the example of Fei Hong of Ehu: while serving in the Hanlin Academy, he struck a colleague during a chess dispute. Later, carrying bamboo rods sent by his father, he presented himself for punishment. The moved colleague wept, saying, "You still have a father to discipline you—I long for such correction but have no chance." This illustrates how rare it is to find someone like Fei Hong who truly honors paternal instruction.

Finally, it discusses the problem of "favoring the new while neglecting the old": though the cyclical renewal of all things follows cosmic law, what is new inevitably becomes old, and the old was once new—how can one forget past affections? The example of Commander Ma Liang during the Tianshun reign period is given, who remarried shortly after his wife's death, astonishing even the emperor.

The superior angrily declared: "This couple has even neglected the most basic marital affection—how could they possibly serve me well?" Thereupon he had them beaten with rods and distanced them. Many people today treat their wives and concubines with fickle affections, chasing the new while discarding the old—seeing this example should give them profound cause for reflection.

Those whose words contradict their hearts are most terrifying. Kind people whose speech matches their thoughts are certainly good, and even those whose words and hearts are both unkind can at least be guarded against. Most dangerous are those who mouth lofty words like the sage-kings Yao and Shun while harboring hearts as cruel as the tyrants Jie and Zhou; who swear oaths as steadfast as mountains and seas while nursing hatred as deep as the ancient enmity between Wu and Yue. Such people can deceive even ordinary folk, and when harming colleagues, they spare no vicious means. The world's great scourges are precisely this type. That they end up disemboweled with tongues torn out after death is nothing but deserved retribution.

There was a man named Yu Daoji who suffered prolonged illness and held a zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) to entreat the Life-Preserving True Lord's protection. The True Lord descended with this judgment: "Yu Daoji's whole life has been duplicitous—from youth to adulthood not a single good deed performed. His karmic retribution is fixed, and death comes within days. Now he seeks to flatter deities to escape punishment—is this possible?" Sure enough, he died shortly after.

Those insatiably amassing wealth while deceiving superiors inevitably meet wretched ends. Relentless grasping we call "greed"; shameless stupidity we call "audacity." As ministers, they should have maintained integrity and loyal service—these are fundamental virtues. Daring to cheat even superiors for profit—what virtue remains? Even temporary wealth and rank—can descendants long enjoy them?

In Shaoxing lived a Provincial Administration Commissioner notoriously corrupt. After dismissal, he purchased 100,000 mu of farmland, becoming the region's wealthiest. Yet he had but one son and one grandson, both lost to gambling and debauchery. Later he became paralyzed, his fortune squandered within years. Dying, his eyes suddenly widened as he muttered: "My office reached Provincial Commissioner—not small; my lands reached 100,000 mu—not few. What my hands acquired, my hands have lost." Then he expired.

Gui'an's Yang Sizhong, expert in fengshui (geomancy), was invited by Liuhe Magistrate Lin Kezheng to Fujian to evaluate burial sites. One family, interring their father, found an auspicious spot, but heavy rain interrupted the "dotting the acupoint" (determining the grave's precise position). That night Sizhong dreamed an old man warned: "Never give this land to that man! As examiner he betrayed three provincial graduates (juren)—yin retribution awaits. Him obtaining this site defies Heaven's will." Next day, verification proved true, so Sizhong excused himself. Within years, the family—embroiled in fatal disputes over the burial plot—remained unable to inter their dead, their fortunes ruined.

Those fabricating slander ultimately reap what they sow.

When someone commits a mistake, one ought to discreetly help conceal it. But if an innocent person is instead slandered with fabricated rumors and false accusations, how can this not invite retribution?

Chen Liangmo recounted a true case: During his tenure in Hubei, the wife of Bai Jiaoyu (a county school instructor) in Gong'an County encountered a Daoist nun from Wudang Mountain (Taihe Mountain) who came to the yamen seeking alms. She donated one tael of silver in her husband’s name and a length of hemp cloth for an embroidered banner. Shortly after the nun left, the wife of a colleague came to stir trouble, saying, "That alms ledger was issued by higher authorities. If they see your family associating with Daoist nuns, you might face repercussions." Bai’s wife took this to heart and sent someone to chase after the nun, but to no avail. She became so consumed by anxiety that she could neither eat nor sleep in peace. When Bai Jiaoyu returned home after failing the imperial examinations, his wife used the cloth to make him a garment but discovered it was the wrong size, deepening her distress until she eventually hanged herself. Later, when Provincial Governor Lin was reviewing officials, he inexplicably believed the rumors and wrote in the records that "Bai Jiaoyu committed adultery and drove his wife to death." Chen Liangmo immediately clarified the truth, and Governor Lin, realizing his error, promptly removed the false accusation. Only then was Bai Jiaoyu promoted to an assistant instructor at the Imperial Academy. As for the instructor surnamed Wu, who had spread the slander, he nearly drowned in Poyang Lake while traveling for a promotion and spent his later years in poverty and disgrace—having once slandered others, he was now slandered in turn. Is this not proof of the principle of karmic retribution?

Those who "claim righteousness to defame others" are, in truth, false paragons of virtue. Truly upright individuals act with kindness, speaking only when necessary and with the intent to encourage improvement. Petty individuals, however, vent their spite by smearing others—though morally shallow, they posture as righteous, making them all the more detestable. Master Cheng Yi (Cheng Yichuan) once said, "A noble person seeks merit in others’ faults, not faults in their merit." Those today who delight in mocking others, taking pleasure in their shortcomings—can this truly be the conduct of the upright? Yan Maoyou pointed out: There are those who, upon seeing virtuous deeds, either dismiss them as "pedantic" or "hypocritical," or else sneer that they are "indulgent and permissive." Such a mindset is truly lamentable.

This scripture enumerates several types of wicked conduct that incur divine retribution, using concrete examples to admonish people to guard their words and deeds while maintaining reverence for the divine.

The first is malicious speech. Some individuals of unvirtuous character, upon witnessing others performing good deeds, immediately harbor suspicions—accusing them of "seeking fame" or slandering them as "exploiting public office for private gain." Such people pride themselves on being "frank and outspoken," unaware that spirits are recording their words, and retribution will inevitably follow. In Zhenjiang, a man named Yu wrote a formal complaint to denounce the Smallpox Deity at the City God Temple after his youngest son died of smallpox. His wife secretly burned the complaint in their kitchen stove. That night, she dreamed of the City God reprimanding: "Your Kitchen God has already reported you. Considering your ignorance, you shall receive leniency." The next day, when the county magistrate passed by, the Yu family's door curtain tore the official parasol. The magistrate immediately ordered Yu to receive fifteen strokes of the cane, leaving him bedridden for over a month.

The second is blasphemy against deities and scriptures. Gao Tianyou from Anhui, along with two scholars, went to Nanjing for examinations and visited an eminent monk at Jiming Mountain. The monk predicted the other two would pass but said Gao would fail because he had used a scripture box as a pillow. When the results were announced, the prediction proved true. Although Gao later obtained an official post through another examination, the retribution for his sacrilege had already manifested. The scripture emphasizes that even disrespect toward sacred texts incurs punishment—how much more severe would be the consequences for insulting deities!

The third is violation of ethical principles. The bonds between ruler and subject, father and son, elder and younger brother embody heavenly principles and human relations. To defy superiors, allow the lowly to oppress the noble, or disrupt social order is to act contrary to the Dao. The Great Longevity Star of the South Pole declares: "The Dao of Heaven invariably bestows blessings upon the virtuous and calamities upon the wicked. Divine beings reward those who align with the Dao and punish those who transgress its principles." If one wholeheartedly cultivates virtue and conforms to heavenly principles, one masters their destiny. But those who defy heaven and earth, scorn the divine, or practice disloyalty and filial impiety will face legal punishment in the mortal realm and divine retribution in the underworld—finding no peace even in death.

These narratives collectively demonstrate that malicious speech, sacrilege against the divine, and ethical transgressions all invite karmic retribution in this very life. Through concrete cases, the scripture admonishes people to maintain reverential awe, exercise caution in speech and action, and harmonize with heavenly principles.

This scripture primarily criticizes two types of behavior that violate the principles of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue):

The first is "abandoning kin while favoring strangers." Confucius taught that loving others while neglecting one's own family violates moral principles, and respecting outsiders while disregarding one's relatives breaches ritual propriety. The scripture recounts the story of Yang Fu: originally intending to visit Master Wuji, he encountered an old monk on the road who told him, "When you return home, the person who comes running out wrapped in a quilt and wearing slippers is the Buddha." This turned out to be his elderly mother overjoyed at her son's return. This revelation awakened him, and from then on he devoted himself to caring for his parents. Nowadays, people distance themselves from their parents while lavishing attention on in-laws, haggle over matters with siblings yet are generous to outsiders, even neglecting impoverished relatives to curry favor with wealthy and powerful strangers—all these behaviors violate fundamental human ethics.

The second is "invoking heaven and earth to justify base intentions." The celestial deities and earthly spirits are supremely sacred, and humans should maintain reverential awe. The scripture tells of Li Jingsun's mother: when her collapsed wall revealed a jar of coins, she burned incense and prayed, saying she only wished for her son's success rather than keeping the money. Later, her son indeed passed the imperial examinations. This demonstrates that when people harbor virtuous thoughts, heaven and earth bear witness. But using divine beings to validate one's ignoble actions constitutes sacrilege.

The third behavior condemned is "summoning deities to witness vulgar affairs." Yang Qiyuan repeatedly failed the imperial exams and reflected on whether his thoughts were improper, so he enshrined Emperor Wenchang (the deity overseeing scholarly honors) to scrutinize his conduct. Such behavior absurdly treats sacred beings as witnesses to one's shameful deeds.

These teachings warn people: one must be filial to parents and reverent toward deities, never exploiting sacred matters to justify improper conduct.

This person prayed devoutly morning and evening, saying: "If I only seek wealth and status without pursuing virtue (De), care only for my family while neglecting the people's welfare, I would betray both my sovereign above and my parents below. The celestial deities and earthly spirits witness all." Three years later, he indeed passed the imperial examinations. This shows that sincere reverence toward the divine inevitably evokes response.

Thus we understand that reverent sincerity brings blessings, while sacrilege invites retribution. Master Lianchi taught: "Toward deities, one should neither be disrespectful nor flattering. When making vows, never promise blood sacrifices—this constitutes 'evil vows' that accumulate only sin without merit. Even if such wishes are granted, they ultimately bring calamity. As for crafting divine images, building temples, or offering robes and banners, contribute according to your means without calculating rewards. Buddhas and bodhisattvas embody great compassion for all beings, while righteous deities act with impartial integrity—how could they bestow blessings through bribery? Truly virtuous acts—loyalty to country, filial piety, compassion for the poor and elderly, disaster relief, abstaining from killing, liberating captive creatures, and all secret accumulations of virtue through helping others—these constitute the true path when practiced consistently within one's capacity."

From this perspective, even flattering deities for blessings is improper—how much more so invoking them as witnesses to disgraceful affairs? Utmost caution is warranted!

Regarding post-donation regret: Zhou Huihua practiced charity tirelessly despite his own poverty. One day, the Perfected Zhiguan tested him disguised as a beggar. Recognizing Zhou's genuine generosity, he immediately elevated him to become Perfected Xihua. Yang Boyong regularly offered tea to travelers until a transcendent being rewarded him with jade seeds that brought prosperity to his descendants. The Pei brothers—Yannian and his siblings—were all charitable. When an elderly man sought water, they served him respectfully. Later during the An Lushan Rebellion, this elder guided them to safety in mountain caves. Xi Baisan, a poor man with facial tumors, once saw a Daoist priest being refused alms. Giving his last copper coin, he dreamed that night of the priest removing his tumors, which had vanished by dawn. Shi Bingzhi discovered buried gold while building his house. Declaring "Wealth concerns human lives—how could I hoard heaven's gift?", he distributed it all to the poor, and his family enjoyed longevity. Qu Sixing always paid vendors extra, saying "They toil merely to survive—how could I haggle?" He died peacefully at eighty-four.

These accounts demonstrate that charity is the swiftest path to accumulating virtue (De), but requires three principles: First, genuine intent without expectation of return; second, giving within one's means without strain; third, consistent practice without interruption. Those who regret their generosity are like farmers digging up sown seeds—how could they expect harvest?

To progress on the spiritual path, one must delight in doing good without weariness. Even when lacking material means, maintaining virtuous intentions ensures no regrets arise. Regretting before giving leads to hesitation; regretting after giving robs the act of its joy. Both forms of regret transform virtuous thoughts into harmful ones—a true spiritual loss.

Failing to return borrowed items violates Daoist ethics. Fan Yiqian's wall inscription admonishes: "What you borrow must neither be damaged nor kept." Borrowing should be a last resort; when unavoidable, treat the item as your own and return it promptly. This preserves harmony and keeps conscience clear. Monetary debts demand even greater clarity—how can prolonged default be justified? Many today withhold repayment without realizing: wealth not rightfully yours will ultimately depart. Silver spent leaves debts unpaid. Buddhist teachings warn: unresolved debts compel rebirth as beasts of burden—donkeys, horses, oxen, or dogs—to repay karmic debts. Historical records abound with such accounts.

Zhu Ji observed: "Lenders act from kindness, yet debt collection breeds enmity. Such mentality defies understanding." Consider Zhang Xiaoji, son-in-law to a wealthy man whose prodigal heir was disinherited. Inheriting the estate, Zhang later encountered the destitute heir begging. Testing his reform through humble tasks—first gardening, then storekeeping—Zhang ultimately restored the inheritance when true change appeared. Years later, pilgrims at Mount Song witnessed Zhang attended like nobility, who revealed: "Heaven rewards my restitution by appointing me guardian here." If even inherited wealth merits return, how much more borrowed possessions?

Seeking beyond one's ordained lot violates cosmic order. The Great Unity Perfected Being (Taiyi Zhenren) taught: "My six-word true scripture all should heed: First word—'forbearance' (ren), second—'expedient means' (fangbian), third—'abide by your lot' (yi benfen)." People spurn contentment, trusting in cunning schemes. Yet life's circumstances—wealth or poverty—are karmic assignments from past deeds, recorded in underworld registers and manifested in this realm. Can force alter what destiny decrees? Magistrate Pei Pu of Xinping County, known for integrity, died in office. His friend Wei Yuanfang...

This passage presents two cautionary tales about coveting ill-gotten wealth and indulging in excessive desires, along with related Daoist cultivation principles.

The first story recounts an encounter in the Longyou region (modern-day Gansu) where a man met an official who called himself the "Plunderer of Surplus from Western Shu." This deity was responsible for overseeing the gain and loss of worldly wealth, explaining that people who strive for riches beyond their destined share will ultimately lose even what was rightfully theirs. He claimed that any food, drink, or wealth exceeding one’s predestined measure would be taken away by him. This illustrates that forcibly seizing what does not belong to oneself is not only futile but harmful.

Next is the story of Sun Banghua, who went with his brother-in-law to apply for official posts. His brother-in-law was selected as a granary official in Taiyuan Prefecture, while Sun failed and prepared to return home. Later, when his brother-in-law suddenly died, Sun fraudulently used his documents to assume the position. After completing his term, he split over seven hundred taels of silver with his brother-in-law’s nephew. When he later reapplied for an official post, he was assigned the exact vacancy left by his brother-in-law—rendering him unable to take office. This was the karmic retribution for coveting ill-gotten wealth, which cost him even his rightful position.

The second section discusses the harms of "oppression by force" (力上设施) and "excessive lust" (淫欲过度). "Oppression by force" refers to abusing power—such as officials exploiting commoners or the wealthy bullying the poor—though some interpretations also include overworking others. Meanwhile, "excessive lust" does not solely pertain to illicit relations; even within marriage, moderation is essential. Dong Zhongshu (also known as Dong Jiangdu) stated: "The Qi of Heaven and Earth never overflows, and Yin-Yang must also unite in moderation." Daoist texts similarly record: "When a person is free from desire, their Jing (essence) and Qi nourish the entire body, but once desire arises, the fire of lust consumes Jing and Qi."

This passage covers two main aspects: prohibitions for health cultivation, and warnings about personal conduct.

Regarding health cultivation, it particularly emphasizes restraining desires during specific times. For example, during the solar terms of the winter solstice and summer solstice, extreme weather conditions of severe cold or heat, celestial phenomena like solar and lunar eclipses, as well as harsh weather such as strong winds, heavy fog, thunderstorms, and torrential rain, one must exercise caution. Additionally, special dates like one’s birth year (本命年), the Gengshen (庚申) and Jiazi (甲子) days, the first and fifteenth days of each lunar month, and the "Four Beginnings" (立春, 立夏, 立秋, 立冬) and "Two Equinoxes" (春分, 秋分) within the 24 solar terms require particular restraint. The fifth lunar month has nine especially inauspicious days called the "Nine Poison Days" (九毒日). The common feature of these forbidden periods is that they are times when one’s vital Qi (元气) is easily depleted—indulging in excess desires during these times is akin to courting death.

The second part criticizes several types of immoral behavior. "Poisonous heart but kind appearance" (心毒貌慈) refers to those who are ruthless inside but outwardly gentle, like wolves in sheep’s clothing—such people will fall into hell after death. Examples include Li Yifu of the Tang Dynasty and Cai Yuandu of the Song Dynasty, both of whom wore pleasant smiles while harboring cruelty in their hearts, ultimately meeting miserable ends.

"Feeding people filthy food" (秽食餧人) means deliberately giving others unclean food, treating them like pigs or dogs. The passage recounts the story of Zhai Yongshou from the Song Dynasty, who mixed feces into rice to seek excessive profit, only to be struck by lightning—he narrowly escaped death only because of his filial piety.

"Deluding the masses with heretical ways" (左道惑众) refers to misleading people with unorthodox methods, a grave violation of heavenly principle. These teachings serve as warnings that one must nurture good intentions and uphold proper conduct—otherwise, divine retribution is inevitable.

This passage discusses the dangers of heretical paths. Although the teaching methods of the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) differ, their highest wisdom all guides people to illuminate their minds and realize their true nature (明心见性). The secondary teachings at least instruct people to embrace goodness and shun evil—never employing bizarre methods to deceive others. Those who specialize in deluding people's minds are undoubtedly practicing heterodox ways.

Most human minds are prone to ignorance and are easily swayed by superstitious claims of fortune and misfortune. Once deceived, people may engage in theft, fraud, or even gather in mobs to cause chaos. When such schemes are exposed, the participants inevitably meet grim fates—some even losing their heads. Without mentioning distant examples, recent events in Yangzhou serve as clear evidence.

Outside the Bianyi Gate in Yangzhou's Golden Dam, a peasant made his living by carrying manure to fertilize vegetable gardens. Suddenly, a few men approached him, saying: "Toiling year-round watering vegetables is exhausting. We have a method to make you immensely wealthy and noble—would you like to learn it?" The peasant agreed, and they led him to a secluded spot to impart their "secret technique." The next day, while watering his crops, the peasant suddenly went into a frenzy, shouting that he was the incarnate "God of the Capital" (都天神) and declaring that unless a temple was built to worship him, calamity would befall the entire region. Because he appeared deranged, people actually believed him. They first erected a thatched shrine to enshrine him, calling him the "Living Bodhisattva."

As word of the "Living Bodhisattva" spread, pilgrims from near and far flocked to pay homage—men and women mingling in uncountable numbers. The peasant sat in meditation all day without eating or drinking, and when supplicants sought divination, he would cast divination blocks (掷筊). Followers competed to donate wealth in hopes of averting disaster, and this commotion lasted over a month. When local officials became aware, Prefect Jin personally investigated. The truth was immediately revealed during interrogation: the ringleaders were beaten to death on the spot, their accomplices scattered in fear, and the thatched shrine was burned to the ground.

Wo Qifeng commented: "Recently, wicked individuals often gather crowds under the pretense of preaching doctrines, but in truth, they covet wealth and sensual pleasures—such crimes indeed deserve death. Yet are those who are deceived entirely blameless? When they allow women in their households to frequent temples and monasteries without restraint, leading to moral corruption, they too bear responsibility. If those in charge of moral instruction could promptly prohibit such behavior, it would greatly aid in rectifying social customs."

The passage then turns to the wicked practices of merchants who cheat in weights and measures: from "shortening rulers to reduce measurements" (短尺挟度) to "profiting through deceit" (采取奸利), all describe the unscrupulous methods of petty profit-seekers. "Measurement standards" (度) were established by ancient kings to ensure fairness. Yet today, some deliberately use short rulers when selling goods and long ones when buying, or tamper with scales and measuring vessels. Ordinary people already struggle to make ends meet—every coin is hard-earned. In trade, fairness should always prevail.

This passage expounds the principle of karmic retribution, emphasizing the importance of fairness and integrity in human conduct while warning against deception.

The text first establishes that deception, whether on a small or large scale, must be avoided. Violating this principle not only transgresses celestial prohibitions but also disrupts inner harmony, swiftly inviting punishment through thunder and fire (in Daoist belief, the Thunder Department deities punish evildoers).

Two illustrative stories follow: Zhou Caimei, when arranging his son's marriage, gave his daughter-in-law two sets of measuring tools (bushels and scales), instructing her to use larger measures when collecting rent and smaller ones when lending grain. His daughter-in-law protested that this violated heavenly principle, threatening to leave and warning that such practices would beget unworthy descendants who would ruin the family. Awakened to this truth, Zhou adopted fair measurements and was later blessed with two sons who passed the imperial examinations.

Another account tells of Zhu Dalang from Jiangshan County, who cheated others using rigged measuring tools. After being warned by a Daoist practitioner, black-clad officers (underworld enforcers) confiscated his fraudulent devices that very night. Subsequently, his household suffered a flood that swept away all possessions, leaving his residence submerged as a deep pool still known as "Zhu Family Pond."

The text specifically condemns severe forms of fraud: mixing sand into salt, diluting wine with water—practices that yield material gain but erode virtue (De) even more drastically. The gravest offense involves counterfeit silver; the example given is Yu Ao, whose fake silver payment for sheep drove the sellers to hang themselves, after which he himself was struck dead by lightning.

Finally, the passage highlights the particular evil of selling counterfeit medicine. During the Song dynasty, when Zhang Anguo served as prefect of Fuzhou, he posted public notices quoting admonitions from Tao Hongjing (the Hermit Tao) and Sun Simiao (the Perfected Sun)—both renowned Daoist medical scholars who emphasized compassionate healing—to warn the populace.

This scripture primarily discusses two categories of wicked deeds and their corresponding retributions:

The first concerns the karmic consequences of selling counterfeit medicine. Physicians should follow the example of the Essential Formulas Worth a Thousand Gold by healing the world and accumulating hidden virtue (Yinde) to attain immortality. Yet some profit from fake remedies, believing themselves clever while unknowingly having their blessings diminished. Common retributions include sudden misfortunes, lightning strikes, and prodigal descendants who squander family fortunes. When desperate patients purchase these fraudulent medicines, their conditions worsen or treatment is delayed. Even killing animals carries karmic consequences—how much graver is the sin of endangering human lives? This constitutes one of the most severe transgressions.

The second category involves profiteering through deceit. While making a living is necessary, it must be done righteously. Schemes like smuggling salt and iron or manipulating grain prices may seem shrewd but inevitably invite disaster. Two cautionary tales illustrate this: Sun Nanjin colluded with officials to amass wealth, growing insatiable in old age until he died emaciated like a skeleton, braying like a donkey; Long Changyi hoarded rice during a drought while praying for no rain, only to be struck by lightning—villagers later discovered rain-suppressing prayers hidden in his hair bun.

Finally, the text condemns the sin of "oppressing the noble into servitude" (forcing freeborn citizens into slavery or prostitution), citing Zhong Lijin as a counterexample. Upon discovering a purchased maidservant was actually a former magistrate's daughter, he immediately restored her freedom and arranged a proper marriage. This serves as a warning to wealthy households that exploit disaster victims or coerce commoners into bondage.

This passage recounts several stories illustrating the principle of karmic retribution.

The first story tells of Xu Jin's (Lord Xu) virtuous deeds. When someone wrote to Xu Jin requesting a marriage postponement, he later discovered while purchasing a maidservant that she was the daughter of a former county magistrate. Xu Jin decided to first have the young woman married as his own daughter. He responded: "In ancient times, Ju Boyu (a virtuous official of the Spring and Autumn period) considered it shameful to cultivate virtue alone—why should you bear the burden of righteousness by yourself?" He then arranged for the former magistrate's daughter to marry his youngest son, so both women became part of the Xu family. Due to such hidden virtue (accumulated good deeds done in secret), heaven rewarded Xu Jin with ten consecutive terms as a prefect, and he ultimately died peacefully. In contrast, those who oppress good people or force respectable women into servitude—will they not suffer eternal retribution?

Next comes a tale about retribution for deceiving the simple-minded. "Deceptive tricks" refers to using cunning to cheat others, particularly pitiable when targeting the naive. The story tells of three men traveling together to a ferry crossing where the boat was on the opposite shore. The most simple-minded was told to swim across to retrieve it. Risking his life in the rapids, he succeeded and had just ferried the other two aboard when suddenly he needed to relieve himself. Upon his return to shore, the two men rowed away saying they couldn't wait. But the boat capsized in the rapids, drowning both deceivers, while the simpleton they'd cheated remained unharmed.

Finally, the text warns against the calamity of insatiable greed. "Greed" resembles a mouth endlessly consuming without satisfaction. Laozi said the greatest sin is excessive desire, the greatest misfortune is discontent. Two examples illustrate this: Hu Jiushao, though poor, daily thanked heaven for simple blessings—living in peaceful times with no starving or freezing family members, nor sickness or imprisonment; conversely, Nanjing garrison commander Liu Lang amassed great wealth during his Shaanxi posting, even building a Zhenjun shrine seeking immortality, only to be swindled by alchemists out of jade belt ornaments worth a hundred yi and his entire alchemical furnace set.

Someone once wrote on a door at midnight: "Mountains of gold and silver pile high, yet you seek to learn the alchemist's art. Before the golden cauldron of neidan (internal alchemy) is perfected, you discard precious white jade—yet even perfected immortals originally delighted in jade ornaments." This person later died in shame and rage.

Regarding swearing oaths to demand justice: Swearing means making vows to the gods, while demanding justice seeks divine retribution. Such acts need not be formally reported at temples—any angry quarrel accompanied by cries to heaven counts. Affairs naturally have right and wrong; if one is truly righteous, time will reveal the truth—why demand immediate divine judgment? If in the wrong, one should feel ashamed upon self-reflection—how dare swear before the gods? This is tantamount to gambling with life! The Chapter on Curses and Oaths states: "When cursed from all directions, all malicious ghosts seize the chance to bring calamity. Unless celestial deities intervene, such misfortune is hard to dispel." Can oath-swearing then be taken lightly? Reckless villains who know they're wrong yet try to silence others with oaths forget the gods see all—how can deception be tolerated? They often meet violent deaths, their own terrible vows fulfilled—how dreadful!

Concerning drunkenness and moral collapse: Among worldly indulgences, alcohol ranks first among the four major prohibitions—it may be consumed moderately but never indulged. People today drink without restraint, clouding their shen (spirit), confusing their minds, and growing recklessly bold until they lose reason and ruin virtue. Scholars thus ruin their careers, officials lose their posts, farmers neglect fields, merchants squander capital—how can such indulgence continue? Worse cases damage organs, corrode intestines, and cause fatal illnesses. For instance, scholar Su Yijian, a lifelong drunkard, died from alcohol-induced hemorrhaging; Palace Secretary Wang Quan, proud of his capacity, once drank until his navel split open. Drunkards inevitably act perversely, and the perverse never die well. Ancient warnings called wine "the spring of calamity" and "madness medicine"—how profound these admonitions!

Regarding quarrels among kin: All worldly affairs should be handled peacefully—why contend, especially with flesh and blood? Buddhists say the six perfections and myriad practices begin with forbearance. Zhang Gongyi maintained nine generations under one roof solely through endurance. People quarrel precisely because they cannot endure. When human relations are damaged, heavenly disasters inevitably follow—this is cosmic law. Yuan Cai's Family Instructions observed: "Fathers and sons, brothers at odds—either expectations are too high, property divided unfairly, or temperaments and methods clash."

This scripture passage expounds the principles of maintaining family harmony. It first identifies listening to women's divisive words as the root cause of family discord. Understanding this truth, fathers and elder brothers should care for younger members without demanding obedience, while younger members should respect elders without insisting on their affection—this naturally leads to harmonious coexistence.

Regarding wealth distribution, the affluent should reflect: If their riches were accumulated with others' help, wouldn't they feel ashamed to hoard it all without sharing? If the wealth was self-earned, distributing it to the poor constitutes noble righteousness in human society and accumulates virtue (De) in the spiritual realm—surely this surpasses annual lawsuits that waste family assets? The less fortunate should also consider: The wealthy genuinely worked hard for their prosperity, so how can one demand everything for oneself? Understanding this prevents contentious disputes.

Human temperaments vary—some gentle, some strong-willed; some cautious, others bold—naturally leading to different approaches in handling matters. Mutual tolerance without imposing conformity prevents conflicts.

Women's dispositions often tend toward stubbornness, making them prone to holding grudges among in-laws. Troublemaking maids who stir discord for amusement compound these festering resentments. Husbands must strictly forbid servants from spreading gossip, and family members should make audible movements to avoid suspicion of eavesdropping. Even when wives or concubines speak reason, their words shouldn't be readily believed—this eliminates the seeds of quarrels. This constitutes the most crucial principle of household management.

The passage concludes with an example from the Hongwu era of Ming Dynasty: When the Zheng family was accused of conspiring with Hu Weiyong, Zheng Shi voluntarily offered to replace his elder brother in punishment, while Zheng Lian insisted on bearing responsibility as family head. The emperor, moved by this, remarked: "How could such people commit wrongdoing?" and pardoned and promoted them. Contemporary relatives quarrel because none will yield. Witnessing the Zheng family competing to assume blame—what worldly matter remains worth disputing?

The scripture finally clarifies "male disloyalty": Loyalty means honesty, and goodness means integrity. Among all beings, humans possess the highest wisdom, and men particularly should embody loyalty and goodness.

This passage recounts two stories about virtuous individuals and their descendants receiving divine rewards. The first tells of Jiang Yingcan (courtesy name Sanqu), a scholar from Yangzhou who lost his father in childhood and grew up in poverty, yet served his stepmother with exceptional filial piety. A man of upright character and strict discipline, he maintained dignified conduct from adulthood through old age. He devoutly studied Confucian classics, taught others sincerity, observed Buddhist precepts against killing, and delighted in charitable deeds. Whenever he went out, he carried a hundred coins to give to beggars—never calling them "beggars" but respectfully addressing them as "the impoverished." His son Jiang Shan (courtesy name Tong'an) experienced a marvel during the imperial examinations: his exam paper miraculously rose to the surface from a pile of submissions. The examiner Zhang Tiaoding, astonished by this phenomenon, selected him. Later, when Yangzhou fell to invaders, Jiang Shan survived the massacre because his name had appeared on a celestial roster in someone's prophetic dream, ultimately living out his days in peace.

The second story concerns Yang Huang (courtesy name Xizhou) from Dangtu, a man of unyielding integrity. During wartime chaos, he was captured while guarding his ancestral graves and drowned himself. His ten-year-old son, witnessing this, wept and leaped into the river after him—father and son perished hand in hand. Yang Huang's wife, née Lu, was heartbroken but persevered for the sake of their concubine's unborn child. Later, the concubine miraculously gave birth to a boy after initial signs of a girl—a wonder verified by the local magistrate, becoming a celebrated marvel of the time. Both narratives illustrate how heaven ultimately blesses the loyal and righteous, along with their descendants.

This scripture discusses familial ethics, particularly the proper way for husband and wife to coexist harmoniously.

A woman should be gentle and compliant (as it is natural for women to embody humility and softness). The harmonious relationship between Zheng Shi, wife of Zhang Mengren, and Xu Shi, wife of Zhang Zhongyi (Zhang Mengren's younger brother) during the Tang dynasty serves as an excellent example. They lived together in the same household, pooling all their earnings from spinning and weaving for their mother-in-law to manage, requesting funds only when needed and never disputing ownership. When Zheng returned to her parents' home, Xu nursed her children, and vice versa. The imperial court honored their household as "Two Virtues" (referring to rare and commendable moral conduct).

Today, some women either dominate their husbands, disrespect their in-laws, quarrel with sisters-in-law, or mistreat maids and concubines. While these faults may stem from feminine nature, men also bear responsibility. As the saying goes, "Teach a bride from the moment she enters your home; teach children from their earliest years." A husband should guide his wife with reason, neither indulging her in sensual pleasures that lead to wrongdoing nor trusting her pillow talk so much that she usurps authority.

Unmarried women especially depend on parental guidance and must not be allowed to act willfully. How a girl treats her parents and siblings now foreshadows how she will treat in-laws and sisters-in-law later; how she treats servants now reflects how she will manage maids and concubines in the future. When faults arise, teach patiently—never indulge—and over time, virtuous character will naturally develop.

Marital discord is a grave family misfortune. Some foolish men either favor concubines while humiliating their wives or frequent prostitutes, ignoring their wives' admonitions, even resorting to beatings and abuse. Remember: after marriage, a woman leaves her parents and relies solely on her husband. If the husband is cold-hearted, obsessed with beauty, where is his conscience? Even if the wife errs, consider her limited education and lack of understanding—guide her patiently rather than vent anger. Some men endure abuse from fierce wives yet bully gentle ones—what kind of hero cowers before the strong while oppressing the weak?

(Note: In this text, "gu" refers to the mother-in-law; "jiu gu" means parents-in-law; "zhóu li" denotes wives of brothers; "xiao gu" is the husband's younger sister.)

After Liu Tingshi passed the imperial examination to become a jinshi, he discovered his betrothed had gone blind. Though her family offered to annul the engagement, he declared: "Her blindness came after our pledge—how could I abandon her in good conscience? If I don't marry her, where else could she go?" He solemnized the marriage on an auspicious date, treating his blind wife with utmost respect. They later raised two sons who both became jinshi. When she eventually passed away, Liu mourned so deeply it nearly destroyed him. Those modern couples who quarrel over superficial appearances would do well to heed this example.

Another account tells of Liu Siwen, who married into the Yang family in Chengdu during his travels in Shu. Preparing to return home, he noticed his wife and brother-in-law looking troubled. Upon inquiry, he learned his late father-in-law had promised forty acres as dowry, but family misfortunes had reduced it to twenty. As they shamefacedly drafted the amended deed, Liu burned the document saying, "What groom would extort dowry from his wife's family?" They returned home in harmony, and he later rose to Vice-Minister. Modern couples bickering over marriage settlements should take note.

The scripture continues: Wives who disrespect their husbands (for the husband is heaven to his wife—how dare she not revere him? Such irreverence marks either shrews or wantons) should understand that being born female often reflects karmic retribution. To then scorn one's husband only deepens one's descent into wretched rebirths.

On the folly of ostentation: The prideful invite meager blessings, for their qi capacity is narrow; the humble attract abundant fortune, for their qi capacity is vast. Heaven's Dao abhors excess while human virtue honors humility. Flaunting wealth or talent offends both cosmic principles and human sensibilities. Consider the cautionary tale of Shi Chong and Wang Kai's extravagance contest—one flaunting forty-li purple silk screens, the other fifty-li brocade partitions—until Shi's eventual execution brought the realization: "My followers only coveted my riches." Likewise, when Du Gao's colleagues boasted of his early success to an elder monk, the cleric's "I've never heard of him" prompted Du's chastened poem: "By Du Qu south of town I dwelled, twin laurels briefly bloomed so well... Yet the Zen master knows no name..."

This scripture uses two stories to warn people against the perils of arrogance and jealousy.

The first story recounts the tale of Tang Yunji, a Ming dynasty general. While truly talented with robust literary skills, his arrogant nature led him to constantly boast about being accomplished in both civil and martial arts, claiming he could single-handedly manage affairs. This earned him the mocking nickname "One-Sided Tang." Later, during a battle against bandits in Shaanxi, he was struck by an arrow through the throat and died, prompting people to rename him "One-Arrow Tang." This illustrates how boasting about one's abilities often invites calamity.

The second story is even more thought-provoking. During the Song dynasty, physician Xue Yuan had ten sons, each afflicted with disabilities: hunchbacked, lame, paralyzed, insane, mentally impaired, deaf, blind, mute, and one who died in prison. Physiognomist Gongming Zigao (a renowned ancient fortune-teller) asked what misdeeds Xue had committed. Xue confessed his lifelong habit of jealousy: envying those superior to him, doubting others' good deeds, delighting in others' misfortunes, and feeling personally slighted when others prospered. Zigao warned that such mentality could bring ruin to his entire family. Profoundly awakened, Xue completely reformed himself, and within a few years, his sons miraculously recovered. This demonstrates the devastating consequences of jealousy.

The scripture further advises moderation in family relationships. A wife should be treated as an equal partner, while children represent the continuation of life. Harmony and respect should govern marital relations, and parenting should balance discipline with kindness. Some people today either treat their wives with cold harshness or excessive familiarity, while either spoiling children unreasonably or being overly critical—all improper behaviors.

A concluding anecdote tells of Fujian scholar Li who, while traveling for imperial examinations, had his innkeeper dream of the local earth god announcing Li as a future palace graduate deserving good hospitality. Upon learning this, Li became smug, fantasizing about his future officialdom. The next day, the innkeeper's attitude changed drastically—the earth god had reappeared in a dream to say Li's improper thoughts had revoked his scholarly honors. This vignette reaffirms the importance of "maintaining virtuous intentions."

If a man marries a virtuous wife, his future prosperity will naturally follow. There was a scholar named Li who despised his wife and sought to divorce her. An innkeeper dreamed of a deity saying, "This man abandons his wife before achieving merit and fame—he is destined never to succeed." When Li learned of this, he left in shame—such is the retribution for mistreating one's spouse.

In Zhuozhou (modern Hebei), a man named Wang Yao excessively doted on his two sons, allowing their vile temperaments to flourish until they became uncontrollable. When he finally reported them to the authorities, both sons were executed. The following year, on the 15th day of the second lunar month, Daoist priest Liu Jin heard commotion in the City God Temple and saw Wang Yao pleading with the City God (Chenghuang) for ancestral offerings during the Qingming Festival. The deity rebuked him: "You failed to discipline your sons and severed your own lineage—who will make offerings to you now?" His request was denied. Such is the retribution for failing to educate one's children.

Disrespect toward parents-in-law is also a grave transgression. In ancient times, Jiang Shi served his mother with utmost filial piety, while his wife Pang Shi attended to her mother-in-law with equal devotion. When the elderly woman craved river water, Pang Shi would fetch it—though once delayed by strong winds, causing her mother-in-law to grow thirsty and furious. Jiang Shi reproached his wife and sent her away. Yet Pang Shi, unable to bear separation, lodged with neighbors, weaving day and night to buy delicacies which she sent to her mother-in-law through them. When the truth was revealed, the old woman was deeply moved and welcomed her back. Later, when the mother-in-law developed a taste for fish, the couple labored tirelessly to purchase it, even sharing with their neighbors. Miraculously, a sweet spring resembling river water bubbled beside their home, yielding two carp daily. Even the Red Eyebrow rebels (Chimei, a historical peasant uprising) avoided their village, declaring, "Disturbing such filial exemplars would anger the spirits." The imperial court eventually appointed Jiang Shi to office.

Understand this: while the bond between daughter-in-law and parents-in-law is forged through marriage, that between children and parents is ordained by heaven. Never has there been a case where unfilial children coexisted with a dutiful daughter-in-law. Thus when a wife errs, often the husband has failed in his example. How then can divine retribution fall solely upon the wife?

Neglecting ancestral spirits constitutes another offense—this includes improper funerary rites, violating mourning taboos, delaying burials, perfunctory sacrifices, or infrequent tomb-sweeping. Among these, leaving coffins unburied is the gravest disrespect.

(Note: "City God" refers to the Daoist deity guarding urban settlements, while "Red Eyebrow rebels" denotes the historical peasant uprising during the late Western Han dynasty.)

While studying at the Imperial Academy, Luo Gong once prayed to the deities for his future prospects. That night, a deity appeared in his dream and said: "Your parents have passed away long ago but remain unburied. They are already condemned in the underworld—how can you speak of scholarly honors?" Luo Gong defended himself by saying he had an elder brother. The deity replied: "You are a scholar who understands ritual propriety, while your brother is ignorant and ordinary—thus he bears no responsibility." That very year, Luo Gong indeed passed away.

Zhu Ji commented on this: Ancient burial rites stipulated that high officials should be interred within three months of death, while scholars within one month. While parents remained unburied, children were to wear plain mourning garments and eat simple food, grieving that their loved ones had no resting place. Yet people today are obsessed with geomancy (fengshui): some delay burials indefinitely seeking auspicious sites; others repeatedly exhume and rebury their dead due to superstitious doubts. They fail to understand the original purpose of tomb selection—filial descendants merely sought to protect their ancestors' remains from geomancy's harm, from insect infestation, from plowshares disturbing the earth, ensuring the graves wouldn't later become roads or city walls and moats. How could one use ancestral bones to seek benefits for descendants? Therefore, one shouldn't covet fengshui advantages.

Others are misled by the "divided households" theory, causing endless disputes among brothers—they demand perfect astrological timing while suspecting unfavorable mountain-water orientations. This means parents suffer one more day of exposure for each additional child. Don't they realize human fortunes stem from cause and effect—what have mountains and rivers to do with it? Thus one shouldn't cling to household division theories. If stubbornly persisting in these delusions while chasing fame and wealth in distant lands, year after year delaying burials—what if flood or fire strikes, burning or drowning the remains? How could any child's conscience bear this?

Even temporary encoffinment (quancuo) must never be prolonged—over time, coffins soaked by rain and steamed by earthly qi (vital energy) will rot before proper burial. All humane and filial people should remember this.

Regarding disobeying superiors (including rulers to ministers, fathers to children, generals to soldiers, officials to commoners, or masters to servants)—in principle, obedience is proper. Even with improper orders, one should tactfully remonstrate to make them reasonable—how can direct defiance be justified? The crime of disobedience equals disloyalty and unfilial conduct. When Lin Jingdu served as Reminder of the Left, a drought struck Shu region. The court ordered 100,000 dan of rice for relief—he deemed this excessive given Shu's treacherous roads and returned the edict. The court eventually halved the amount. That night he dreamed of a red-robed messenger holding a celestial decree: "By Heaven's command, your defiance of imperial orders has harmed the people..."

This scripture illustrates through several stories how engaging in meaningless actions brings misfortune, while performing beneficial deeds for others accumulates true blessings.

First, the consequences of defying heaven's will: A man who disobeyed his superior's orders caused his lineage to be cut off. Though not all disobedience leads to such severe outcomes, this example shows that grave transgressions inevitably bring grave retribution.

Truly beneficial actions are those that serve all beings: Scholars compiling medical classics, wealthy individuals digging wells, building dams and bridges, establishing public granaries and charitable burial grounds. These virtuous deeds not only help others but ultimately bless the doer. Conversely, squandering wealth on extravagant mansions or indulging in rare curios only depletes one's vital energy (Qi). Take Chen Gonggong's luxurious estate in Runzhou—adorned with precious woods, yet he fell ill and died immediately after its completion, barely having time to ride his sedan chair up to view it once. Later generations called it the "Three Cannot" mansion—cannot live in it, cannot repair it, cannot sell it—until it lay in ruins.

Regarding literary pursuits: Huang Tingjian (Huang Luzhi) delighted in writing romantic poetry. Though wildly popular, the eminent monk Fayun Xiu warned him: "Li Gonglin (Li Boshi) was reborn as a horse merely for constantly imagining equine paintings. You compose these licentious verses that lead people to transgress propriety—you'll likely fall into hell." Another scholar, Zhang Zuansun, similarly denounced contemporary writers profiting from obscene fiction. Such works, illusory as mirages, erode readers' sense of shame—particularly harming the impressionable who, seeing renowned literati write thus, indulge all the more recklessly.

These cases demonstrate a universal truth: Only deeds benefiting all beings accumulate real merit. What appears as refined pleasure—extravagant luxuries or wanton poetry—ultimately harms both self and others.

This passage discusses several types of immoral behavior and their consequences, which I'll explain point by point:

Regarding young people's exposure to harmful content: Adolescents with unsettled Qi (vital energy) can suffer physical and mental harm—or worse, bring disgrace to their families—if prematurely exposed to writings describing illicit relationships. We educated people should take the lead in banning such materials—how can we allow common folk to descend into beastly ways? These writings poison minds most severely. Even if one must write for livelihood, why not compose stories of loyalty, filial piety, chastity and righteousness? Why must one resort to these clichéd tales of scholars and beauties engaging in secret affairs? Remember: frivolous and flowery language (qiyu) invites calamity, while empty words diminish blessings—harming both others and oneself.

On harboring divided loyalties: When ministers are disloyal, they deceive their sovereign; when children are disloyal, they abandon their parents; when wives are disloyal, they betray their husbands; when brothers are disloyal, they harm each other; when friends are disloyal, they scheme against one another. Even if others remain unaware, the gods have already witnessed it. Master Zhu Zhen was right: "To deceive one's heart is to deceive the divine." Those who nurse sinister designs—whom do they truly deceive? They merely deceive Heaven itself.

On the karmic consequences of cursing others: The text repeatedly mentions the retribution for curses. Some curse out of spite when their demands go unfulfilled—this is shame-turned-rage; some use curses to prove their innocence—this is extreme behavior born of anger; others curse both themselves and their targets. Such violent defiance—how could it escape retribution? Take the case of Yan Dian: when his adulterous wife stole a neighbor's handkerchief and the neighbor cursed them, Yan Dian swore, "If my wife truly committed adultery and theft, may we be struck by lightning—otherwise may you suffer retribution." Soon after, the couple was indeed lightning-struck, their corpses bearing inscriptions: "Fool protecting his wife" and "Adulterous thief." This is the immediate karmic consequence of self-cursing and cursing others.

On the danger of prejudice: Even the most disliked person may have merits, but prejudice blinds us to them; even the most beloved...

This passage addresses two significant matters: the harmful consequences of parental favoritism and the disrespectful treatment of sacred objects like wells and hearths.

First, let’s discuss the issue of parental favoritism. When parents show partiality toward one child, they often overlook that child’s wrongdoings. This biased affection distorts right and wrong, frequently leading to disputes and chaos. In reality, we often see siblings turn against each other due to parental favoritism, sometimes even to the point of family ruin. It usually begins with the favored child becoming arrogant while the neglected one grows resentful, and over time, this breeds deep-seated hatred. Thus, parental favoritism is not true love—it harms the children instead. If parents treat their children fairly, siblings will naturally live in harmony, creating a win-win situation.

The text cites the example of Wang Xiang and his half-brother Wang Lan. Their stepmother, Madame Zhu, favored her own son, Wang Lan, and despised Wang Xiang. Yet, Wang Xiang responded with even greater filial devotion. Whenever Wang Xiang was punished, Wang Lan would weep and embrace his brother. When their stepmother unreasonably ordered Wang Xiang to work, Wang Lan would join him in labor. When she mistreated Wang Xiang’s wife, Wang Lan had his own wife assist as well. Eventually, Madame Zhu was moved and awakened to her wrongdoing. This illustrates that those in positions of authority should not show favoritism, and the brothers’ selfless conduct, free from personal grudges, inspired their mother’s transformation—a model worth emulating.

Next, let’s examine the disrespect toward wells and hearths. The term "越" (yuè) in "越井越灶" means to step over or cross. Wells benefit all people and are governed by the Well Spirit. As the saying goes, "Do not peer into wells" and "Do not spit into ancient wells." If even looking or spitting is forbidden, how much worse is stepping over one? The Hearth God is one of the Five Household Deities, overseeing family affairs. The Primordial Daojun (the supreme deity in Daoism) taught that Daoist practitioners, aside from honoring their hearth and ancestors, must not worship other spirits indiscriminately. How, then, can one step over the hearth?

The text provides two examples: Wu Zhan attained the Dao (the Way) by protecting a well, while Yin Zifang gained sudden wealth by devoutly worshiping the Hearth God. This shows that reverence brings blessings, while disrespect invites misfortune. Disrespect toward wells and hearths isn’t limited to stepping over them—sitting on a well’s edge or stepping on a hearth’s threshold also counts as sacrilege and must be avoided.

Finally, let’s discuss "jumping over food or people." Here, "jump" (跳, tiào) means to step across. Grain is the people’s sustenance from heaven, so treating it carelessly is akin to defying the heavens. As for "jumping over people," though individuals may differ in wealth and status, the dignity of life is equal for all. Thus, when encountering someone lying on the ground, one should detour around them rather than step over them.

When Zhai Lin and Master Zhengshu were lodging in a temple, their seats happened to face away from the divine statue. The master reminded them: "Turn your chairs around so as not to turn your backs to the sacred image." When Zhai Lin asked why, the master explained: "Any representation in human form should not be treated disrespectfully, let alone sacred statues." When Master Guishan (Yang Shi, a Northern Song Confucian scholar) heard this, he greatly admired this teaching. How could those who casually mock human forms understand such principles today?

The sin of harming or aborting fetuses is particularly grave. Even tiny creatures deserve compassion in accordance with Heaven and Earth's virtue of nurturing life (De), which encourages releasing living beings and abstaining from killing—how much more so one's own flesh and blood? Among ignorant people in this world, some seek to conceal evidence of illicit pregnancies, while others resent having many children due to limited family resources. Thus some harm born infants, others abort fetuses. No sin is heavier than this. Have they not heard of Yuan Xiu's retribution?

The Imperial Lord of Zitong (Wenchang Dijun) records in the "Chapter on Saving from Calamities": Yuan Xiu possessed 400,000 in family wealth and had four legitimate sons, yet buried alive all children born of his concubines. One day he dreamed of over ten people coming to kill him. Waking in terror, he found his hands and feet transformed into ox hooves. After three days of writhing in agony on his bed, screaming in torment, he finally died by decapitation. When the underworld officials reported to the Celestial Court, the Heavenly Emperor thundered in wrath: "Only when spiritual nature remains undiminished does one obtain human form; only when celestial deities chant scriptures does the child leave the mother's womb. Foolish men indulge their lust—what crime have the infants committed? By law, this crime warrants double punishment for intentional murder!" Ultimately, Yuan Xiu was eternally imprisoned in hell, his four sons sentenced to punishment, and his 400,000 in assets confiscated. Recently, the Celestial Court specially dispatched the Northern Flying Celestial King to inspect the world—such evils may be punished immediately without waiting for posthumous judgment. Clearly, harming infants provokes the collective wrath of Heaven, Earth, and the divine.

Worldly people also consider daughters "money-losing goods," drowning many baby girls in washbasins. Official He Longtu composed an admonitory song: "Though tigers and wolves are fierce, they know parental love—how can humans, the most spiritual of creatures, prove inferior to beasts? Sons and daughters are both one's own flesh—why raise sons yet abandon daughters? When I witness infanticide, the cruelty is unbearable to behold—the afterbirth still bloody, the infant unable to speak, struggling weakly in the basin until breath fades. Alas, that parental hearts can be so cruel!" I exhort people: do not kill your daughters. A girl in simple thornwood hairpins and coarse cloth need not impoverish the family—arrange marriages according to your means.

This scripture primarily discusses two types of behavior that incur karmic retribution: committing evil deeds in secret and indulging in revelry during inauspicious days.

Regarding covert wrongdoing, several grave offenses are emphasized: foremost is the defilement of others' wives and daughters, followed by sabotaging others' career achievements. Among these, violating women is considered most severe as it disrupts human relationships and bloodlines, causing the greatest damage to one's De (Virtue). The example of Li Deng is cited: though originally destined to become the top imperial scholar and chancellor, his repeated evil acts (including attempted seduction of a neighbor's daughter, seizing his elder brother's property, and violating virtuous women) gradually diminished his blessings until he met a sudden, violent death. This illustrates how all hidden misdeeds will eventually be exposed—the more one tries to conceal them, the more evident they become.

Concerning taboos during the "dark day" (month's end) and "La Festival days" (specific annual sacrificial dates): these are crucial periods when deities inspect human morality to determine fortunes. The dark day marks when the Kitchen God ascends to report human merits and faults, while the La Festival represents the year-end divine evaluation. Engaging in singing and dancing during such solemn occasions meant for self-reflection constitutes grave disrespect.

Five specific La days are mentioned: the "Heavenly La" on the first day of the first lunar month, the "Earthly La" on the fifth day of the fifth month, the "Dao-Virtue La" on the seventh day of the seventh month, the "Annual La" on the tenth day of the tenth month, and the "Noble La" on the last Xu day of the twelfth month. During these days when ancestral spirits return to receive offerings, boisterous entertainment is particularly inappropriate.

Even loud wailing on the first day of each month (Shuo Dan) is deemed improper. Though not explicitly explained, contextual understanding suggests such behavior offends celestial and earthly deities.

The first day of each month and the early morning hours are particularly significant times. The first day marks the beginning of a lunar month, while dawn heralds the start of a new day. If one shouts in anger during these periods, it causes turbid Qi to rise with liver fire while vital energy scatters with the outburst. This leads to mental confusion, murky breath, and obstructs the generation of benevolent thoughts. Buddhist scriptures also state that wrath is the root of losing all virtuous dharmas and the cause for falling into evil paths—it must be swiftly abandoned and not allowed to flourish. If anger should generally be avoided with care, how much more so during these critical hours of the month and day?

Facing north to spit, blow one’s nose, or urinate is a grave taboo. The north is the dwelling direction of the Great Dipper Lord (an important Daoist deity), where the North Star serves as the pivot of the celestial dome, governing the myriad spirits of the Three Realms and Ten Directions. The Dipper of the Central Heaven is revered as the supreme authority—how can one defile such a sacred direction? According to the Scripture of Long Life, "north" does not only refer to due north; any direction aligned with the monthly celestial markers—east in spring, south in summer, west in autumn, and north in winter—counts as offending the Dipper’s handle and must be carefully avoided.

Singing or weeping before the kitchen stove is also improper. The Yellow Emperor’s Scripture of the Hearth (a classic text of the Stove God, who oversees a household’s fortunes) states: one must not sing, weep, curse, or shout before the stove. People today wouldn’t dare raise their voices before a government office—how much more irreverent would it be to sing or weep before the Stove God, who governs destiny? Is this not blasphemy against the divine?

Using stove fire to burn incense is another prohibition. Incense must remain pure to honor the gods; burning it with tainted firewood is deeply disrespectful. According to the liturgical rules of the Celestial Master (Zhang Daoling) tradition, ashes and embers from the stove are called "dragon’s waste" and must never be used for incense. Daoist texts list further incense taboos: oil-stained paper spills must not light incense; when offering to the True Warrior Emperor, plums are forbidden in summer and pomegranates in winter; when summoning higher deities, frankincense and sandalwood (known as "bathing incense") must not be burned; monthly roses are called "untimely flowers," and golden paulownia blossoms are termed "ghost flowers"—all to be avoided.

Cooking with impure firewood is likewise unacceptable. Though the fire burns below, its smoke rises upward; the foul Qi from unclean wood offends the Stove God, making such fuel unfit for meal preparation.

Going naked when rising at night is especially to be avoided. Day belongs to Yang, night to Yin—after dark is precisely when spirits conduct their inspections and transitions.

This scripture primarily discusses the taboos and virtuous practices to observe during specific seasonal periods and when encountering natural phenomena.

Regarding the "Eight Solar Terms" (the eight key seasonal nodes: Beginning of Spring, Spring Equinox, Beginning of Summer, Summer Solstice, Beginning of Autumn, Autumn Equinox, Beginning of Winter, and Winter Solstice), these are days when various deities descend to examine human virtue and vice. During these periods, one should maintain purity and harmony, perform good deeds to accumulate De (Virtue/Power), and refrain even from corporal punishment—let alone killing. The text cites the example of He Bigan, an official who reduced prisoners' punishments during these solar terms and was later blessed by immortals, with his descendants enjoying prosperity for generations—a karmic reward for his seasonal leniency. The Shangqing Zhenren (high-ranking Daoist immortals) also emphasize performing virtuous acts during these periods, avoiding anger and disputes, and strictly prohibiting punishments.

Similar reverence should extend to celestial phenomena: one must never spit at shooting stars (ancients considered them not ominous but believed spitting would invite misfortune—better to reflect and cultivate virtue); never point at rainbows (considered auspicious manifestations of stellar Qi—the text mentions how Confucius witnessed a crimson rainbow transforming into jade while composing the Classic of Filial Piety); nor casually point at the sun, moon or stars (seen as disrespectful—the text recounts how during a drought in Jinling, a governor's sincere prayers brought divine guidance for rain).

These teachings instruct people to revere nature and harmonize with celestial timing. During specific seasonal periods especially, one must practice caution and virtue to receive heavenly protection.

This passage recounts several stories and principles about revering heaven and earth while respecting nature.

The first tale tells of an official who met an eighty-year-old man. Throughout his life, the old man had revered the Three Luminaries of heaven, earth, sun, and moon (referring to the sun, moon, and stars). He always carried an umbrella when going outdoors to relieve himself, using it to shield his body so that impurities would not offend the Three Luminaries. Later, when the official asked him to pray for rain, the old man vowed to burn himself alive if rain did not come within three days—and sure enough, heavy rain soon poured from the skies.

The text particularly emphasizes that one should not gaze directly at the sun or moon for extended periods. The sun and moon are the palaces of the Solar and Lunar Deities, shining upon the human world on behalf of heaven, and thus hold a sacred status. In Daoist tradition, the sun is worshipped on the first day of the second lunar month, and the moon on the fifteenth day of the eighth month—though today, only the moon festival remains in folk custom.

Burning forests for hunting (known as liaolie) is considered a grave offense, especially in spring when all things are growing. The records mention retribution for such acts: Xu Xian of Gaoyang once hunted beside the Temple of the King of Vengeance, using fire to encircle three white deer, only for the wind to blow the flames back and burn him to death.

Cursing toward the north is also seen as deeply disrespectful. The north is where the Northern Dipper (Polaris) resides—the position of utmost reverence. Even Guan Ning of ancient times felt uneasy when combing his hair facing north in the morning, fearing he had offended the divine. How much worse, then, to hurl insults, spit, or direct foul language toward the north!

Finally, the text warns against killing turtles without cause. In Daoism, turtles are regarded as sacred creatures, and harming them needlessly invites misfortune.

This passage discusses the Daoist concept of karmic retribution, highlighting several key points:

Certain animals like turtles and snakes hold special significance in Daoism. The turtle-snake combination represents the Black Tortoise of the North (Xuanwu, one of the Four Symbols in Daoist cosmology), considered spiritually potent creatures. Wantonly killing them invites severe retribution. Historical accounts illustrate this principle—Liu Yanhui avoided flood disaster by releasing turtles, while Sun Zhenren (likely referring to Sun Simiao) obtained celestial prescriptions after saving snakes, demonstrating how protecting life brings benevolent rewards.

The severity of punishment corresponds to the degree of wrongdoing. The Director of Destinies (Siming Shen), the deity governing lifespans, deducts years from a person's life according to their transgressions. When all allotted years are exhausted, death follows; particularly heinous sins may even bring calamity upon descendants. Like shadows following forms, retribution arrives with perfect precision.

A crucial emphasis: cosmic justice operates with mathematical exactness. Those committing grave evils may face retribution in their current existence. The case of butcher Pan Qi from Xiushui exemplifies this—after lifelong wickedness, he confronted the unerring justice of the underworld's Yama King postmortem. Yet the living, separated by the Yin-Yang divide, often remain blind to these consequences, persisting in evil—a truly lamentable state.

The text cites a poem by Emperor Zitong (Wenchang Dijun, the Daoist deity of culture) to illustrate: "No medicine cures illnesses born of karmic debt / Ill-gotten wealth won't enrich the destined poor / Frequent misdeeds erode blessings / Unvirtuous conduct ensures lifelong poverty." Cosmic retribution never errs—if not visiting the perpetrator, it will surely befall their descendants.

At its core, this teaching encourages virtue through the logic of karmic cause and effect: protecting life brings rewards while harming creatures and committing evils inevitably invites suffering—sometimes extending across generations.

This individual temporarily returned to the mortal realm, borrowing his own body to warn the masses. First, he cut off his genitals with a knife, declaring this the retribution for his licentiousness. Next, he severed his own limbs, stating this was punishment for his slaughter of living creatures. Finally, he sliced open his abdomen, extracted his heart, and pulled out his internal organs, proclaiming these were the consequences of his treacherous cruelty and countless acts of harming others. The incident quickly spread, drawing crowds of tens of thousands to witness. After delivering these words, he perished.

For those who forcibly seize others' property, retribution will befall their wives, children, and family members. In severe cases, it leads to the destruction of entire households. Even without fatalities, disasters such as floods, fires, robberies, lost possessions, illnesses, and malicious gossip will occur—all serving as repayment for their plundering sins.

(This passage particularly emphasizes how easily one transgresses through greed for wealth. Seizing property by abuse of power is called "forcible taking," and retribution is calculated precisely according to the amount stolen. Those who plunder often act selfishly, unaware that the Director of Fate (Siming) administers justice through their families. Greed may appear profitable but ultimately harms oneself. Buddhist scriptures state that human wealth can be lost through five circumstances: government confiscation, floods, fires, thieves, and unworthy descendants. Here, additional retributive methods are mentioned—lost possessions, illnesses, and slander—making three more categories.)

Several examples illustrate this: When Sun Fen served as an official in Fufeng Commandery, he amassed enormous wealth by extorting commoners. Later, a general demanded his riches unsuccessfully and confiscated his entire family estate under false charges of rebellion, leading to their successive deaths. Wei Gonggan, while governing Qiongzhou, conscripted craftsmen to fell precious timber. Upon leaving office, he loaded two ships with lumber and gold, only for both vessels to sink within a hundred li. Lü Shizao, as prefect of Chizhou, embezzled public funds and oppressed the people. While returning home, his ship docked at Zhuxiao Port when suddenly an unidentified object leaped aboard, igniting a fire that reduced the entire cargo to ashes. When Ding Wei was exiled to Zhuya, bandits robbed him at Pengpo Inn, stripping him of all possessions. Ma Xiang, a grain transport official in Xichuan, fled in panic with fifty taels of silver during a rebellion.

This scripture illustrates the principle that evil deeds inevitably bring retribution through several true cases.

The first story tells of a man who threw ten silver ingots into a well to cause mischief, only to find them irretrievable when he later tried to retrieve them. This happened because seizing others' property invites karmic punishment—his family suffered from leprosy for three generations, with no cure from medicine. Hearing that He Kui (a Daoist adept) possessed spiritual methods, he sought his advice. He Kui said, "Your household must be haunted by merit objects taken from others." Upon returning home and questioning his mother, she recalled that the silk window curtain before their Buddhist altar had been looted during a siege. They immediately removed it, performed a Zhaijiao (Daoist purification ritual) to return it, and the illness vanished. This exemplifies how sickness offsets karmic debt.

Another case involves Liu Zhi, who was tasked with auditing the Shu palace treasury but plundered its wealth wantonly, drawing widespread condemnation. After leaving office, he attempted to redeem himself by overseeing an official shipment of goods, only to have them forcibly seized by County Magistrate Luo Fan in Xindu. Here, slander and disputes served as the means of karmic repayment. Such retribution is unmistakable—those who profit unjustly seldom foresee it, yet the cosmic ledger never errs by even a fraction.

The scripture particularly emphasizes that wrongful killing is the gravest sin, akin to mutual slaughter with blades. Specifically: generals who fail to restrain soldiers from indiscriminate killing, officials who abuse judicial power to execute the innocent, physicians whose misdiagnoses or prescriptions cause deaths, those who kill through abortion due to lust, or even those who murder in fits of rage or on slanderous rumors—all invite reciprocal vengeance. Outwardly, they kill others; inwardly, they destroy themselves.

A supplementary case involves physician Liu Dachu, whose misdiagnosis led to the death of Judicial Officer Xue’s wife. Years later, a veiled woman visited him in broad daylight, detailing his past medical errors. Terrified, Liu returned home and died. Many incompetent doctors harm people today—just because they haven’t yet encountered vengeful spirits doesn’t mean their karmic debts are settled. Another example is Xu, a surgeon in Dangtu, who agreed to treat wealthy man Jiang Shunming’s back abscess for three hundred gold coins....

This passage recounts the story of an incompetent physician named Xu who harmed others and ultimately faced retribution:

When a man named Jiang developed a festering wound, Xu insisted on first draining the pus with medication. Deliberately prolonging treatment, he extorted exorbitant fees from Jiang, threatening to withhold pain relief unless paid. Jiang only agreed to pay half, so Xu inserted the medicated wick too deeply into the wound—when he pulled it out, Jiang bled to death. Later, Xu was reported and sentenced to punishment, escaping only through bribery. But soon after, he fell mysteriously ill, constantly crying, "Jiang Shunming, don’t beat me!" Within days, he too died.

The author uses this to illustrate: harming others through medical incompetence may be manslaughter, but exploiting desperation for profit is deliberate harm. Some unscrupulous doctors deliberately prolong mild illnesses into severe ones to profit, unaware that retribution follows swiftly.

Two metaphors then warn the world: ill-gotten wealth is like eating rotten meat to stave off hunger or drinking poisoned wine to quench thirst—it may bring temporary satisfaction but quickly proves fatal. Wealth obtained unjustly, whether through force or deceit, stems from greed. Blinded by profit, people first abandon moral judgment, then even disregard their own lives—is this seeking death? No, it’s pure avarice!

Finally, quoting Hu Jiadong, the text criticizes contemporary corruption: some officials profit by handling lawsuits or securing appointments for locals, believing it righteous to exonerate the guilty or secure undeserved promotions. Yet justice and governance are state affairs—twisting truth with a single letter, letting criminals escape and the incompetent rise, makes them robbers in official robes! To hoard such wealth for descendants is no different from passing off poisoned wine as an elixir of immortality.

(Note: "Rotten meat" refers to meat spoiled by roof leaks; "poisoned wine" is legendary venom-laced liquor.)

This scripture explains how human thoughts and intentions instantly attract corresponding blessings or misfortunes. Just as poisonous "leaking jerky" (meat spoiled by dripping rainwater) and "zhen wine" (liquor poisoned with zhen bird feathers) can be fatal, the moment good or evil thoughts arise, auspicious or malevolent spirits immediately follow.

When a virtuous thought emerges in your heart, even before being acted upon, benevolent deities are already protecting you. Conversely, when wicked intentions form, though not yet carried out, baleful ghosts have already marked you. There was a garrison soldier named Zhang Wang in Jiangyin who stole vegetables at night and was punished by being dunked in a cesspit. Filled with resentment, he planned arson as revenge. On his way, a painter saw dozens of evil spirits following him. Later, when he reconsidered and realized the endless cycle of vengeance, deciding to abandon his plan, the pursuing demons transformed into blue-robed attendants guiding his path. This mirrors the story of Yuan Zishi, demonstrating how the moment thoughts arise, cosmic resonance responds immediately.

The Scripture of Central Admonition states that all human thoughts and words are heard by spirits. Shao Kangjie (the Northern Song Neo-Confucian scholar) also remarked that while people perceive good and evil through speech and actions, spirits already know thoughts the moment they sprout. Therefore, noble persons must examine themselves at the inception of every thought. Zhao Kangjing (Zhao Bian) of the Song dynasty recorded his thoughts with black and white beans: white beans for virtuous thoughts, black beans for wicked ones. Initially, black beans predominated, but gradually decreased until even the need for recording vanished.

The scripture concludes by emphasizing that past misdeeds can be transformed through sincere repentance, abandoning evil and cultivating goodness with perseverance—eventually turning misfortune into blessing. Like the game of "either/or" (referring to moral choices), one must choose between paths, with the crucial point being timely reformation toward virtue.

This passage explains how individuals can transform their destiny by changing their conduct. The author illustrates through two stories of repentant bandits attaining enlightenment that even the most wicked people can receive blessings if they sincerely reform.

There was a notorious robber named Aye Lü who once entered a Buddhist temple at night and saw a lamp about to go out. When he used his sword to adjust the wick, the lamp suddenly blazed brightly, awakening his conscience. He immediately abandoned his evil ways and later attained the Dao through cultivation. Another bandit, Zhu Tun, fled to Mount Zhongnan (a sacred Daoist mountain) after committing crimes and spent days and nights in repentance. Moved by his sincerity, the Daoist master Feng Jun taught him cultivation methods. Through diligent practice, Zhu Tun eventually ascended as an immortal. The author emphasizes that while bandits and enlightened beings may seem worlds apart, genuine repentance opens the path to the Dao, proving that self-renewal is the most direct gateway to spiritual progress.

However, the Taishang Ganying Pian (Treatise on the Response of the Dao) warns against misinterpreting the saying "lay down the butcher’s knife and become a Buddha instantly" as an excuse to believe minor good deeds can offset grave misdeeds. Just as a cup of water cannot extinguish a cartload of burning firewood, superficial acts of virtue are futile against accumulated evil. True repentance requires "abstaining from all wrongs and practicing every good"—not only completely ceasing harmful actions but also persistently accumulating virtuous deeds over time to dissolve karmic burdens and turn misfortune into blessings. Some today, fully aware of their wrongdoing, foolishly expect priests or monks to absolve their sins through rituals—an effort as absurd as dousing a fire with a single cup of water.

The passage concludes: A virtuous person who daily speaks good words, observes good deeds, and performs good acts (the "three goods") will surely receive heavenly blessings after three years. Conversely, a wicked person who daily speaks malice, witnesses evil, and commits wrongdoing (the "three evils") will inevitably incur divine retribution after three years. Here, the terms "auspicious person" (jiren, one destined for fortune) and "inauspicious person" (xiongren, one doomed to calamity) replace "good" and "evil" to stress that virtue itself is fortune, while wickedness is its own punishment. "Speaking good" includes avoiding improper speech, joyfully praising others’ virtuous acts, and inspiring kindness in others.

The Taishang Ganying Pian with Collected Commentaries primarily expounds on the principle of karmic retribution for good and evil deeds, with particular emphasis on the gravity of verbal karma (karmic consequences arising from speech).

Regarding karmic retribution: When witnessing virtuous acts, one should maintain natural detachment as if having seen nothing, while cultivating an affinity for virtuous individuals and deriving joy from reading texts that encourage goodness. In performing good deeds, one must exert full effort, avoid transgressing ritual propriety, and inspire others to join in virtuous conduct. Evil actions produce precisely the opposite effects. If one persists in unwavering virtuous practice for three years (approximately a thousand days), the blessings of a lifetime become discernible. Such blessings manifest as described in the opening passage—receiving human reverence and celestial protection, whereas misfortunes appear as poverty, depletion, and persistent afflictions. Typically, retribution becomes evident within three years, illustrating the adage: "Misfortunes and blessings have no gates—they are summoned by people themselves."

The Dao of Heaven operates thus: Virtuous acts inevitably attract blessings, while evil deeds unfailingly invite calamity. Retribution may manifest either in one's own person or upon descendants. Sometimes blessings hide within misfortunes, and misfortunes lurk within blessings. Yang-world punishments arrive swiftly yet may be averted, whereas yin-world retribution, though delayed, never fails. Contemporary individuals often expect immediate rewards for minor good deeds, complaining of Heaven's injustice at the slightest disappointment. They fail to recognize that freedom from hunger and cold, absence of disasters, scholars' undisturbed study, farmers' peaceful cultivation, frequent laughter, and rare sorrow—these constitute the blessings of peace.

Special emphasis falls on verbal karma as paramount: Most karmic offenses in human life stem from speech transgressions. Examples include deceiving the ignorant, slandering classmates, attacking relatives, mocking sages, exposing others' shortcomings, cursing people, making callous remarks about others' misfortunes, ridiculing the disabled, suppressing the talented through envy, blaming Heaven and others, duplicitous speech, spreading malicious rumors, swearing false oaths in deities' names, boisterous singing and dancing during Daoist fasting days (like the last day of the lunar month or La Month), venting anger at dawn on the new moon, chanting or weeping before the kitchen stove, or hurling abuse northward—all constitute verbal offenses.

Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist recluse) patiently guided people toward goodness and ultimately attained immortality, while Ge Xuan (the renowned Three Kingdoms Daoist) achieved Daoist transcendence through habitual virtuous speech. These cases demonstrate that words too may accumulate merit. Even if one cannot create blessings through speech, one must at least refrain from using it to create evil.

Why do people only create negative karma through speech? Why not strive to practice virtuous deeds? This statement encapsulates the core message of the entire text—after thousands of words, the ultimate teaching is simply to urge people to do good. The phrase "why not" connects with the preceding discussion about blessings and misfortunes, implying: Even if one is unwilling to do good, can they truly not desire blessings? This serves as a profound warning to humanity. The word "strive" emphasizes diligent practice, because only those with deep roots of virtue can naturally perform good deeds. Yet such individuals are exceedingly rare in this world; most must make conscious efforts to achieve meaningful progress.

The Book of Documents states, "Understanding principles is not difficult—the true challenge lies in putting them into practice." The Avatamsaka Sutra offers the analogy: "It is like someone who, facing a feast, would rather starve." The Celestial Venerable of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianzun) makes it even clearer: "I expound these scriptures to deliver beings in this decadent age. Those who follow this path, even if initially harboring doubts or slander, will ultimately come to faith. But those who fail to practice, though they may observe fasting and recite scriptures, will struggle to develop genuine belief." The teachings of the sages from the Three Traditions (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism) are profoundly insightful.

Zhou Gucheng proposed six delusions to overcome when cultivating the Tract of Actions and Retributions: First, self-righteousness—ordinary people often believe they have few faults, yet negligence in minor matters breeds transgressions, necessitating constant self-reflection and correction. Second, fear of difficulty—true learning requires reverential awe; abandoning practice due to hardship is self-defeating, so one must persist in self-examination. Third, procrastination—urging change requires resolute determination, like cutting tangled hemp with a sharp blade. Fourth, craving fame—seeking recognition for good deeds diminishes their merit; ancient sages called true virtue "hidden virtue" precisely because it remains unknown. Fifth, impatient pursuit of blessings—cultivation should focus on self-refinement while awaiting destiny; obsessing over results weakens the power of goodness. Sixth, inconsistency—sporadic practice is equivalent to no practice at all, as the ancients said, "The virtuous always feel there's never enough time for good deeds."

These principles all point to one truth: The essence of virtuous practice lies in sustained action, not mere words or utilitarian motives. Genuine cultivation requires dispelling distracting thoughts and grounding oneself in tangible practice.

The Collected Commentaries on the Treatise on Response and Retribution discusses six negative mental states to overcome in spiritual practice, along with five corresponding positive states of mind. It begins by emphasizing that no one attains success on the path of cultivation by abandoning it midway. One must eliminate six delusions: an arrogant mindset gives rise to humility; escapism and fear transform into steadfast faith; procrastination and laziness develop into courageous diligence; craving for empty fame and blessings awakens one's authentic heart; an intermittent practice cultivates perseverance. The author asserts that he has never encountered anyone who achieved these transformations yet failed to align with the Supreme Dao (Taishang refers to the ultimate Dao).

The latter part provides publication details. It mentions how the author's great-grandfather, the Lord Tongfeng (an ancient official title), devoted his life to reverently practicing the Treatise on Response and Retribution, hand-copying and circulating no fewer than several dozen editions. He believed no moral guide throughout history surpassed this text. This annotated edition was originally carved during the author's tenure as Palace Academician (an official serving the crown prince), jointly funded with Lord Chen Wenzhen of Zezhou (modern Jincheng, Shanxi). As the original woodblocks were lost over time, this new edition is based on a family-preserved copy, honoring ancestral aspirations while sharing it with fellow practitioners. The colophon records the publication date as the first day of the third lunar month in the 51st year of the Qianlong reign (1786), respectfully noted by Zha Ying of Haichang (modern Haining, Zhejiang).

Note: The Treatise on Response and Retribution is a renowned Daoist ethical text emphasizing cosmic resonance between heaven and humanity, and the principle of karmic retribution. Its immense influence peaked during the Ming-Qing periods. The "six delusions and five minds" cultivation method reflects Daoism's characteristic dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu), revealing one's fundamental true nature through dissolving delusions.