《唱道真言》

The Supreme Lord of Southern Paradise (a revered Daoist deity), moved by boundless compassion and great vows, descended to the mortal realm with his sacred virtue (De). Radiating spiritual light, he established an altar to expound scriptures, enduring countless kalpas to deliver all beings. This supreme Daoist patriarch and immortal master left behind these teachings.

I observe that many who cultivate the Dao (the Way) often stray onto wrong paths. They idly discuss lead and mercury (Neidan terminology representing alchemical elements), deluding people with empty theories. These individuals vainly pursue longevity while actually transmitting only superficial techniques, yet presumptuously believe they possess the core mysteries. Putting on airs as masters while coveting disciples' offerings—whenever I witness such scenes, I cannot help but sigh at their transgressions.

True practitioners must first achieve enlightenment of mind and realization of true nature. How else can one transcend the constraints of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), coexisting with the Supreme Void (cosmic origin)? Therefore, when genuine immortals deliver people, they always begin with mind cultivation. One must refine the heart-mind until it becomes crystal-clear and pure like a lapis lazuli vessel. Then infinite wonders will naturally manifest from the original mind—every thought perfectly harmonious, the spirit completely luminous. Even the secret transmissions of ancient immortals will become spontaneously clear.

When one can truly apply the principles of mind cultivation to the dual cultivation of nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), they naturally attain the ability to express profound truths, mysteriously aligning with cosmic principles, becoming invulnerable to demonic obstructions and eternal misfortunes. The alchemical path should be lively and natural, yet worldly "masters" rigidly follow texts, imposing stiff methods on everyone—like using cotton balls as pellets or gluing zither pegs while expecting to achieve the Great Dao (the Way). This is truly difficult.

On the jia-chen day of the third month in the jiyou year, at dawn, the disciple Hequzi attained realization during cultivation. The Emperor of Literary Fortune (a deity overseeing scholarly destiny), who shared karmic ties with Hequzi, manifested at the altar that day. For nearly three years, the essence of what I've transmitted to Hequzi boils down to two words: "refining the mind." All my thousands of words ultimately clarify this fundamental principle. This is the shared path of all sages, the necessary road to the Jade Capital on Mount Daluo (the highest Daoist celestial realm). Countless perfected beings (Zhenren) in heaven—none can roam freely in the realm of true light without these two words.

The disciples of the Primordial Heavenly King (Yuanshi Tianwang, the supreme deity of Daoism) each underwent trials, yet none truly succeeded. I recall when first transmitting the Dao methods at the altar, I taught Crane-Quiet Master (a practitioner's Daoist name) the two characters "refining the heart" (lianxin). Initially skeptical, he believed internal alchemy (neidan) must involve secret oral instructions, while "refining the heart" seemed commonplace—something anyone could claim to practice. Thus his questions and inquiries mostly concerned techniques for cultivating vital life-force (minggong).

Each time I responded, I thoroughly expounded the principles of "refining the heart." After a year, Crane-Quiet Master made tangible progress in practice and genuinely grasped its profundity, finally believing this master spoke no empty theories. Immortals seeking to deliver sentient beings must first help them comprehend the deathless nature (xing), then cultivate deathless life-force—this is the so-called "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu).

Reflecting on my philosophical exchanges with Crane-Quiet Master, three winters and summers have swiftly passed. The waters of Penglai Immortal Isle have ebbed and flowed; the peaches of immortality have blossomed and withered. We composed gathas in the Plum Pavilion and discussed profound principles in the Plantain Studio—each insight was reverently recorded by Crane-Quiet Master afterward, accumulating over fifty thousand characters. Wishing to share these publicly as a model for future cultivation, he requested my preface.

Though the essential teachings are thoroughly documented, I fear worldly people may dismiss "refining the heart" as too simplistic and refuse sincere belief. Thus I particularly emphasize these two characters again. Since beginningless kalpas, this old man has vowed before the Primordial Heavenly King to deliver countless beings, never daring to deceive present and future generations with empty words.

Crane-Quiet Master respectfully presented the scripture: "The master's preface is excellent, but this scripture propagating profound teachings for myriad generations cannot remain unnamed." I replied: "These two characters 'refining the heart' contain the Perfected Lord Laozi's (Taishang Laojun) true method for delivering humanity and illuminating the Great Dao. Shall we name it True Words on Proclaiming the Dao (Changdao Zhenyan)?" Descending the steps to kowtow, Crane-Quiet Master exclaimed: "Magnificent!" Thereupon, the Azure Radiance Elder (the author's self-reference) took up the brush to compose this scripture.

The preface to Chandao Zhenyan (True Words of Singing the Dao) was composed by the Celestial Worthy of Azure Radiance (Qinghua Shangdi) of the Southern Pole Heavenly Palace. Opening with sacred honorifics, this celestial being is portrayed as embodying great compassion and vast vows—a supreme, benevolent existence capable of embracing all things, protecting sentient beings, dispelling calamities, and universally delivering humanity.

The scripture’s core teachings are divided into two parts: first, the cultivation of mind and nature (xing), and second, the cultivation of life’s foundational essence (ming). By practicing according to these methods, one may illuminate the mind, realize one’s true nature, and stabilize the roots of life. At that stage, there will be no need to forcibly eliminate the "six thieves" (the sensory desires of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) or the "three corpses" (the three malevolent spirits within the body)—they will naturally dissipate. Upon attaining the Great Dao (Da Dao), one may ascend to the celestial realms of Shangqing (Highest Clarity), with ancestral generations elevated to the heavens and descendants eternally connected to the immortal path. This represents the most sublime method of cultivation, the essential path all practitioners must follow.

Yet the scripture issues a stern warning: those who disrespect celestial decrees, defile sacred words, or mishandle the text—such as casually perusing it in the presence of women or failing to store it in a pure place—will have their transgressions recorded by guardian deities and reported to the Lords of the Northern and Southern Dippers (divinities governing life, death, and fortune). Such offenders will suffer misfortunes in life and descent into the underworld after death. Only if an adept, having attained the Dao, petitions the Dipper Palaces (abodes of the stellar deities) for a pardon may they hope for deliverance.

Though originally composed for Hequzi (a specific practitioner), this scripture is in fact suited for all destined individuals. Through mind cultivation, one may become a sage; through life cultivation (minggong), an immortal. It offers seekers a ladder of ascension while fulfilling the Celestial Worthy’s vow to universally deliver beings. However, transmitting the scripture demands utmost caution: withholding it from the worthy or carelessly bestowing it upon the unworthy alike invite celestial punishment.

Transmission must consider timing and recipient. Only when encountering an upright, virtuous seeker—whose ancestors have neither provoked heaven’s wrath nor violated moral principles—may the teachings be shared. Even then, repeated admonitions against reckless dissemination are necessary. Yet if a person is truly virtuous, ancestral misdeeds should not bar their access. Truly great sages are rare; such individuals possess superior spiritual capacity (shangdeng genqi). Even former wrongdoers who repent at midlife and sincerely turn to the Dao deserve this opportunity.

This scripture speaks of the boundless compassion of Lord Laozi (the supreme deity of Daoism) who seeks universal salvation for all beings. It conveys that between heaven and earth, every individual has the opportunity to study and cultivate the Dao, for all possess innate spiritual nature and the potential to attain immortality. The reason immortality remains elusive is because people are obscured by worldly habits, mistaking illusion for reality, endlessly sinking in the cycle of rebirth. They regard paradise as a foreign land while treating hell as a familiar home—this is truly lamentable.

I hope all who encounter this scripture will vow to diligently practice, ultimately reaching the state of lotus rebirth. In truth, the path to immortality is not distant; sincere pursuit alone can lead one there. Those who cultivate this scripture must first observe fasting (dietary precepts) and uphold moral discipline, establish an altar in a purified chamber, light twelve types of ritual incense (used in Daoist ceremonies), and pay homage to numerous celestial deities including the Heavenly Worthy of Doumu (Mother of the Big Dipper Lords), the Seven True Lords of the Northern Dipper, and the Imperial Lord Wenchang of the Southern Dipper. They must also make offerings to past patriarchs of the lineage. Only after forty-nine days of such practice may one formally begin reading the scripture. When reciting, one must not be improperly dressed nor come into contact with defilements.

Wherever this scripture resides, celestial beings will descend, filling the space with auspicious Qi (vital energy) that opens the heart and clarifies the mind. However, if treated disrespectfully, the deities will not come, and malevolent influences may instead arise. In daily life, one should restrain desires and accumulate virtuous deeds. On days when the Northern Dipper Lords descend, practitioners should retreat into quiet cultivation, single-mindedly paying homage to the celestial realms. Then, the Dipper Lords will erase one’s name from the register of death and inscribe it in the ledger of life, safeguarding the household and granting enlightenment in times of need. If a cultivator reverently and sincerely practices this scripture, Lord Laozi will protect them as tenderly as an infant, infusing their crown with divine light to steadily increase their wisdom.

This scripture expounds on the manifold divine protections bestowed upon those who devoutly cultivate the Changdao Zhenyan (True Words of Chanting the Dao). It states that practitioners who maintain unwavering faith will receive blessings in all circumstances—when serving as court officials, they will know the timely moment to withdraw from public life; when dwelling at home, their descendants will be filial and virtuous, protected from external oppression; when retreating to mountain forests, venomous creatures and mountain spirits will keep their distance without daring to disturb; when crossing rivers, the water dragon deities will bow in reverence, calming wind and waves; when seeking alms in marketplaces, people of all ages will greet them with joyful hearts, willingly offering donations.

Practitioners will be shielded from disasters of flood, fire, and warfare, and their spiritual practice will remain undisturbed by heterodox teachings or demonic interference. The "I" in the text (referring to the transmitting deity) vows constant guardianship until the cultivator accomplishes the Great Dao (Da Dao) and attains vast spiritual powers (Shentong)—only then is the divine pledge fulfilled. The passage concludes by invoking the Buddhist classic's assertion that "the Tathagata never speaks falsehood," affirming that Daoist deities likewise honor their sacred promises. Through vivid depictions of life situations, this scripture emphasizes how sincere devotion to Daoist practice ensures comprehensive protection, ultimately leading to the fruition of Dao-realization.

The Great Lord of Qinghua from the Southern Pole Celestial Palace (a revered Daoist deity governing longevity in the East), as the spiritual leader of Fusang (the land of sunrise symbolizing the East), holds the principles of Taiyi (the cosmic origin). His Qi circulates through the nine celestial realms, and his authority governs the Five Sacred Mountains. He manifests countless transformations to reveal the mysteries of attaining immortality to humanity. This supremely compassionate and sagely Celestial Worthy delivers boundless beings through auspicious responses—the unsurpassed Daoist patriarch and immortal master who bestows Fulu (certification of spiritual attainment) upon cultivators.

Now we explain the cultivation method of the "Scripture of Clarity and Stillness." Clarity and stillness refer to achieving inner purity and tranquility. Most human afflictions stem from deluded thoughts; even after eliminating these, distracting thoughts still linger. The method to dissolve distractions lies in Neiguan (inner observation): initially one remains aware of thoughts, gradually reaching a thought-free state. When thoughtlessness reaches its zenith, even the concept of "self" dissolves—like still water without ripples, or the moon's reflection leaving no shadow. This isn't empty nothingness but crystalline clarity where everything is distinctly present; seemingly void yet containing all. At this stage, one must neither cling to the state nor deliberately ponder—within this luminous stillness, the essential secret of Neidan (internal alchemy) becomes complete.

Accumulating virtue is the path to immortality, and virtue accumulation begins with filial piety. While material charity may be beyond the means of the impoverished, speaking words that encourage goodness or prevent wrongdoing costs nothing but breath, yet brings immeasurable blessings to others—this constitutes the greatest hidden virtue. Reciting the "Great Cavern Scripture" and chanting the Doumu incantation (the mantra of the Mother of the Big Dipper deities) can elevate ancestors, adding blessings to departed kin—this too embodies filial devotion. Avoid reading trivial books and engaging in frivolous pastimes. When occupied, handle affairs conscientiously with sincere benevolence for the people's welfare; when unoccupied, sit in serene stillness—either chanting scriptures or silently paying homage to the Celestial Worthy (visualizing reverence for the divine), aligning every thought with the supreme sacred truth.

These supremely compassionate deities regard cultivators with the constant care of a mother for her infant. How could a child yearn for its mother while she remains indifferent? Alas, human life passes swiftly—sages treasure every moment, and we should cherish every second—this is indeed profound truth. Aspiration must be true aspiration, learning must be true learning—persevere until spiritual radiance shines through, and the immortal isles and celestial palaces appear before you—this is fundamentally the Great Path, a gateway to the realm of perfect freedom.

Within the square inch of the human heart (referring to the inner self), this very path leads to the celestial realm, and this very gate serves as the entrance to the Dao. As long as one is willing to take the first step upward, tread this great path, and enter this sacred gateway—so long as one's thoughts remain undistorted—the footsteps will naturally become light. Becoming an immortal or attaining Buddhahood is actually quite an effortless matter.

When reading the Qingjing Jing (Scripture of Clarity and Stillness), one must contemplate each sentence carefully, comprehending every phrase thoroughly. When one's heart resonates with the heart of the Supreme Truth (Shangzhen), genuine attainment will naturally follow. Reaching the profound state of "forgetting words" is the true mark of cultivation. Those distracting thoughts are not difficult to eliminate—simply let them arise and dissipate, cutting them off swiftly like a sharp blade. During seated meditation, do not forcibly suppress the mind. If one overly restrains oneself out of fear of wandering thoughts, the heart's nature will become unyielding, and the radiance of spiritual awareness will struggle to emerge. What one should truly do is maintain a free and unconstrained state, with a mind as vast and open as the primordial void (Taixu), unburdened by external things. The ancients contemplated the principle of "the equilibrium before the stirring of joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure." Yet if one rigidly clings to this notion of "equilibrium," one actually deviates from true equilibrium.

Distracting thoughts are like floating clouds—though they exist, they do not truly affect the sky. With sustained practice over time, the root source of these thoughts will naturally be severed, leading to a state of empty clarity. The earlier metaphor of floating clouds for distracting thoughts is quite apt. As for the unavoidable social interactions of daily life—unless one is a Daoist monk secluded in the mountains—who can entirely avoid them? Here is a method I can teach you: when encountering situations that evoke joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure, respond appropriately in the moment, then let go without leaving a trace. Just as wind, thunder, and lightning are inevitable phenomena in nature, we cannot say that these phenomena are the sky itself. Similarly, joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are unavoidable emotions of the human heart, but they are not the essence of the heart. The sky has its true substance, and the heart has its true substance. Though we must engage with worldly affairs, the inner mind must always remain clear and luminous—both awakened and dynamically alive. This is the essential secret of cultivation.

To practice Neidan (internal alchemy), one must first refine the heart-mind. The method of refining the heart lies in using the elimination of idle thoughts as the gateway to purity. The secret transmitted by immortal masters through the ages is nothing other than this. When not a single distracting thought arises in the mind, the state of "empty whiteness" (a pure, luminous realm) naturally emerges. Only then can one's Jing (essence) be called true Jing, one's Qi (vital energy) true Qi, and one's Shen (spirit) true Shen. Uniting these three—true Jing, true Qi, and true Shen—one refines them into the "millet-sized pearl" (the initial form of the inner elixir), which then matures into the Yang Shen (the higher form of the primordial spirit). This is how the Dao of immortality is achieved. The work of uniting Shen with Qi lies in tranquil nourishment, much like Mencius's teaching to "preserve the heart and nourish the nature." The key to uniting Qi with Shen lies in disciplined maintenance, akin to Mencius's instruction to "hold fast to the will and not dissipate the Qi."

The foundation of cultivation lies in maintaining clarity of spirit (Shen) and emptiness of mind, much like Mencius' saying that "the best way to cultivate one's nature is to reduce desires." Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen may appear as three separate components, but in truth they form an inseparable unity. Both Shen and Qi are governed by Jing—when one preserves Jing, the spirit naturally flourishes; when Jing is intact, Qi flows smoothly. By further applying cultivation methods and the art of reversion, there's no need to worry about failing to form the spiritual embryo (the initial achievement in Neidan practice) or refine the Great Elixir (advanced Neidan).

Attempting alchemical practice without first cultivating one's nature is like trying to make a horse run while hobbling its legs. Cultivating one's nature constitutes half the work on the path to immortality. When the mind is purified, the spirit becomes clear; when the spirit is clear, Qi gathers; when Qi gathers, Jing stabilizes. The terms found in alchemical scriptures—foundation-laying, medicinal ingredients, furnace and cauldron, lead and mercury, dragon and tiger, sun and moon, Kan (Water) and Li (Fire)—all fundamentally refer to this cultivation of nature. As for specific methods of coordination, interactions, ascending and descending techniques, or firing processes, these are secondary. If the mind remains turbid and entangled with desires, even the strongest foundation will crumble, the most complete ingredients will be deficient, the furnace will crack, the dragon and tiger will fight, the sun and moon will dim, and Kan-Li will fall into disharmony. In such cases, attempts at coordination will fail to balance Yin-Yang; efforts to understand interactions will find water and fire incompatible; what should ascend will descend, and what should descend will rise. The Three Corpses (malevolent spirits believed to reside in the body) will bring calamity, and the Six Thieves (sensory desires from eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) will cause chaos—like trying to extinguish a cartload of burning firewood with a cup of water. Thus, the saying that "cultivating nature is half the work of immortality" reveals profound truth, piercing through celestial secrets and smashing obstacles on the path.

Cultivating one's nature remains the practitioner's constant priority from beginning to end. If the mind is clogged with distractions, even attained alchemical methods become heterodox paths; even achieved immortality would only make one a "stubborn immortal" (a low-grade transcendent), unfit for entry into the Mystic Gate's registers of immortality, unworthy to pay homage to the Great Luo Heaven's celestials, or to enter the Mahayana Dharma Gate. Therefore, to form the sacred embryo (advanced Neidan), one must first realize perfect enlightenment. This regulating work depends entirely on the ascending and descending of Qi, which in turn relies wholly on tranquil observation. Tranquility here isn't dead stillness—within stillness there is movement, but not ordinary movement; it's the natural revolution of creation. Observation isn't rigid fixation—within observation there is awareness, but not ordinary awareness; it's the intuitive perception of numinous light. To be tranquil and then observe, to observe while remaining tranquil—this is true tranquil observation. At this stage, though the furnace and cauldron seem empty, the medicinal ingredients are substantial; water's nature becomes firm while fire's intensity turns gentle. Every refinement process, every breath, becomes an opportunity for cultivation.

This scripture expounds the core principles of "refining the heart-mind" (lianxin) in Daoist cultivation. Practitioners must attain a state of harmonious alignment with the celestial movements of heaven and earth, the sun and moon, and the transformations of Yin-Yang and the four seasons. The transition from form to formlessness is called the "millet pearl" (shuzhu, referring to the initial coagulation of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) in Neidan (internal alchemy) practice), while the transformation from formlessness back to form is termed the "yang spirit" (yangshen, the advanced manifestation of Shen (spirit) cultivation). However, without mastering heart-mind refinement, even those who achieve the union of form and spirit will remain trapped by the seven emotions and six desires.

The author employs vivid analogies: just as a warrior attempting to play the zither or a feeble horse traversing treacherous paths, seeking the Golden Elixir (jindan) of immortality without first refining the heart-mind is utterly impossible. Earlier passages state that heart-mind refinement constitutes half the work toward attaining immortality—a fundamental truth recognized by all schools and deeply understood by ancestral masters throughout history. These secret teachings are never transmitted to those not genuinely committed to the Dao.

Heart-mind refinement manifests in two aspects: First is "refining the perceptive heart-mind," akin to a mirror or precious pearl reflecting all phenomena. Though myriad images appear, the mirror's clarity remains untainted by external objects—a state even Confucian sages described. Second is "refining the non-perceptive heart-mind," where even the distinction between perceiver and perceived dissolves. Neither mirror nor reflection exists; here, even the Tathagata Buddha would yield his seat, as all phenomenal worlds merge into the self-nature's radiant light.

In practical cultivation: refining the perceptive heart-mind occurs through dynamic practice—maintaining cool serenity amidst blazing fires. Refining the non-perceptive heart-mind requires stillness—seeing through ten thousand kalpas as fleeting bubbles and lightning flashes while abiding in immutable original nature. Ultimately, these two aspects form a single unity; whether through movement or stillness, all constitutes heart-mind refinement without forced separation.

The text concludes by acknowledging Zhang Ziyang's (renowned Northern Song dynasty Neidan master) unique insights in his alchemical writings as essential guidance for elixir practice. However, his metaphorical descriptions of medicinal gathering and firing times require cross-referencing with other classics for full comprehension.

This scripture reveals that the essential key to cultivating the Dao and attaining immortality lies in "refining the heart-mind." The author observes that some seek miraculous elixirs as heaven-earth secrets, hoping practitioners will quietly contemplate these mysteries. Yet the true path of Dao cultivation is remarkably straightforward—it requires clearing the mind of distracting thoughts, like opening a broad highway that leads directly to one's original nature.

Refining the heart-mind constitutes the fundamental practice for achieving immortality, as challenging as breaching iron walls and bronze barriers. One must devote rigorous effort to seated meditation until all illusions are seen through, only then can one behold their original face and realize the source of the Great Dao. Once this barrier is broken through, one becomes perfectly unobstructed like a luminous pearl, with the yang-spirit (the cultivated primordial spirit through Neidan practice) roaming freely through the dharma realms. Although refining elixirs and tending the inner fire require skill, these prove far easier compared to the work of heart-mind refinement.

Someone asked: "Though I aspire to cultivate the Dao, family obligations entangle me—providing for my household and caring for children leave no quiet space for practice. What should I do?" The master replied: "The essential formula of elixir refinement, though explained in thousands of words, ultimately reduces to two characters: refining the heart. This refinement doesn't require monastic retreat—immortals of ancient times didn't all hide in deep mountains. In daily life, whether eating, working, serving parents, even marching to war—every situation offers opportunities for cultivation. This embodies the ancient teaching: 'cultivate the spirit in activity, cultivate life in stillness.' As for seated meditation, it resembles the Doctrine of the Mean's teaching—maintaining centered harmony amid ordinary affairs."

(Note: "Yang-spirit" refers to the primordial spirit formed through Neidan practice; "Purple Mansion" is a Daoist term denoting the grotto-heavens where immortals dwell; "millet pearl" metaphorically describes the golden elixir as a pearl the size of a millet grain)

This passage discusses maintaining a reverential and cautious mindset in spiritual practice. When one can disregard external distractions by not looking or listening, while preserving this state of careful reverence, one attains the realm of "perfect equilibrium" (致中和) — where heaven and earth maintain their proper positions and all things grow naturally. This represents the most profound method of cultivation, for even the lion throne of the Tathagata or the elephant seat of the Buddha ultimately embody this same principle. In truth, this understanding of mind-nature exists within everyone; why assume it differs from ordinary people?

You're constantly troubled by worldly trivialities, seeking escape from your current state in pursuit of transcendence. Yet genuine practitioners should abide peacefully in the present moment. Consider how King Wen of Zhou composed the Book of Changes while imprisoned, or how Confucius played the zither and sang when trapped between Chen and Cai. Sages maintained their fundamental nature even in extreme adversity—your circumstances are far less challenging. The key lies not in how many entanglements you face, but whether you possess true dedication to cultivation. With genuine resolve, one regards celestial grotto-heavens and prison stables with equal detachment. Understand that the bodhisattva's lotus throne and the sinner's iron bed of flames are ultimately the same—both beings share the same Buddha-nature. Noble persons discuss inherent nature, not external circumstances.

Zhang Ziyang (the renowned Northern Song Daoist master) presented his theory of "intent as the mediator" (意为媒) too simplistically. Authentic intention actually stems from the true heart-mind; with true heart-mind comes true nature, and with true nature comes authentic intention—this is called "primordial unified intention" (先天一意). Before the formation of all phenomena, in the state of primordial chaos, this genuine intention already existed. During meditation, when the spirit becomes perfectly clear without a single distracting thought, the original nature manifests. From this emptiness spontaneously arises a spark of true intention, just as Taiji gives birth to Yin-Yang or Fuxi drew the Eight Trigrams—this is the source of all creation. Using this primordial intention to regulate water and fire (inner alchemical terms for Yin and Yang energies) and guide lead and mercury (internal alchemical metaphors for vital forces) proves unfailingly effective. The entire elixir refinement process depends on this intentional operation. Zhang's explanation was overly abbreviated—how could such brevity properly instruct later students?

As for the "mysterious pass and single aperture" (玄关一窍, the crucial point in internal alchemy practice), its profundity defies measurement. Claiming it resides within the body is incorrect, yet stating it exists outside is equally mistaken. The first chapter of the Doctrine of the Mean states: "When joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure have not yet arisen, this is called equilibrium (中)." This state of equilibrium precisely marks the location of the mysterious pass.

This passage explains the key Daoist concept of "Mysterious Pass" (Xuanguan) in spiritual cultivation. The Mysterious Pass does not refer to any fixed physical location in the body, but rather to a special state of consciousness.

When one's mind-spirit (Shen) achieves complete stillness, utterly free from any thought, there suddenly arises a moment of inspiration and awareness - this instantaneous state is the Mysterious Pass. Like sparks struck from stone or flashes of lightning, it vanishes in an instant. If thoughts have already formed, or if one begins analyzing the content of this awareness, it is no longer the true Mysterious Pass.

In the macrocosmic sense, the state before the formation of the universe can be called the Mysterious Pass. In the microcosmic view, behind natural phenomena like birds taking flight, fish leaping, or insects chirping, the workings of the Mysterious Pass can be discerned. However, ordinary human bodily movements and sensory perceptions cannot be considered manifestations of the Mysterious Pass.

Modern people often become trapped by acquired habits - from birth, their Mysterious Pass remains closed. Only through profound stillness practice, reaching the state of "stillness within stillness, silence within silence, mystery within mystery, emptiness within emptiness," can this Mysterious Pass be reopened. It serves as the source of genuine mind, true nature, essential essence (Jing), authentic spirit (Shen), and real vital energy (Qi), making it the pivotal hub of spiritual cultivation.

The Song Dynasty Confucian scholar Shao Yong's description - "the moment of first Yang movement, when all things are yet unborn" - precisely points to this Mysterious Pass state. Yet this state is fleeting and must be grasped immediately. Throughout history, Daoist masters have regarded the Mysterious Pass as a secret not lightly transmitted, one that can only be truly comprehended during the stage of practice when one achieves enlightened mind and perceives true nature.

Those who cultivate the Dao often ponder: how can one truly awaken the heart-mind? The key actually lies in the "Mysterious Pass" (Xuanguan, the subtle gateway connecting innate and acquired energies within the human body). When sudden spiritual illumination flashes through your mind, that's the Mysterious Pass being activated; when you instantly perceive your true nature, this too is the Mysterious Pass at work. This gateway serves both as the wondrous mechanism for illuminating the mind and perceiving one's true nature, and as the crucial locus for forming the Golden Elixir (Jindan) and spiritual embryo. Thus ancient immortals deliberately emphasized this concept—urging practitioners to achieve breakthrough in this supremely subtle state, akin to performing somersaults on a needle's tip or leaving impressions within lightning flashes.

The divine abilities of immortals—manifesting multiple forms, riding clouds and mist—all originate from penetrating the Mysterious Pass. Mastering this gateway enables one to transform at will and traverse the realms of Yin-Yang. However, these secrets require at least ten years of dedicated cultivation to comprehend—though fixating on this "decade" timeframe would ironically create new attachments. Awakening to the Dao differs for each individual: those with spiritual roots may understand instantly, while those lacking insight might never attain realization in this lifetime.

A disciple once confessed: "Though fortunate to receive guidance from an enlightened master, worldly obligations force me to lecture everywhere like a tethered horse chasing fodder, never truly practicing cultivation. Contemplating the boundless path ahead fills me with urgent despair."

The master instructed: "Cultivation requires down-to-earth progress—do what you can now, step by step. Like building a house requires solid foundations, establishing firm groundwork (Zhuji) will naturally support future achievements. But fantasizing about jade towers while refusing to lay single bricks is as absurd as climbing trees to fish. Daoist scriptures should be studied, not rigidly imitated. Begin with seated meditation to cultivate the heart-mind—gradually you'll enter the proper state, where wondrous realizations arise ceaselessly, beyond your control to stop. Your innate spiritual endowment makes this cultivation opportunity especially precious.

My teaching always emphasizes foundational practice, for supreme states are contained within the most basic work. Take 'refining the heart' (Lianxin)—simultaneously the most elementary practice and the highest cultivation, its essence being the elimination of delusional thoughts."

To cultivate and attain the Dao, one must first eliminate distracting thoughts and delusions—this is foundational practice. If one can suddenly awaken to perfect wisdom in the present moment, that is the highest attainment. The ancients also reached such states; what they achieved, we too can achieve—why fear it?

However, when first beginning cultivation or during diligent practice, one must avoid aiming too high too soon. If impatient for results, a restless mind will take advantage. The true secret of cultivation is this: first endure hardship, and the harvest will come naturally—the key is maintaining patience in stillness. As for gathering the "medicine" and refining the elixir (referring to Neidan, or internal alchemy), since you've already studied the alchemical classics, you likely understand the general method. When stillness reaches subtle depths, everything will connect seamlessly, and all paths will open.

That mysterious state flows naturally from the primordial source (the Dao). It is neither empty cognition nor illusory sensation, but real bliss and tangible fulfillment. Like the renewal of all things at the dawn of a new cycle, this experience defies description. I hold nothing back from you—our meeting in this life is fated from past connections. You don’t just need me; I too rely on you. If you fail to attain the Dao, it would be my sorrow.

At midday each day, when you have a moment of leisure, sit upright and turn inward to observe your true heart. You’re particularly prone to anger, resentment, and similar thoughts. If you can purify these distractions, you’ll dissolve major karmic obstacles. Other deep-rooted afflictions must also be cleared step by step. Persist in practice, and the day will come when conditions ripen and heaven aligns with human will. When worldly entanglements vanish, body and mind liberated, your foundation will solidify—what difficulty would remain in seeking the Dao?

I teach you to start with foundational practice. Since ancient times, most who attained immortality and the Dao followed this path—it’s not unique to you. The essential principles are these: use stillness to nurture the Shen (spirit), clarity to illuminate your true nature, wisdom to contemplate the primordial spirit (innate spirituality), stability to preserve Yuanqi (primordial energy), restraint to nourish Yuanjing (primordial essence), and emptiness to establish true intention. Stillness leads to Wuwei (non-action), so the spirit becomes lucid; clarity dispels obscurity, so true nature emerges; wisdom enables contemplation, so the primordial spirit is perfected; stability ensures endurance, so the breath flows smoothly; restraint stabilizes Yuanqi, so Yuanjing flourishes; emptiness dissolves all attachments, so true intention becomes firm. These are the marrow of the essential teachings.

As for the complex terminology in alchemical classics—lead and mercury, sun and moon, crow and hare, metal and wood, infant and maiden, three in the east, four in the west, two in the south, one in the north—these are merely conceptual labels created by later generations to explain principles. At the core, it’s simply the "Jing-Qi-Shen" (essence, energy, spirit) triad, encompassing all transformations of the Five Phases. Descend when it’s time to descend, ascend when it’s time to ascend. Hold fast with stillness, blend with emptiness, circulate with intention yet remain unattached, embody through experience yet without forced effort. In action, emulate the vigorous movement of heavenly Dao—this dynamic cultivation is true stillness.

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation, focusing on the dual concepts of "stillness" and "observation." The author critiques contemporary alchemists' pursuit of novel theories, emphasizing instead the importance of adhering to fundamental practices.

The "stillness" in cultivation does not imply lifeless inertia, but rather stillness containing movement—much like the earth appears motionless yet teems with vitality. Conversely, "movement" here doesn't mean reckless action, but movement imbued with stillness. The key lies in maintaining the "Mysterious Pass" (the pivotal point of Qi transformation within the body), requiring both profound understanding and steady preservation of this state.

The author particularly stresses that the true Dao is supremely simple, contrary to the mystifying complexities some alchemists promote. He cites Zhang Ziyang's (a renowned Song dynasty Neidan master) theories as exemplary: the heart governs, Shen (spirit) rules, Jing (essence) and Qi follow, while intention serves as the medium—these core concepts remain essential. However, one needn't blindly accept elaborate methods that divide cultivation into "ten revolutions" or "eight transformations."

The analogy of cooking rice perfectly illustrates alchemical practice: excessive fire chars the grain (symbolizing how rushed breathing dissipates Jing-Qi), while insufficient heat leaves it half-cooked (representing distracted consciousness that stagnates progress). Only balanced fire yields success. During practice, breath should flow continuously yet imperceptibly, while mental clarity remains constant. When the "fire timing" proves correct, Yin energy naturally recedes as Yang energy emerges—without needing convoluted terminology that misleads beginners.

Regarding daily practice schedules, the author considers Zhang Ziyang's correlation of twelve earthly branches with left/right meridians as possibly reflecting personal experience. In reality, individuals' meridian conditions vary slightly, so fire application should adapt accordingly. Enforcing uniform standards resembles "gluing pegs to tune a zither" (a metaphor for rigid inflexibility)—utterly absurd.

Final recommendations: commence serious meditation during autumn's coolness, maintaining sincerity while relinquishing all distractions. When internal demons (mental afflictions) dissolve, external disturbances naturally vanish. Regular recitation of the Dadong Jing (Scripture of the Great Cavern) summons protective deities, making excessive concern about external demons unnecessary. Indeed, the mind's delusions constitute the greatest demon, with sundry thoughts and emotions acting as its claws.

This scripture primarily discusses the attitude toward demonic obstacles during cultivation and the essential techniques of seated meditation.

If practitioners maintain a clear and pure heart, steadfast nature, and grand aspirations, they need not fear even when surrounded by a hundred thousand demonic armies. A true hero possesses an iron will—for the sake of accomplishing the great work of the cosmos, they would not fear death by blade, saw, or boiling oil, let alone illusory demonic obstructions. How can illusions disturb the true mind? One must press forward courageously without retreat, unwavering in conviction.

Someone asked: How long must one meditate before perceiving the Original Spirit (innate spiritual nature) and Original Qi (primordial energy)? The master replied: When seated meditation reaches the state of no-thought and no-deliberation, the breath naturally becomes long and subtle, and the Original Spirit will manifest, followed by the emergence of Original Qi. Another question: Do spirit and qi have form? Answer: Like the clear sky—what form could they have? Follow-up: Then why are they called spirit and qi? Answer: The numinous aspect is called spirit, the moving aspect is called qi. Further question: How can formless things coalesce into the Internal Elixir (Neidan)? Answer: This is the process of creation from nothingness.

Regarding how long it takes to reach no-thought in meditation, the master said: Beginners must sit for extended periods to dispel distractions. After prolonged practice, one may enter the void state in an instant, in a state of hazy indistinctness. Beginners must not only concentrate during seated meditation but also maintain meditative awareness in daily life. This makes it easier to attain stability and profound states. In deep absorption, the body feels as if it has dissolved—like mist on a mountain or moonlight on a river. The lead and mercury (Yin and Yang qi) gathered during alchemy also emerge naturally in the state of heart-fasting and sitting-in-forgetfulness, formed by the subtle breath of the embryonic respiration (primordial breathing).

A disciple lamented their misfortunes, believing they should have perished long ago, yet unexpectedly encountering a true master who revealed the Great Dao in this lifetime. Moved to tears, they grew even more devout, hoping to receive the complete secret transmission of elixir methods and vowing to follow the master eternally upon attaining the Dao. The master responded: I have always emphasized heart-mind cultivation over life-nurturing techniques—your dissatisfaction lies here. In truth, forming the elixir begins with refining the heart, which depends on tranquil observation. At its utmost depth, the Great Medicine (Golden Elixir) arises spontaneously, and the Three Origins (Jing, Qi, Shen) manifest naturally. The furnace and cauldron, the Xun-wind and Kun-earth—these concepts from Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) can serve as reference.

Regarding the operational principles of fire regulation (energy modulation in Neidan/internal alchemy) practice, special clarification is needed. The human body's Qi and blood naturally circulate according to the Zhoutian (the Daoist concept of energy pathways) rhythm—this movement is subtle during activity but becomes distinctly perceptible during meditation. The energy rises like warm currents through meridians and bones, then descends with oil-drop precision, flowing inversely from the coccyx (Weilü) to the Niwan (crown point/Baihui), then descending smoothly to the Jianggong (heart center), ultimately gathering at the Shenfang (upper Dantian) where it merges with the Five Phases' Qi (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) before returning to the Central Yellow Court (periumbilical region). This is the critical moment described as "a drop of true yang alighting in the Yellow Court." All complex methods like "extracting lead and adding mercury" (Yin-Yang balancing techniques) fundamentally reduce to this process.

When the Yang Shen (cultivated pure yang spirit) prepares to leave the body, omens appear: the navel emits radiant light, while unusual fragrances waft from the mouth and nostrils. At the actual moment of separation, golden light erupts, pores become crystalline like morning dew, resembling sunrise or a pearl emerging from water, filling the space with fragrance. Accompanied by thunderclap-like vibrations as golden fire energies fuse, the Yang Shen leaps forth from the Niwan Palace. Here, everything depends on one's foundational cultivation—hence my earlier emphasis on heart-mind refinement. If practitioners maintain luminous emptiness in daily life, their Yang Shen will manifest as pristine primordial Qi, remaining untainted by external phenomena and moving freely. Upon returning to the Yellow Court, the body may feel fiery yet undisturbed—this marks authentic attainment.

Insufficient heart-mind cultivation results in an impure spiritual embryo. Such a Yang Shen becomes entangled by the seven emotions and six desires: fear arises upon encountering terror, craving emerges with temptation, ultimately leading to demonic deviation. Outsiders might mistake this for ascension, but it's actually catastrophic Yang Shen dispersal. Previously, I stated that heart-mind practice constitutes half the path to immortality; now it's evident as the constant foundation. Even ancient sages resurrected would endorse this "twelvefold importance" conclusion.

(Note: Terms like "Yellow Court," "Niwan," etc. are Neidan terminology denoting specific energy centers; "extracting lead and adding mercury" metaphorically describes Yin-Yang energy adjustment methods.)

If someone asks: What should be done if the fetal spirit (the transformed spiritual embryo formed at an advanced stage of cultivation) has already emerged, yet the mind hasn’t achieved complete emptiness and purity? The master replies: As a last resort, there remains the method of "refining emptiness" (lianxu). Though the fetal spirit has emerged, it must be firmly controlled. First complete the refinement of emptiness before releasing this lively, monkey-like fetal spirit. Only then can it freely roam the realm of true light (a higher-dimensional state attained through cultivation), merging with the profound unity of the Dao.

As for what refining emptiness entails—it’s difficult to put into words. The earlier teachings on "fire timing" (huohou, the regulation of cultivation rhythms) align with the contents of the alchemical scriptures (danjing) you’re studying. The core lies in maintaining stillness and inward observation, allowing the vital energy (qi) to circulate ceaselessly. The so-called "extracting lead and adding mercury" (an internal alchemy term referring to harmonizing yin and yang within the body) is essentially about raising the kidney water (true water) and lowering the heart fire (true fire). The ancient sages’ four-word admonition, "restrain anger and suppress desires," captures the key to regulating body and mind in cultivation. If anger isn’t restrained, the heart fire that should descend instead flares upward; if desires aren’t moderated, the kidney water that should rise instead drains downward. Even if you’ve cultivated to 99% completion, missing this crucial point can cause the alchemical cauldron (dantian) to collapse, leaking true essence and potentially leading to deviation. Yet "restraining anger and suppressing desires" still involves deliberate effort. Only when you reach a state where there’s no anger to restrain, no desires to suppress—not even the thought of "restraint" remains—can the golden elixir (jindan) be truly perfected.

The method of alchemy is simple: first refine the heart, then gather the medicinal ingredients (harvesting the body’s essence and energy), and finally master the fire timing. The way to refine the heart centers on serene observation—observing in stillness, where the act seems directed yet has no specific object; maintaining stillness within observation, where tranquility holds dynamism. This way, the primordial essence (yuanjing) flows naturally, the primordial spirit (yuanshen) leaps with vitality, and the primordial energy (yuanqi) surges upward—the three foundational energies are thus complete. The key to gathering the medicinal ingredients lies in guiding the true heart (zhenxin, the original mind) with true intent (zhenyi, pure and unadulterated will). The true essence (zhenyuan) is directed by true intent: when rising, it moves like a pearl guiding a dragon—unhurried and poised; when descending, it flows like water through a bamboo pipe—gentle and continuous. The entire process should harmonize like playing an instrument, balancing firmness and softness like the union of lovers. When the two energies blend in the yellow court (middle dantian), the gathering and merging are complete.

As for mastering fire timing, use the vital energy (qi) to gently steam and bathe (the nurturing phase), and employ an unbroken thread of intent for "extraction and addition" (regulation). After about ten months of cultivation, a human-shaped energy form will leap forth from the body, lingering first near the sun palace (near the upper dantian) before finally appearing at the mudball palace (Baihui point at the crown of the head). At this point, the golden elixir is fully formed throughout the body. The supreme state of refining emptiness, however, requires a mind as vast as heaven and earth, achieving the wondrous state of self-forgetting and bodilessness—where no distinction exists between self and other, merging seamlessly with the natural Dao.

This passage discusses the realm and significance of "refining emptiness" (lianxu) in Daoist cultivation.

When practitioners reach the state of "earthly awakening and clear emptiness," they experience an undifferentiated chaotic condition containing a spark of pure Yang Qi. This state is simultaneously like oneself and not oneself, both empty and substantial. In this condition, the transformative operations of heaven and earth merge into oneness—neither separable nor fully united—which constitutes what is called "refining emptiness."

"Refining emptiness" refers to using the empty nature of the Yang Spirit (the cultivated pure Yang primordial spirit) to merge completely with the emptiness of the cosmic void, achieving perfect non-duality. This is the realm of "marvelous integration of form and spirit, complete union with the Dao"—a crucial cultivation stage occurring after the Yang Spirit leaves its embryonic form (detaches from the physical body) but before achieving multiplication (manifesting countless emanations).

Someone asked: If the Yang Spirit remains within the human body after leaving its embryonic form, how can it unite with the great void? The master replied: When the mind becomes so utterly empty and still that it forgets bodily existence, there's no difference between the Yang Spirit dwelling within the body or residing in the cosmic void—natural union becomes possible. Ultimately, "refining emptiness" constitutes the final stage of "refining the mind." Because the physical body has form, we call it "refining the mind"; because the Yang Spirit is formless, we call it "refining emptiness."

Regarding the duration required, the master said: The nine-year nurturing process exists precisely to accomplish this crucial stage of refining emptiness. Upon success, transformations become limitless—one may ride clouds and mists, soaring bodily into the heavens, far surpassing mere spirit travel. Yet this stage proves most difficult; scarcely one or two in ten thousand may achieve it.

Another question: If one refines the mind to absolute nothingness, can refining emptiness be skipped after embryonic release? The master answered: Having already refined both body and mind into utter emptiness, naturally no further refinement is needed. Using this mind of absolute nothingness, one forms an embryo of nothingness, nurtures a Yang Spirit of nothingness, and merges with the void of nothingness—thereby manifesting Dharma forms, radiating luminous halos, and filling space with countless emanations. Like a luminous pearl emitting light, the essence remains identical. But if mental refinement leaves residual impurities, the Yang Spirit remains impure—attempting ascension would be like hiding needles in cotton or mixing oil with water, preventing true fusion. Thus the nine-year nurturing continues refining emptiness until complete nothingness is achieved.

Simply put: the Yang Spirit during mental refinement develops according to natural progression, while during emptiness refinement it returns to the primordial source. This transformation between progression and return cannot be forced by human effort. Finally, someone asked: According to the master's explanation, doesn't a Yang Spirit perfected through mental refinement require nurturing?

This scripture explains how "refining the heart-mind" holds greater importance than "refining life-force" in Daoist cultivation. The master clarifies: the supreme practice I transmit to you is precisely this refinement of the heart-mind. The embryonic form achieved through such cultivation is a sacred embryo—only when the primordial spirit (Yuanshen) emerges from this can one become a true sage, radiating brilliant light, transcending the Three Realms (the realms of desire, form, and formlessness), existing in harmony with the cosmos, and enduring longer than heaven and earth itself. This marvelous method resembles ancient Western Buddhist practices.

Regrettably, contemporary cultivation teachers only understand life-force practices (physical cultivation) while remaining ignorant of heart-mind refinement. They master techniques like opening and closing Qi circulation or shifting the furnace and exchanging cauldrons (referring to specific Neidan/internal alchemy methods), yet fail to comprehend that heart-mind cultivation must return to the fundamental void nature—a state of undifferentiated nothingness. The embryo formed through such limited practice remains ordinary, and the emerging spirit attains merely mundane realms, still unable to transcend cyclic existence or realize the sacred path. Ultimately, one must begin cultivation anew, making this "child" (the primordial spirit) return to authentic practice—illuminating the heart-mind to perceive true nature, transforming substance into emptiness, converting being into non-being. This resembles treating illness: when a physically weak person contracts wind-cold pathogens, mediocre physicians blindly administer tonics, thereby reinforcing the pathogenic factors—how could the illness possibly heal? Life-force cultivation resembles such tonics, while heart-mind refinement constitutes the true remedy.

Therefore, genuinely diligent practitioners particularly emphasize heart-mind refinement, purifying the primordial spirit like gold through repeated washing. When skill reaches perfection and the embryonic spirit becomes complete, liberation from cyclic existence occurs as naturally as lifting a cauldron's lid. Then the entire cosmos transforms into violet and golden radiance, ascending to the realms of the Three Pure Ones (the Jade, Upper, and Grand Pure deities) while simultaneously penetrating the six paths of rebirth. At this stage, the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning and Vairocana Buddha (the Dharma-body Buddha in Buddhism) will joyfully manifest for reunion, as intimate as old friends meeting again. Such realization can be attained in an instant—why would nine years of gradual nurturing (referring to Neidan's prolonged incubation phase) be necessary?

As for breath-counting methods (a meditation technique focusing on respiration), these primarily restrain scattered thoughts. If one can constantly maintain serene inner observation, breath-counting becomes unnecessary. Only when reaching a thought-free state may one seek the Mysterious Pass (the crucial point in cultivation). Herein lies a subtle principle: one must maintain spontaneous awareness without deliberate intention, preserving the spiritual spark like tending a flame—neither forcing nor neglecting it.

This passage describes the sudden enlightenment experience of the "Mysterious Pass" (Xuanguan) in spiritual practice. Though no flame is visible, the fiery nature remains unextinguished—that sudden awareness emerging when all phenomena become empty is precisely where the Mysterious Pass manifests. Like recognizing the rider when a thousand-mile steed gallops past in a flash, this moment of awareness must imprint as clearly as remembering three fine hairs on a person's face. Only then can one truly grasp the Mysterious Pass.

This enlightened awareness is the key transcending life and death, the essential pivot upon which all transformations of cultivation turn. Priceless as a luminous pearl, it cannot be grasped through intellectual striving, yet isn't difficult to attain—it's inherently present in all people, right before our eyes. Some question why alchemical practice requires such awareness when tangible effort seems sufficient. Yet this awareness has been exceedingly rare since beginningless time: the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) gave birth to heaven and earth through it, and through it the human body may become immortal or awakened.

This awareness appears in the fleeting moment when stillness gives birth to movement—neither during stillness nor movement, but like spiritual light flashing between breaths.

Chapter Two recounts the origins of the Pure Radiance Celestial Emperor of the Southern Pole (a revered Daoist deity), emissary of the Shangqing realm and emanation of Yuanshi Tianzun (Celestial Worthy of Original Beginning), who has manifested throughout history. At Mount Kongtong he transmitted profound Daoist formulas, expounded the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) at Hangu Pass, served as teacher to earthly emperors, and presides as foremost among celestial immortals. This supremely compassionate Daoist patriarch grants absolution, bestows blessings, and delivers all beings.

On the profound meaning of Taiji: Taiji is the Golden Elixir (Jindan) of primordial chaos. After heaven and earth formed, Taiji appears dissolved yet transforms endlessly—each transformation contains the complete Taiji, from mustard seed to cosmic vastness. Heaven and earth have form while Taiji is formless; heaven and earth perish while Taiji endures eternally. Understanding this principle means grasping the fundamental truth.

What exactly is the "Elixir" spoken of in alchemical practice? It is none other than the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the primordial source of the universe, inherently present within the human body. A single physical form can differentiate into countless manifestations, yet these myriad manifestations can also reunite into a singular whole—just as the Taiji gives birth to all things, and all things ultimately return to the same principle. Only those who comprehend this truth can truly discuss the mysteries of the yangshen (the advanced form of the primordial spirit).

Someone once asked, "How should we understand the term 'aperture' in the 'Mysterious Pass' (the key acupoint in cultivation)?" The master explained: "The aperture refers to a state of utmost emptiness. Just as an empty object moves at the slightest touch, or a shout at a well's mouth produces an echo, or wind in a valley creates reverberations—these all follow natural patterns. When the human mind is free from attachments, it reaches this state of supreme emptiness. In this condition of extreme vacuity, when one incidentally touches upon the right opportunity, that fleeting moment of spiritual illumination is precisely when the Mysterious Pass opens. The Yijing states, 'In stillness it does not stir; when stimulated, it penetrates all'—this describes exactly this principle."

Another question followed: "When Taiji generates the Two Modes (Yin-Yang), is it because energy has accumulated?" The master replied: "Qi can accumulate, but Shen (primordial spiritual capacity) requires no accumulation. Once this wondrous mechanism is triggered, the process of creation occurs instantaneously. Thus, when Taiji begins to operate, the myriad phenomena manifest accordingly. As for the distinction between Wuji (the undifferentiated state of the universe) and Taiji—the key lies in the Mysterious Pass. Wuji is in fact Taiji; this is an unchanging truth. I speak only of Taiji and not Wuji simply to avoid confusing you. Wuji is ○, Taiji is also ○—it is only due to the presence of the Mysterious Pass that they receive different names, yet in essence they are not separate."

A skeptic questioned: "If Taiji generates heaven and earth, doesn't Taiji become divided after their separation?" The master clarified: "Though heaven and earth have separated, Taiji has never been divided. Taiji remains perfectly whole, just as it was before heaven and earth came into being. The Zhongyong states, 'So vast that nothing in the world can contain it'—this refers to Taiji encompassing what lies beyond heaven and earth; 'So minute that nothing in the world can split it'—this means Taiji exists within all things. Viewed holistically, heaven and earth share one Taiji; viewed separately, each thing possesses its own complete Taiji—how could Taiji ever be divided?"

As for the differentiation of Yin-Yang forming heaven and earth, this is merely the functional manifestation of Taiji, not its fundamental substance. Yin-Yang are expressions of Taiji's operation—whether within or beyond heaven and earth, all are embraced within Taiji. Just as a mirror can reflect countless images while remaining unchanged itself. Cultivators who realize this truth through the Mysterious Pass come to understand the authentic Taiji nature inherently present within themselves.

This passage explains the relationship between Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and alchemical cultivation (Neidan practice). Taiji (the cosmic origin) cannot perish even when heaven and earth are destroyed, because its nature is simultaneously empty and spiritually luminous. Emptiness means having no physical form, while spiritual luminosity represents eternal existence—thus it cannot be annihilated. The practice of internal alchemy aims to return to this fundamental state of Taiji, through which one can crystallize the Golden Elixir.

The text mentions the "mysterious pass and single aperture" (the crucial point in cultivation). When practitioners perceive this key juncture, they can attain the complete and pure Taiji within their own bodies. This Taiji manifests in two ways during cultivation: on the spiritual level, it enables the ascent of Yang Qi and descent of Yin Qi, ultimately forming the elixir—just as Taiji generates heaven and earth; the same principle applies to the physical level.

The character "Dan" (elixir) originally means "singularity," because the great Dao is uniquely one. All things in heaven and earth find their proper place by obtaining this "One": heaven becomes clear by obtaining it, earth becomes tranquil by obtaining it, and humans achieve longevity by obtaining it. Taiji itself does not distinguish between Yin and Yang—these polarities only emerge when the two modes (Yin and Yang Qi) are about to separate. This is like how Fu Xi first drew a single horizontal line (Yang Yao) when creating the trigrams, rather than immediately drawing two lines, because "One" is the fundamental root.

The true Dao-body transcends the duality of Yin and Yang—it is their very source. Before differentiating into Yin and Yang, Taiji is essentially "Shen" (the luminous spiritual essence). Through the dynamic and static transformations at the mysterious pass aperture, movement manifests as Yang and stillness as Yin, where Taiji begins its functional expression. The human body is originally composed of various opposing elements, and cultivation aims to return to this state of "singularity." The specific method involves maintaining a mind of empty stillness.

Finally, it clarifies that Wuji (Non-Ultimate) is Taiji—they are fundamentally two aspects of one reality. The previously mentioned mysterious pass aperture is itself a manifestation of Wuji.

This passage discusses the relationship between Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, a foundational concept in Daoist cosmology representing the origin of all things) and the interplay of Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy). Someone asks: When Taiji differentiates, it appears that Qi precedes Shen; yet if we say Taiji itself is Shen, then it seems Shen precedes Qi. How to resolve this contradiction?

The master explains with a metaphor: Taiji generates Qi through Shen, yet they are fundamentally inseparable. It's like fire in empty space—the nature of fire is emptiness itself. If we say emptiness contains fire, then it should burn all things; yet if we say fire's nature is emptiness, how can emptiness acting upon emptiness produce any effect? Such is the relationship between Taiji and Yin-Yang.

Taiji itself contains no division of Yin-Yang, yet holds their primordial source. If Taiji possessed Yin-Yang first, then when spiritual light entered it, Taiji would become diminished. The true Taiji is the undifferentiated state of primordial chaos—a nebulous unity where neither Yin nor Yang can be discerned or separated. Only when the Mysterious Pass (a key term in internal alchemy referring to pivotal energy centers) activates do Yin and Yang separate to form heaven and earth. Like using a mirror to gather fire: the mirror contains no fire, yet when aligned with sunlight it can ignite mugwort—where can we distinguish what comes first?

The disciple further asks: Since you say Taiji is Shen, is that chaotic, nebulous state Qi or Shen? Does Shen arise from within or come from without? The master replies: The uncarved state of pristine authenticity is called chaos; the initial manifestation of primordial Qi is called the misty vapor. Shen generates Qi, and Qi generates Jing (essence)—this is Taiji's forward-moving process of creation. Jing transforms into Qi, and Qi transforms into Shen—this is the reverse path of human cultivation toward immortality.

Shen neither arises from within nor comes from without. If from within, then Taiji would precede Shen; if from without, Taiji already encompasses all—what "outside" could exist? Shen originates spontaneously, yet even "originate" is an inadequate term. Taiji is Shen, Shen is Taiji—even saying "is" becomes redundant. Just as we cannot say the mirror produces fire, nor that fire comes from outside the mirror—fire's nature is simply present, inherently so.

The concept of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) defies even the superfluous use of the word "is." The moment we try to grasp it with thought or explain it with words, we've already strayed from its true meaning. It is simply a perfect, undifferentiated circle (○) - this state of perfect wholeness contains the complete truth of Taiji. Where is there any division between inner and outer? What beginning could there possibly be?

Consider how flint holds the potential for fire, or how a bronze mirror can focus sunlight to create flames. Where does this fire truly begin? When does it start? Does it emerge from within or enter from without? If we say the fire existed when the stone formed or the mirror was cast, then where was it before these materials took shape? If we claim the fire originates within the stone and mirror, why don't these materials burn to ash or melt into liquid? If we argue it enters from outside, how could such solid metals and stones have gaps for fire to penetrate? These questions cannot be answered through ordinary reasoning.

So how does it truly begin? How is it produced? In truth, all things arise from "emptiness," and Taiji itself is emptiness. When emptiness meets emptiness, everywhere is empty; when emptiness returns to emptiness, the essence remains the same. From emptiness emerges "One," from "One" all things manifest, and all things ultimately return to "One," which then dissolves back into emptiness - emptiness is the source of all creation.

Practitioners must understand: seek the genuine emptiness, not false emptiness; realize the dynamic emptiness, not dead stillness; grasp complete emptiness, not partial emptiness; awaken to essential emptiness, not formal emptiness; contemplate the emptiness of non-being, not the emptiness of being; recognize eternal emptiness, not strange emptiness; penetrate the emptiness of origin, not past emptiness; comprehend the emptiness of immortal realms, not heretical emptiness; observe the emptiness manifest in sun, moon, stars, mountains and rivers - these substantial forms of emptiness - rather than the fleeting emptiness of frost patterns, bubbles, sparks or lightning.

As for the "Elixir" (the core of Neidan practice), its essence is the manifestation of gold. Heaven's One generates water (the Five Phases' generative sequence), but how could water exist without gold as its mother? Thus the "single" in "single elixir" means focused unity, which can also be interpreted as "One," deriving from the meaning of "Heaven's One." Although the Five Phases theory states "Earth's Four generates gold," gold hasn't yet manifested when water forms. In truth, when Taiji divides into Yin and Yang Qi, the metallic quality of the Five Phases is already fully contained within. Taiji itself possesses the luminous virtue of emptiness - its essence is metallic nature, its manifestation golden hue, characteristics predating the differentiation of Five Phases. Thus when Yin and Yang first separate, water emerges first (mother bearing child), while "Earth's Four generates gold" only applies to the realm of form, not the formless stage. From this we understand Taiji inherently contains metallic nature.

This scripture discusses the profound connection between spiritual practitioners and the metallic element (gold) during the cultivation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan), the core concept of Daoist internal alchemy (Neidan). Those who attain the Dao manifest golden bodily radiance, with golden light emanating from their crown—this occurs because the "perfectly luminous wondrous awakened origin" (referring to humanity's innate primordial true nature) is fundamentally a Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) embodiment, with golden radiance being its natural outward expression.

When adepts form their elixir (the process of refining and consolidating Jing [essence], Qi [vital energy], and Shen [spirit] within the body), they must first locate this Taiji foundation within themselves. The resulting Golden Elixir resembles a purple-golden jewel. At the stage of yang-spirit (the advanced spiritual form achieved through cultivation) manifestation, the entire body takes on a polished purple-gold hue. This phenomenon stems from metal's unique position among the Five Phases (Wuxing)—its capacity to produce sound demonstrates its empty nature, while its mutable quality mirrors water's (metal generates water) perpetual flow.

Elixir refinement essentially cultivates the "One" (cosmic origin), which is the "Heavenly One" (primordial Qi), representing metallic nature. Though human bodies contain all Five Phases, metallic nature holds primacy because the Heavenly One generates water (the cosmic generative sequence), and water itself originates from metal. A newborn's first cry manifests this metallic quality—among the Five Phases, only metal produces resonant sounds, just as infants vocalize upon leaving the womb.

During practice, adepts extract the quintessence of primordial Jing (original essence) and combine it with the true mercury (heart-mind) from the Li Palace (heart) to form the elixir. When the firing process (huohou) reaches completion, golden light naturally radiates outward. Though metal conventionally fears fire's refining, the true metal within the Kan Palace (kidneys) paradoxically requires Li fire for purification—just as metal finds renewal in the Si position (where metal experiences rebirth within fire's domain according to Five Phase theory). Ordinary people only recognize metal's vulnerability to fire, unaware this very principle holds the profound mystery of Golden Elixir cultivation.

Gold inherently loves fire, though most people are unaware of this truth. How can we prove it? When gold lies buried in earth, people only see soil, not the precious metal within.

Only when tempered by true fire (referring to the innate primordial fire in cultivation practice) does the earthly qi dissipate, revealing gold's true form. This resembles a fetus in the womb—it cannot emerge by itself, but must await the activation of life's spiritual mechanism before seeing daylight. Fire serves as gold's spiritual trigger, which is why places with gold deposits often remain free of frost and snow, for gold naturally carries fiery attributes.

The same principle applies to refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan). Using the metallic nature within the Water trigram (Kan) to harmonize with the fiery nature within the Fire trigram (Li) allows gold's essence to return to its origin and follow its innate disposition. The Golden Elixir forged this way achieves purity comparable to genuine gold.

Regarding the application of "intent" (yi), it doesn't refer to random thoughts but to the precise intention arising from one's true heart. After the intent is activated, the mind returns to emptiness—hence the saying "having intent yet seeming intentless." Intent plays a crucial role: it initiates the generation of yang qi, guides the gathering of the medicinal substance (the innate primordial qi), facilitates the union in the divine chamber (Dantian), and directs the transfer to the Yellow Court (middle Dantian).

Even the yang spirit's emergence from the body relies on intent, as does its wind-riding flight afterward, and its celestial journeys before returning to the divine chamber (upper Dantian). The significance of intent cannot be overstated.

Some may ask: If the yang spirit can eat, drink, and speak, does it possess internal organs? The answer is both yes and no. To say yes: after undergoing ten months of gestation-like cultivation, it manifests as a form capable of speech, laughter, movement, and nourishment—without organs, wouldn't it resemble a mere puppet? To say no: the yang spirit is fundamentally the ultimate emptiness, casting no shadow under sunlight, leaving no trace in mud, unburned by fire, undampened by water, able to hide within metal and stone or transform into birds and beasts. If it were substantial, how could it shift forms so freely?

So does the yang spirit exist or not? To say it exists, its wondrous functions appear everywhere between heaven and earth. To say it doesn't, it originates from the luminous void within one's heart. Those who attain the Dao (Way) unite with it—the Dao that gives birth to all things can likewise endow the yang spirit with myriad forms. The Dao itself has no shape or appearance, yet encompasses the cosmos, generating the primordial qi from emptiness, from which the ten thousand things emerge.

All things ultimately return to "One," and the "One" returns to emptiness. Only by using emptiness to operate emptiness can one comprehend the profound mystery of creation. The true nature of the Yang-Shen (the advanced spirit state attained through cultivation) is precisely "nothingness"—this principle is utterly true and without falsehood.

A practitioner must grasp this fundamental truth to avoid being deluded by illusory forms and false thoughts. As for whether the Yang-Shen can be perfected or manifested, one should simply let it unfold naturally.

The essential secret of forming the Golden Elixir (the core stage of Neidan practice) lies in the single word "One." Attaining this "One" brings all cultivation to completion. But what exactly is this "One"? It may be called "emptiness." In discussing the Dao with you, I emphasize only this word "emptiness": refining the mind requires emptiness, directing intention requires emptiness, gathering the medicinal essence (collecting internal Jing-Qi) requires emptiness, forming the spiritual embryo (condensing the inner elixir) requires emptiness, regulating the fire (controlling the mind during practice) requires emptiness, and even the Yang-Shen must be empty. Use emptiness to refine emptiness, returning to the root of emptiness. The Mysterious Pass (the crucial energy center in cultivation) is also realized through emptiness perceiving emptiness. Countless forms of emptiness ultimately converge into this single "emptiness."

This "emptiness" is not a hollow, insubstantial void, but a true and genuine emptiness; not a scattered and chaotic void, but a unified and harmonious emptiness. If I were not to speak of "emptiness," that would be one thing—but since I must, look closely at your own body: what part is not empty? What part is truly solid? Originally, everything is empty, yet you treat everything as real: the mind is originally empty, yet you solidify it through external attachments; the spirit is originally empty, yet you solidify it through excessive thought; the essence is originally empty, yet you solidify it through lustful desires; the Qi is originally empty, yet you solidify it through toil; the intention is originally empty, yet you solidify it through emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and fear; the nose is originally empty, yet you solidify it through excessive smelling; the ears are originally empty, yet you solidify it through excessive listening; the eyes are originally empty, yet you solidify it through excessive seeing; the mouth is originally empty, yet you solidify it through excessive speech; the hands and feet are originally empty, yet you solidify them through reckless movement; the pores are originally empty, yet you solidify them through contamination with filth.

Originally, all is emptiness, but through your attachments, everything becomes solid, and your body and mind become bound by these "real appearances." Alas! When this supremely empty Dao-nature encounters your supremely solid self, it is like a feather falling into water—unable to soar, it will eventually rot. So how does one return to the state of emptiness? Confucianism speaks of "stillness," Daoism speaks of "tranquility," and Buddhism speaks of "meditative stability." You must diligently dissolve these solid attachments at all times, like cleaning a jar filled with filth—it requires effort. But if you can suddenly awaken to your original nature, in an instant you can transcend all obstacles, like a swift wind sweeping away dust or the blazing sun melting snow. This is the supreme enlightenment. As for forming the Golden Elixir, it is merely a matter of turning the mind in an instant.

Someone asked: "All human delusions (vain thoughts) arise from what we see—how can one achieve the state of 'looking without seeing'?"

The master replied: "An excellent question! This touches upon a crucial matter. Among the interactions between the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) and the six dusts (forms, sounds, scents, tastes, touch, and mental objects), visual disturbances are the most pervasive.

To attain 'looking without seeing,' the key lies in preserving the primordial Shen (innate spiritual awareness) and stabilizing the heart-mind. There are three essential points:

First, maintain inner cultivation before perception arises. Be like the bright moon in an empty sky—clear, luminous, and free from impurities. Abide in a state of unwavering stillness and constant awareness. Recognize that beauty and seductive sounds are fundamentally no different from one's true nature; all things and the self are originally one, without separation. In this way, the Shen remains anchored within and does not drift with external circumstances.

Second, maintain lucid awareness as perception is about to arise. Like the harmonious notes of a qin (zither) responding naturally to the plucking of fingers, let understanding flow effortlessly without clinging to external objects. Though thoughts may seem to stir, they have not truly arisen—the Shen remains undisturbed in the heart.

Third, discern the subtleties at the moment perception shifts. Like driving a chariot with twenty-four horses moving in perfect unison, or like clouds drifting and water flowing naturally—allow no stray thoughts to intrude. This enables smooth, unimpeded functioning, with the Shen ever-present within.

The phrase 'Shen separates from seeing' means that when objects contact vision, vision does not grasp at them; when vision contacts objects, objects do not pull at vision. It is like a mirror reflecting images—the images have no intent to enter the mirror, and the mirror has no intent to touch the objects. Thus, the Shen naturally does not wander outward.

The phrase 'seeing merges with Shen' means that when nothing is seen, the nature of seeing does not vanish; when things are seen, the nature of seeing does not stir. Though the myriad things flow past, true nature remains constant—like the flame in a glass lamp illuminating all objects in the room while the flame itself stays within the glass. How could the Shen possibly wander?

In essence, abide in serene contemplation, and the true Shen will naturally endure. The sun and moon may set, but the eye of wisdom is boundless. Observe how fish, unaware of water, move freely within it—if they constantly thought of water, they would lose their ease. This is how 'looking without seeing' should be understood—like Liu Xiahui embracing a woman without a trace of defilement in his heart.

Refining the elixir (Neidan) and refining the heart are ultimately one practice: refining the heart means transforming the deluded mind of conditioned existence, while refining the elixir means forging the primordial 'elixir of original nothingness' (referring to innate Qi). This 'heart'... "

This passage discusses the essence of the "elixir" (the crystallized life energy attained through cultivation) and the essential techniques of Neidan (internal alchemy, the Daoist practice of refining Jing, Qi, and Shen).

The true elixir exists between "being" and "non-being," containing profound mysteries within. The heart-mind (consciousness) is governed by Shen (original spirit, primordial awareness). When the spirit resides steadfastly within the heart, the elixir forms naturally. But if the heart-mind chases after external objects, it leads to excessive heart-fire that exhausts the "mercury" (a metaphor for original Jing), causing the "great medicine" (the unified state of essence, energy, and spirit required for cultivation) to lose its crucial component.

Although cultivation emphasizes the state of "no-mind," true "being" precisely exists within this "non-being." What we call refining the heart-mind means cultivating this state of "being within non-being." The elixir is founded upon Jing (original essence, primordial life energy), but this refers not to the postnatal essence from sexual intercourse—that essence is tainted with desire-fire, like seawater containing salt (ancients believed seawater's saltiness came from fire energy) and cannot be used for alchemy.

The true Golden Elixir has no form or appearance; one must gather the purest original Jing (primordial essence), which is clear, empty, and ethereal—seemingly existent yet non-existent. The spiritual elixir condensed from this is as pure as a newborn infant. This "infant" appears to have form yet is actually formless, because it's refined from originally formless essence into an originally formless elixir, nurturing this originally formless "child."

Alchemy is actually cultivating the state of "non-being within being." If the spirit isn't properly housed (the heart-mind is unsettled), the refined "child" will lack spiritual vitality. If one doesn't use original Jing, it's like raising a child with brine (impure saltwater)—the "fetus" will perish prematurely. Therefore, one must grasp the subtle balance between "being" and "non-being"—this is the mysterious mechanism of creation, called the Supreme Dao.

True alchemy isn't deliberate striving; genuine cultivation means being free from attachments. Those who attain the states of "fasting the heart-mind" (mental purity) and "sitting in forgetfulness" (transcending physical form) don't actually need deliberate alchemical practices. Those who regard alchemy as some earth-shattering endeavor are actually farther from the Dao. The Great Dao takes spontaneity as its root—as ordinary and simple as the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) generating heaven and earth—merely "using emptiness to transform emptiness, and truth to unite with truth" (responding to emptiness with emptiness, uniting with original truth through truth). In truth, the human body already contains Taiji (the undifferentiated state of Yin-Yang)—why seek externally?

When the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin) stirs, yang qi rises to form heaven while yin qi descends to form earth. Yet the primordial chaos before heaven and earth separated remains a spiritual Taiji permeated with primordial qi—this is neither mysterious nor something to be deliberately pursued. It's like sitting quietly in a room: if you aspire to humaneness (ren), you can naturally attain it.

The practice of Neidan (internal alchemy, a Daoist cultivation method) is actually quite simple—it's about refining what you inherently possess into the Golden Elixir. Just as a wealthy household has more than enough clothing and food from their own storerooms, every person originally possesses their innate nature—you only need to recognize it. Everyone has their destiny—you only need to establish it. The core of alchemical cultivation lies in nothing more than the two words "xingming" (nature and life). People nowadays neglect xingming, thus dying prematurely while blaming fate. Do you suppose those who attained the Dao and became immortals were destined for eternal life and liberation from the three realms? Such thinking is truly laughable.

Buddhist scriptures speak of "neither arising nor ceasing," yet the root of modern people's afflictions lies in their excessive attachment to "arising." Deluded thoughts produce illusory perceptions, which in turn create phantom realms that generate karmic actions—this cycle repeats endlessly. Where there is arising, there must be ceasing; where there is ceasing, there must be arising. After countless reincarnations, one only becomes more confused. A thought suddenly arises and vanishes—this very thought is the beginning of the cycle of birth and death. Where there are thoughts, forms appear; a form suddenly manifests and disappears—this form becomes the arena of birth and death. Where there are forms, phenomena emerge; a phenomenon suddenly comes into being and perishes—this phenomenon becomes the cause of birth and death. Within a single day, people unknowingly undergo hundreds or thousands of cycles of birth and death in the ocean of desires—compared to this, the changes of the physical body are actually quite slow.

Someone might ask: If Taiji gives birth to heaven and earth, how can you say it doesn't produce anything? The answer is: Although Taiji generates heaven and earth, there exists something that doesn't emerge along with them—thus Taiji itself never perishes.

In alchemical refinement, there's actually nothing to refine. What is the elixir? It's refining emptiness into the elixir. When emptiness truly becomes emptiness, the elixir is accomplished. Emptiness originally contains nothing—what is there to refine? If you wish to refine the elixir, you must precisely focus your efforts where "there is nothing," refining "being" from "non-being." When you truly comprehend "nothingness," the great elixir is already within you. The highest Dao is ultimately ineffable; the supreme elixir is fundamentally beyond labels. If you cling to forms in your pursuit, you'll only stray further from the Dao. Just try contemplating: which part of your body has substantial, enduring existence? Your hands? Feet? Eyes, ears, mouth, or nose? Your liver, kidneys, lungs, or internal organs?

This scripture elucidates the core essence of Daoist cultivation—letting go of attachments and returning to original authenticity. In remarkably straightforward language, it reveals that what we ordinarily consider as "ours"—our thoughts, emotions, physical constitution, desires, and intellectual knowledge—are ultimately illusory. Not only are these unrelated to our true self, they actually obstruct the path to immortality and union with the Dao.

Authentic practice requires discarding all such illusions to discover the indestructible "true self" that neither arises nor ceases. Upon realizing this fundamental nature, one naturally attains longevity beyond decay, transcendence from the three realms, and the ability to transform and ascend at will. Yet tragically, ordinary people exhaust themselves in ceaseless activity, imagining they pursue life while actually courting death.

The text offers special guidance for those with innate spiritual capacity—individuals unmoved by wealth or sensual pleasures who nevertheless lack proper conditions for cultivation. Like a thousand-mile steed harnessed to a salt cart, their potential remains temporarily constrained. In such circumstances, one must maintain "a body in the mundane world with a mind like calm waters"—physically engaged in worldly affairs while preserving inner stillness. Through constant self-reflection and nurturing one's nature, even when facing volcanic intensity (metaphor for worldly temptations), a single drop of sweet dew (symbolizing pure awareness) can instantly dissipate scorching heat. This constitutes genuine alchemical practice.

The supreme principle: during Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, one must not fixate on "practicing alchemy." Even if someone stole your perfected Golden Elixir, remain utterly undisturbed—for the elixir (representing spiritual attainment) is ultimately emptiness itself. Clinging to results ensures their elusion. True alchemists maintain expansive awareness, approaching cultivation with the ordinary mind of non-cultivation before practice, and returning to the natural state of non-attainment afterward. Without this transcendent attitude, daily alchemical efforts will forever remain fruitless.

This passage discusses the proper mindset and attitude cultivators should maintain in their Daoist practice.

A true cultivator roams freely between the clear void of the celestial realms (qingxu biluo in Daoist terminology), moves amidst golden radiance and jade luminosity, and passes beneath pearl palaces and jade towers (residences of immortals) as if seeing nothing extraordinary. Regarding wondrous realms as commonplace, perceiving realized Daoists as ordinary people, and treating all these as natural as daily activities like wearing clothes or eating meals - this demonstrates the heroic bearing and authentic foundation of an immortal. It resembles what Mencius described as the state of "unmoved heart."

Consider someone who obtains a luminous pearl. If they treat it as a common tile, both person and pearl coexist peacefully in perfect happiness. But if one constantly cradles it as a precious treasure, it becomes a burden instead. When a man from Chu acquired a jade cup, he wrapped it layer upon layer for safekeeping, yet his excessive anxiety ultimately caused him to break it. The same principle applies to elixir refinement - overvaluing it can prove harmful.

Fire timing (huohou, the control of heat intensity and duration in alchemical processes) should be approached with ordinary mindfulness - neither over-attentive nor neglectful, allowing the process to unfold naturally like cooking rice. Those who mystify alchemy with exaggerated descriptions are actually misleading later students. The true secret of fire timing is supremely simple and unremarkable.

The author explains that revealing this principle aims to help Dao seekers avoid unnecessary detours. The passage then describes typical physical characteristics of cultivators: strong bone structure with relatively lean musculature, robust spirit (hun) but weaker corporeal aspect (po). While lean, this physique doesn't hinder cultivation. The main caution concerns excessive heart-fire (overthinking), which depletes qi and blood. Practitioners are advised to speak sparingly, minimize daytime thoughts, rest the eyes to nurture spirit, regulate breath to cultivate qi, allowing the body to float freely like clouds. When external phenomena arise, maintain non-attachment. Persistent practice naturally eliminates all ailments, bringing physical ease and mental clarity.

Cultivation is not difficult—one may practice whether in stillness or activity. Shao Yong (a Northern Song Confucian scholar) once said: "In tranquil observation of all things there is enlightenment, sharing the beauty of the four seasons with all." This is the realization of one who has truly attained the Dao (the Way). See how clear and joyful his state of mind is—verily the very image of an immortal walking this earth.

Throughout history, those who cultivated to become immortals—some took millennia to enter the celestial register, others required several lifetimes to tread the cloud path. The shortest still demanded a century of practice, the briefer ones thirty or forty years, while the fastest needed at least ten or twenty years before receiving guidance from a true immortal. To seek transcendent achievement through a hundred days of effort has never been recorded since ancient times. I make this pact with you: If you can practice diligently without cease for three years as if one day, perhaps your immortal destiny may ripen, allowing you to ascend the heavenly ladder. Value yourself and strive—do not betray my expectations.

Though Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—the three essential elements of Daoist cultivation—have separate names, their substance is ultimately one. Ordinary people, burdened by worldly desires and scattered thoughts, force these three to divide and contend. But when one who has attained the Dao sits in self-forgetting stillness, where then lies the distinction between them? Laozi spoke not of alchemy but of the great Dao—a profound intention indeed. In chaos they appear as three; in clarity they are truly one. This state of undifferentiated unity is the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), it is the Golden Elixir (the highest achievement of Neidan). In movement it embraces all things; in stillness it reflects the ten directions—the most numinous mechanism, an ineffable realm beyond division.

I have now fully revealed to you the true meaning of cultivation. Understanding the principles is not difficult—the true challenge lies in actual practice. If you can penetrate this truth, integrate it fully and embody it through action, even if immediate ascension eludes you, you will already be a noble one who has attained the Dao, resonating with the celestial spirits. When the Dao-body becomes perfectly harmonious and the numinous nature eternally profound, this unfettered wandering is precisely the realm of immortals.

The core of cultivation is simply the character "emptiness." Emptiness can contain all things; though worlds may perish, emptiness alone remains indestructible. The Daoist scriptures say: "When form and spirit both attain wonder, they merge with the Dao in truth." The Dao is nothing other than emptiness. So-called "form and spirit both attaining wonder" means both form and spirit return to emptiness.

The method I have always taught—from refining the heart-mind to ascending in broad daylight—follows this single thread from beginning to end. There exists no shortcut enabling sudden attainment. You must recognize this crucial point. "Nature" (innate essence) and "Life" (embodied existence) are like interlocked jade rings—inseparable. Yet modern cultivators, fearing the difficulty of refining nature, always seek to begin with life practices (physical cultivation)...

This scripture expounds the essential method of "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu) in Daoist practice. When adepts achieve the convergence of water and fire at the Kan (Yin) and Li (Yang) positions to form the internal elixir (neidan), the primordial spirit (shen) initially manifests. However, if worldly distractions are not completely eradicated, one cannot truly attain the state of pure emptiness. Even if temporary ascension and transformation occur, obstructions will ultimately remain, making it difficult to roam freely in the great void.

The true key to transcending the cycle of life and death lies in thorough awakening to one's fundamental nature. Without penetrating insight into this intrinsic nature, even accomplished practitioners remain ordinary mortals. It's like an infant growing into adulthood yet remaining worldly—ascending halfway only to fall back down. Some cultivators practice for centuries yet still face degeneration precisely because they fail to comprehend the true meaning of "emptiness."

The text compares two cultivation paths: first cultivating life (physical refinement) then nature (spiritual awakening) is likened to leaving hidden ailments in a child, while beginning with spiritual awakening while attending to physical cultivation constitutes true mastery. One must perceive the true mind, true nature, true spirit, true essence (jing), and true qi, ultimately achieving the state where nature and life unite. Only then can one, upon attaining the Dao, be ranked among the immortals, transcending the three realms to exist coeval with heaven and earth.

The latter section discusses similarities and differences between Buddhist and Daoist approaches: Buddhism emphasizes illuminating the mind to perceive Buddha-nature without deliberate cultivation of essence and qi. Buddhists regard all phenomena as subject to birth and cessation, while Buddha-nature remains eternal. After nirvana, residual essence and qi crystallize into śarīra (relics from cremated masters) that emit light. The author questions: Since the Buddha has entered nirvana, how can the remaining essence and qi—originally insentient matter—emit light? This resembles a luminous pearl: though born from an oyster, the radiance doesn't originate from the oyster itself. Through such metaphors, the passage reveals fundamental convergences between Buddhist and Daoist ultimate realizations.

This passage examines the fundamental differences between Buddhist and Daoist cultivation practices, focusing on their respective emphases on "nature" (性) and "life" (命).

Just as pearls form their essence within oyster shells but lose their spiritual connection when removed, human Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) originally exist as an integrated whole. Buddhism emphasizes "illuminating the mind to perceive true nature," concentrating on developing wisdom's radiance by refining the luminous Shen (spiritual awareness) alone, while allowing Jing-Qi to condense into śarīra relics (crystalline remains left by deceased Buddhist masters). Though this Jing-Qi becomes purified to its primordial state, it never attains the same translucent brilliance as the spiritual nature. The varying colors of śarīra reflect the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) inherent in the human body, much like worldly treasures each possess distinct radiance.

Buddhism's pursuit of the deathless refers solely to the spiritual nature (Buddha-nature), while śarīra represent the cultivation of vital energies (life practice). By cultivating nature without life, practitioners' consciousness ascends into emptiness at death, leaving their refined Jing-Qi behind as relics. Daoism advocates the dual cultivation of nature and life (性命双修), using the firing process of inner alchemy (Neidan breathing techniques) to completely fuse Jing, Qi, and Shen into a "sacred embryo" — an ethereal spiritual body pure as maidenhood. Within this sacred embryo, spirit, essence and energy become indivisibly united.

Some may ask: Why do certain Daoist practitioners leave śarīra-like remains? This proves they actually followed Buddhist methods rather than the immortal path, still prioritizing nature over life. True dual cultivators refine their entire being into translucent purity — bones and blood transforming into white ointment, the body becoming cloud-light, surrounded by fiery radiance, capable of free transformation. Herein lies the essential distinction.

Regarding supreme realization: When one transcends the duality of nature and life, achieving purification of the six senses (no longer clinging to external phenomena through sight, sound, smell, taste, touch or thought) while using emptiness-wisdom to contemplate all phenomena, Buddhist and Daoist paths ultimately converge. The crucial point in Neidan practice lies in completely dissolving yin-substance (turbid emotional attachments) until pure yang (luminous true nature) naturally manifests. When yang energy flourishes, yin turbidity spontaneously dissolves — all human desires and emotional fixations are fundamentally yin-obstructions.

This passage explains the movement of Yin-Yang energies within the human body and the crucial transformation of Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) in spiritual practice.

The human body functions as a microcosm of heaven and earth - the light, pure Yang energy naturally ascends while the heavy, turbid Yin energy descends. When worldly desires dominate, Yin energy suppresses Yang, much like how all life withers when Yang lies dormant in winter. This manifests physically as dry hair, cracked skin, and premature aging. Conversely, when Yang energy surges like spring's arrival, true Yang activates within the practitioner, potentially reversing aging through blackened hair, renewed teeth, and radiant skin.

The text emphasizes that before transcending desires, our Jing-Qi-Shen remain in a Yin state: Jing leaks through the "Gate of Life" (mingmen) due to desire's fire; stagnant Qi causes abscesses (while true Yang Qi moves like clouds or fire to clear meridians); and Shen remains buried under emotional turbulence like embers trapped in ice. Only our primordial Jing-Qi-Shen exist in pure Yang state.

Finally, it references the Daoist deity Nanhua Qinghua Dadi (the Great Emperor of Southern Florescence), who transmitted the Dao since Fuxi and Shennong's era through successive dynasties - sometimes dwelling in sacred temples, other times manifesting in mystical mountains. This illustrates the eternal Daoist lineage, where deities appear through various forms to guide humanity.

The celestial Wood Star (Jupiter) was originally boundless in its transformations, freely frolicking amidst the Peach Orchard of Immortality before manifesting as an immortal official who converses and laughs within palace gates. This most benevolent and sagely Heavenly Venerable observes the mortal realm with carefree detachment, universally delivering all beings. The Daoist patriarchs and immortal masters bestow upon practitioners the sacred talismans (Fulu) for cultivation.

In truth, there is nothing to refine in alchemical practice—why is this so? Because what we refine is precisely "nothingness." This "nothingness" signifies emptiness; the human heart-mind is originally empty, yet becomes filled with emotions, perceptions, and thoughts. Only by returning the heart-mind to its innate state of emptiness can the Golden Elixir (Jindan) be accomplished. Why? Because the Golden Elixir's essence is emptiness itself. When the heart-mind becomes empty, the Golden Elixir spontaneously forms—this is the process of forging substantial reality from utter nothingness.

Consider how before birth, humans originally lacked sensory organs, limbs, or physical form. It is only through a single thought-moment of intention that consciousness enters the womb. What exactly is this "intention" that seeks rebirth? Where there is spiritual consciousness (Shen), there naturally arises Qi; where there is Qi, there naturally arises vital essence (Jing). After ten lunar months in the womb, a human body forms. When emerging from the Niwan Palace (the crown-point energy center), one gains the capacity to traverse the realms of existence and non-existence, transcending life and death. Yet if the heart remains unemptied, filled with scattered thoughts, one remains bound to the mortal frame. Since the physical body already exists, how could one possibly obtain another? A human has but two ears, two eyes, one nose, one mouth, five viscera, six bowels, and four limbs—how could these be duplicated? It is utterly impossible.

Therefore, alchemists must return all sensory organs and internal organs to emptiness, just as before entering the womb—retaining only that undimmed spark of spiritual radiance. Only thus can one reform the embryonic matrix, recreating ears, eyes, mouth, nose, organs, and limbs to achieve the Yang Spirit (pure Yang embodiment). This Yang Spirit remains fundamentally oneself, not an additional self. Though it manifests with sensory and organic forms, its essence remains empty—without substantial form—thus enabling transcendence of life and death and union with the Dao. This encapsulates the complete mystery of alchemical practice.

Cultivation must take Wuwei (non-action) as its foundation. Even when performing supernatural feats like summoning winds and rains or moving mountains and diverting rivers, if these actions stem from Wuwei, they accord with the Great Dao. Conversely, if every gesture and talisman arises from deliberate effort without understanding the Dao's origin, they remain mere minor techniques.

This passage elucidates the core principles of cultivating "Wuwei (non-action) Alchemy." Wuwei refers to a state of practice that follows natural spontaneity without forced striving—it is the fundamental law of cosmic operation and the origin of the Dao (the Way). Whether refining the elixir, performing rituals, reciting scriptures, or holding mantras, all cultivation methods must take Wuwei as their foundational principle.

Ancient sages, observing ordinary people's difficulty in attaining the Wuwei state, devised alchemical methods to allow gradual realization of Wuwei's true essence through tangible cultivation steps. The practice unfolds in several stages: First, one must gather primordial Yang (innate life energy) in a state of chaotic emptiness, where agitated thoughts are strictly prohibited—mental stillness is essential. Next, the spiritual embryo (the nascent form of Neidan, internal alchemy) is condensed in the depths of profound darkness, requiring timely transfer of the condensed energy into the Dantian (Yellow Court, the energy center). Any delay would impair the elixir's quality. Finally, the sacred embryo is nurtured with a gentle, sustained "civil fire" (slow, prolonged mental focus), avoiding any abrupt intensity. After a gestation-like cultivation period of ten months, the Yang Shen (advanced form of the spirit) is perfected.

When Yang Shen manifests, it appears in a state of subtle existence—seemingly tangible yet formless, with semblance yet without fixed image. This is the original face of the Dao. Practitioners must heed three critical prohibitions: avoid reckless mental activity when gathering Yang, hesitate not when coalescing the elixir, and shun excessive fire during nurturing. The true pure Yang fire (the ideal state of cultivation) should flow as naturally as breath—the slightest forced effort turns it into destructive "violent fire."

This teaching emphasizes that all cultivation must return to the root of Wuwei. External methods are merely expedient means to realize the Dao's origin. Seeking paths beyond Wuwei leads only to heretical deviations from the true Way.

This passage reveals that Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation is no simple matter. Only by truly recognizing one's deficiency in True Fire (the innate energy required for cultivation) can one properly apply the firing process (huohou); only by perceiving one's lack of Yang Qi can one gather and supplement the primordial Yang energy. Like the pristine emptiness at the dawn of creation—seemingly void yet capable of nurturing all things in ceaseless operation.

You (the cultivator), currently entangled in textual analysis, find quiet cultivation difficult, yet the work of illuminating the mind and realizing one's true nature can begin this very moment. Cultivating the heart-mind already constitutes half the path to immortality—why not first accomplish this portion? The remaining half may await its proper timing. Why abandon what can be done now to worry over unprofitable matters? If you can reduce desires, you've already grasped the root. From this point, settle your Shen (spirit), pacify wandering thoughts, and contemplate in stillness—the Mysterious Pass (xuanguan, the crucial energetic aperture in cultivation) will naturally show signs of activation.

The essential method for forming the Golden Elixir (jindan) lies in Wuwei (non-action)—this seemingly inactive state is precisely the source of elixir formation. It occurs as naturally as the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) generating heaven and earth: clear Qi ascends to form heaven, turbid Qi descends to form earth, the entire process utterly spontaneous. Had the Taiji forcibly intervened during creation, it would have caused Yin-Yang inversion and disorder among the Five Phases (wuxing). Understanding this principle reveals that elixir formation likewise follows nature's course.

Yang Qi properly ascends while Yin Qi naturally descends, just as Taiji differentiates into heaven and earth. Yet though heaven and earth separate, Taiji's essence remains perfectly unified. The "pearl" (inner elixir) formed by the merging and coagulation of Yin-Yang energies is essentially the undifferentiated Taiji itself. When the firing process reaches completion, the Yang Shen (primordial spirit) will manifest. This Yang Shen exists prior to postnatal contamination—it isn't composed of the four elements (earth, water, fire, wind). Were it formed from these elements, it would become the physical body, and with physical form comes cunning intelligence. Once cunning arises, maintaining Wuwei becomes difficult, leading one astray from the Dao.

Some may ask: If Yang Shen is Taiji, how can it have form? Consider this analogy: the Yang Shen resembles the primordial state when "heaven opened at the Zi hour and earth parted at the Chou hour" (using celestial stems to symbolize cosmic evolution stages)...

This passage expounds the core principles of returning to emptiness through Daoist cultivation. Humans are originally born in the yin hour (the moment of cosmic inception in Daoist cosmology), when our innate nature remains connected with the great Dao (the Way). In this primordial state, one comprehends all things and aids the world effortlessly - appearing to take no action yet accomplishing all, seeming to know nothing yet understanding everything. This condition resembles uncarved jade or unspoiled simplicity; though manifesting form, it remains united with the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin), which itself is the root of the Dao.

The practice of alchemy (Neidan, internal alchemy) also has its foundation - taking "the Great Void" (the primal emptiness of the cosmos) as its source. From the Great Void emerges Shen (spirit), from Shen arises Qi (vital energy), and from Qi comes Jing (essence). Since spirit, energy and essence all originate from the Great Void, cultivators should emulate this origin. Those who cannot attain the state of "emptiness" become estranged descendants of the Dao.

The method of returning to the Great Void lies in "no-thought and non-action" (Wuwei): neither deliberate thinking nor forced doing. Outwardly, a practitioner sitting in stillness may resemble a carefree immortal, yet inwardly their mind teems with thoughts. Ordinary people might barely achieve superficial "non-action," but only realized masters attain genuine "no-thought." We mundane beings struggle to maintain even momentary thoughtlessness, still startled by worldly events, let alone achieving true no-thought.

The author self-deprecatingly admits that even he must rely on writing for livelihood - how then could complete thoughtlessness be possible? Yet he distinguishes two types of thought: proper thoughts (daily necessary considerations) and excessive thoughts (inappropriate desires). Even the obsessive pursuit of "becoming immortals or Buddhas" constitutes deluded craving that should be abandoned. Authentic cultivation requires diligent practice: doing what truly benefits one's cultivation here and now, studying without external attachments, and wasting no time. Through this, the mind naturally transcends worldly concerns, inadvertently aligning with the source of immortals and Buddhas - appearing not to seek transcendence deliberately, yet precisely following the true path to immortality.

The passage discusses the cultivation of mind and tempering of will for Daoist practitioners. Mencius described how the sage-king Shun lived deep in the mountains, keeping company with trees and stones, roaming with deer and boars, appearing no different from rustic villagers. Yet within him shone an inner radiance—when hearing virtuous words or witnessing good deeds, his understanding would surge forth like a bursting riverbank. This exemplifies the true practitioner of cultivation.

One who willingly embraces such "rustic simplicity" without shame, remaining unmoved by beatings or insults like a simple-minded child, actually stands close to the Dao (the Way). Such a person may appear dull-witted, yet harbors great aspirations and profound learning. Their mind remains clear as a river—impossible to muddy—while their integrity stands evergreen like pine and cypress through all seasons. Only such individuals are genuine cultivators of the Dao.

The author expresses longing to meet such people for philosophical discourse, then admonishes practitioners: even amidst poverty and family burdens, one must maintain unbreakable resolve. Only by enduring countless trials can one penetrate iron walls and cross volcanic mountains, laying solid foundations for attaining immortality. Daoist cultivation is no child's play—it demands clenched teeth and unwavering commitment, where neither life nor death, hunger nor cold may shake one's devotion to the Dao.

When one's will becomes tempered like hundred-fold refined steel, celestial immortals (honored beings in Daoism who've attained the Dao) will surely offer protection. The crux lies not in circumstance but in steadfastness of purpose. Those with true determination could achieve enlightenment instantly even amidst mountains of blades or seas of fire—how much more so through the simple hardships of coarse tea and plain rice?

Finally, the text explains the meaning of "Dan" (the core concept of Neidan/internal alchemy): this primal Qi (vital energy) has existed since the creation of heaven and earth, yet only now can it be truly grasped and understood. Just as making clay pellets requires washing away sand and gravel, cultivation demands purging impurities to attain accomplishment.

To cultivate the Golden Elixir (Jindan), practitioners must first thoroughly purify themselves of the seven emotions and six desires, leaving no impurities, much like washing gold dust. Only then will the pristine primordial Qi within become as clear and bright as the autumn moon. Through the practice of ascending and descending breath (referring to breath regulation techniques) and applying the methods of harmonizing Yin and Yang, one can condense a perfectly round and luminous Golden Elixir in the Dantian (the Central Yellow Palace of Supreme Unity, the Daoist term for the body's central energy core). As long as this state is clearly perceived and maintained, the Golden Elixir will endure eternally without dissipating.

The three essential components of Golden Elixir cultivation are Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence). Shen is the fundamental source of Qi and Jing, much like descendants originate from ancestors. Therefore, during cultivation, one need only focus on concentrating the Shen, and Qi and Jing will naturally follow. Although the Golden Elixir cultivation process has three stages with different names, they are essentially the same: guiding Yang Qi relies on intention (Yi), harmonizing the meeting of Yin and Yang depends on intention, and sealing and stabilizing the energy in the Dantian is achieved through intention. Throughout the ten-month gestation period (a metaphor for the Golden Elixir's maturation cycle), one must engage in constant inner observation, all of which depends on the concentration of Shen. Postnatal consciousness is called "Yi," while prenatal consciousness is called "Shen." Where Shen goes, Qi follows; Qi arises from Shen and moves by its guidance.

At the critical moment of forming the Elixir, Yang Qi emerges in stillness and tranquility. When the Shen is calm, the primordial Jing (the foundational energy of life) naturally revitalizes and generates Qi movement—this is the principle of Qi arising from Shen. During the ten-month cultivation period, all inner observation and introspection must focus on this core, with the entire Shen concentrated here. In this way, the Qi of the five organs (Five Phases) will converge here, and embryonic respiration (a profound state of breathing) will circulate here—this is the principle of Qi resting in Shen. Because the entire process is entirely guided by Shen, the matured Golden Elixir can transform into the Yang Spirit (a pure Yang energy body). The role of Shen is truly paramount.

The Golden Elixir takes Qi as its mother, Shen as its ruler, and Jing as its nourishment. Why is Qi the mother? Because the Golden Elixir is fundamentally a condensed mass of Yang Qi. Whether gathering Yang Qi or regulating the "fire times" (energy modulation during cultivation), all depend on Qi, much like a mother uses blood and essence to nurture a child's organs. Why is Shen the ruler? Because Qi is generated by Shen, and Shen requires Qi to manifest its function. Though Qi is formless, it still leaves traces, whereas Shen is entirely without form or appearance. Practitioners must first merge their Shen with Qi to form the spiritual embryo (energy embryo), just as a father must rely on a mother to conceive life. Why is Jing the child? Because Jing is the substance that nourishes the Golden Elixir, much like a dragon needs water to soar and transform.

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. When a person's Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) - the three fundamental elements of life in Daoism - fail to harmonize, it resembles a lizard deprived of water, leaving the spirit unable to govern the physical form. Though one might achieve the preliminary result of forming a "spirit embryo," without the nourishment of true Jing (pure life energy), it will ultimately wither and become useless.

Authentic practitioners must achieve the "Three Completenesses" (full development of essence, energy, and spirit) and progress to the "Three Perfections" (their complete harmony) to have hope of attaining immortality through cultivation. Ordinary people often mistakenly equate the reproductive essence of sexual union with Yin Jing (desire-tainted life energy), yet the formation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) doesn't rely on this at all. The crucial distinction lies in this: when free from desire, all bodily essence remains Yang Jing (pure energy); when desire arises, it transforms into Yin Jing (adulterated energy). Yang Jing is formless and immaterial, while Yin Jing possesses form and substance - the difference hinges entirely on the presence or absence of desire.

The scripture reveals that the supreme medicinal ingredients are precisely these three: Jing, Qi, and Shen. Though ordinary people know of their existence, they cannot utilize them properly. Advanced practitioners with superior spiritual capacity understand this truth and cultivate within the undifferentiated state before the manifestation of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). This primordial state is called the "Ancestor of the Elixir" or Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). By maintaining spiritual awareness in serene cultivation within this state, one can form a millet-sized elixir pearl (the nascent form of the internal elixir). When refined with the primordial Qi of the Great Unity (Taiyi), after ten lunar months, the Yang Shen (pure Yang spirit) can be achieved.

The Yang Shen isn't confined to the human body - the entire cosmos manifests its presence. The sun, moon, stars, and all life forms are expressions of this Yang Shen's function. For its essential nature is Taiji itself, which possesses the capacity to transform and generate all things. The various supernatural abilities displayed by immortals are actually spontaneous manifestations of Taiji's fundamental nature, not deliberate actions performed by the immortals.

The internal elixir itself has no fixed form, yet it isn't mere emptiness. It can divide and combine limitlessly in unfathomable transformations while permeating the entire body. This characteristic embodies the Dao's paradoxical nature of being "formless yet substantial," representing the profound realm practitioners must comprehend through cultivation.

The human body can gather and condense its energies, quietly focusing on a key aperture (referring to the Dantian or the Mysterious Pass). First, it coalesces into form, then dissolves back into emptiness. This transformation is so profound that neither spirits nor deities can fathom its mystery, nor can heaven and earth exhaust its profundity. The divine has no fixed position, and transformation has no fixed form—this is what we call the Divine Elixir.

The elixir is divided into the prenatal (xiantian) and postnatal (houtian) elixirs. The prenatal elixir originates from the pure state before the division of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), capable of nurturing sages. At that time, the Qi of Taiji was clear, harmonious, and rich, and the numinous essence of heaven and earth first converged. Thus, in ancient times, many miraculous sages emerged, establishing civilization and creating rituals and music. The postnatal elixir, however, arises from turbid Qi that drifts and scatters, causing the spiritual essence of heaven and earth to disperse and decline. As a result, people of later ages rarely match those of antiquity, and few possess the virtues of strength and balance.

What, then, is the essence of the prenatal elixir? It is the condensation of the formless primordial state of the cosmos, refined through the ancestral Qi of Taiyi (the supreme origin of the universe). Nothing in the Dao is greater than Taiji, and the elixir precisely emulates Taiji. The elixir cannot be understood through concrete things—it embodies the Dao’s subtlety, emptiness, and the undifferentiated unity of primordial Qi. Some ask why the elixir must follow Taiji. In truth, the elixir is Taiji, and Taiji is the elixir. Like a grain-sized pearl of light, it can give birth to the entire world.

From antiquity to the present, the Yang Shen (pure Yang spirit achieved through cultivation) is constantly transforming, yet those living within it remain unaware, accustomed to its workings. Only those with profound wisdom can investigate its principles and truly comprehend the nature of the elixir. If we call this Wuwei (non-action), how then does heaven and earth divide? If we call it deliberate action, how does it return to the undifferentiated state of Taiji? There must be profound mystery here.

In the human body, the area above the heart corresponds to Qian (Heaven), while below the navel corresponds to Kun (Earth). If heavenly Qi does not descend and earthly Qi does not rise, this is the "Pi" hexagram from the Yijing (Book of Changes), symbolizing the disconnection of heaven and earth and the stagnation of all things. Practitioners of the Dao use the true Yang within the Li hexagram (heart fire) to supplement the true Yin within the Kan hexagram (kidney water), nourishing Li’s Yang with Kan’s water, forming the "Tai" hexagram—symbolizing the harmonious union of heaven and earth and the free flow of all things. But where, then, lies the method?

The practice of Neidan (internal alchemy) fundamentally lies in maintaining a mind of serene naturalness. When the heart-mind is tranquil, the Shen (spirit) becomes stable; with stable Shen, the Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) naturally harmonize. When this stability and harmony reach their zenith, they form an indivisible "Danji" (foundation of cultivation). Yet at this stage, the Danji remains unstable. Through the method of "creating being from non-being," one transforms the energy of emptiness into substantial matter, then refines this matter back to the realm of emptiness.

During cultivation, the "golden essence" (lung Qi) and "wooden liquid" (liver Qi) within the body interact dynamically, producing celestial music. Practitioners may experience extraordinary sensations—the sun and moon rising from below the navel, wind and clouds surging between the arms—ultimately returning to the primordial Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) state of clear emptiness and chaos. This realm encompasses all things in heaven and earth: every life form, whether born from womb or egg, is contained within it. When the spiritual mechanism is triggered, all sounds resonate in harmony, revealing the most primordial form of the Dao. As Laozi said, this is the gateway to all mysteries.

Authentic Neidan practice must follow the principle of Wuwei (non-action), for Neidan is essentially the manifestation of nature's laws: the mutual generation of Yin-Yang, the perfect balance of water and fire, measured opening and closing, orderly ascent and descent. These same natural patterns exist within the human body—they cannot be forcibly altered but must be followed. Many mistakenly believe alchemy forcibly changes natural laws, when in truth practitioners merely accord with the Dao's movement.

Regarding specific cultivation challenges: Yang Qi arises according to natural rhythms—one need only grasp the proper timing; fire regulation must follow its innate cadence; the generation of "true mercury" (heart-mind) depends on the movement of central Qi (spleen-stomach energy)—when central Qi ascends, the Qi of the five viscera follows; when it descends, they descend accordingly. As Mencius observed, the will is the commander of Qi.

This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. It begins by outlining the cultivation process as a reverse progression through the stages of "refining Jing (essence) into Qi (vital energy), refining Qi into Shen (spirit), and refining Shen to return to emptiness," while maintaining a mindset of natural spontaneity. This paradoxical unity of "reverse cultivation yielding natural accomplishment" constitutes the supreme secret of alchemical practice.

The text then employs the metaphor of cosmic creation: after Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) differentiates into heaven and earth, the myriad beings proliferate endlessly. Though burdened by this ceaseless generative cycle, heaven and earth must continue their transformative work. Practitioners seek to return to the undifferentiated state of primordial chaos, beginning with Wuwei (non-action) and culminating in thoughtless stillness, thereby reuniting Yin-Yang to form the inner elixir (Neidan). At this stage, one transcends the limitations of heaven and earth—while the cosmos may exhaust itself, those who attain the Dao merge with the Great Void (cosmic origin).

Finally, the text reveals the true nature of the "elixir": the elixir is the Dao itself, the formless substance of emptiness. This ineffable emptiness cannot be named, hence we provisionally call it "Dao." From emptiness emerges the One (Taiji), the One gives birth to the myriad things, all things return to the One, and the One ultimately reverts to emptiness. Though this mysterious generative mechanism defies complete description, we may roughly comprehend it thus. The practice of cultivation involves mastering this cyclical pattern of transformation from emptiness to form and back to emptiness.

This passage elucidates the relationship between the "Great Void" (Taixu, cosmic origin) and the "myriad things" in Daoist cultivation. The Great Void itself has no concrete form or image, yet it gives birth to all things with form and substance. The key lies in the "One" (the origin of Dao) contained within the Great Void—though formless and imageless, it shares complete unity with the Great Void in absolute purity.

All phenomena emerge from the Great Void. The Great Void is not a rigid entity but an undifferentiated whole. Within it, what obtains Qi forms physical shapes, while what obtains principle (li) forms inherent nature. This primordial source can divide and unite, transform, expand or contract, take square or round shapes, move or remain still—like shattering and reassembling emptiness itself. Crucially, the Great Void does not intentionally create things; rather, natural patterns spontaneously manifest. If the Great Void deliberately produced things, its generative capacity would eventually exhaust.

Neidan (internal alchemy) practitioners must refine themselves until resembling a millet-sized luminous pearl (shuzhu), achieving unity with the Great Void. Only then can they emulate the Great Void's way: through Wuwei (non-action), all things naturally arise; without deliberate intention, all beings spontaneously multiply. This supreme state transcends verbal description. The author attempts illustration through the metaphor of "a circle," yet finds it limiting; switching to "void" risks being too abstract for practitioners, ultimately settling on combining "concentric circles" and "void" for dual representation.

The essential formula for alchemical practice is: take "non-being" as the sovereign (ruler), "being" as the minister (assistant), harmonize water and fire as adjutants, and guide with intention as the envoy. Here, "non-being" refers to the three superior elixir components—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—all attaining a state of absolute emptiness, with the body transparent as crystal, utterly untainted. Only then can essence, energy, and spirit merge into one vast, undifferentiated clarity, establishing the elixir's foundation. "Being" signifies how this void paradoxically contains all potential—apparently devoid of essence yet truly containing it, seemingly without energy yet fundamentally possessing it, apparently spiritless yet profoundly spirited—mirroring humanity's primordial state of uncontrived naturalness.

All things in the world are bathed in the grace of the Dao, a benevolence that permeates everywhere yet defies definition through names or forms. Just as in statecraft, where ritual education and penal punishment appear contradictory but actually complement each other, so too in alchemy one must understand the principle of water and fire balancing each other. The water (referring to kidney jing/essence) below needs guidance to ascend, while the fire (referring to heart fire) above requires settling downward—much like how a wise ruler governs by balancing internal and external affairs, avoiding extremes.

When cultivation reaches the state of water and fire intermingling, it resembles the harmonious succession of seasons or smooth winds from all directions, where the Three Powers (heaven, earth and humanity) are perfectly aligned. At this stage, about sixty to seventy percent of the work is complete. So what governs this ascent and descent of water and fire? It is the "true intention" (zhenyi). At the beginning of practice, one must relinquish deliberate effort; upon achievement, one must also forget about intention, maintaining only pure natural awareness throughout the process. This true intention permeates the entire cultivation journey, from gathering the medicinal ingredients to forming the elixir, and ultimately to transcending physical form through spiritual emergence.

The authentic Golden Elixir (the supreme achievement of neidan/internal alchemy) is the primordial Dao-body that exists prior to creation, not something artificially manufactured. The ancient sages' voluminous teachings ultimately point to one truth: returning to the natural Dao. Consider how the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) generates heaven and earth: yang qi ascends to form heaven while yin qi descends to form earth. Yet crucially, the Taiji itself creates without deliberate action, eternally maintaining its serene and non-acting nature. Practitioners must contemplate the formless, imageless state of Taiji before the division of heaven and earth.

The human heart inherently possesses this Taiji-nature, which constitutes the foundation of alchemical practice. Dao cultivators concentrate their innate spiritual light in the dantian (the lower abdominal energy center), allowing shen/spirit and qi to intermingle. Through sustained practice, they may achieve a Golden Elixir that transcends physical form. This elixir is neither ordinary matter nor complete emptiness—it surpasses heaven and earth while maintaining real existence, and may provisionally be called "primordial qi" (the most refined energy of the cosmos).

This passage explains the core concepts of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Though the Dao is formless and beyond appearance, it can be comprehended through the symbolic representation of the "Elixir." The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) represents the Dao's initial manifested state.

When human life first forms, the umbilical cord connects to the mother's body, containing the innate Yuanqi (primordial energy) that constitutes the foundation of life. The navel, located at the body's center, functions like the pivotal point between heaven and earth, gathering the energies of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Practitioners select this area as the "cauldron furnace" (the core region for cultivating energy) precisely because of its perfect centrality, calling it the "Yellow Court"—where "yellow" represents the color of centrality and "court" symbolizes a state of empty receptivity. Master Ziyang (a key figure in Neidan tradition) emphasized the extraordinary nature of this cavity.

During practice, "opening the gate" signifies the activation of Yang energy, transporting the elixir body into the Yellow Court; "closing the gate" requires tranquil sealing, like shutting a door, when Yin energy becomes dominant. This embodies the application of Qian (Heaven, Yang) and Kun (Earth, Yin).

The Five Qi correspond to the Five Phases energies (Metal, Fire, Wood, Earth, Water) associated with the lungs, heart, liver, spleen, and kidneys. Normally these energies circulate internally—imbalance leads to illness. Upon reaching advanced stages, the Yuanqi (energy from the qi cavity) ascends from the coccyx to the Niwan (crown of the head), merges with the brain marrow, then descends to nourish the organs like moonlight gently illuminating Lake Dongting. Eventually it condenses into a "millet-sized pearl" (the nascent form of the internal elixir) that returns to the Yellow Court.

Should any of the Five Phases energies be deficient, the cultivated Yang Shen (advanced energy body) would manifest corresponding flaws, just as physical bodies do. Therefore, practice requires the Five Phases energies to be complete and abundant—only then can one achieve the perfected state of the Elixir Path.

When the human spirit lacks any part, it cannot be considered complete. The essence of cultivation lies in attaining the ultimate state of stillness, entering the mysterious realm where the Qi of the five viscera (corresponding to the Five Phases of Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth) transforms into primordial Yuanqi. Only the Yang Shen (the advanced form of the original spirit) cultivated through this process can become a being of supreme intelligence and sanctity. If contaminated with turbid postnatal Qi, even if a rudimentary fetal spirit is forcibly formed, it will lose its numinous quality and find it difficult to reach the profound and wondrous state.

The core secret of alchemical practice ultimately boils down to two characters: "concentrating the Shen." The optimal position for this concentration is at the origin where life first formed, and the best timing is when breathing returns to primordial fetal respiration. Within the human body, the movement of Qi follows patterns like the rotation of the Big Dipper, circulating through the twelve meridians in one day-night cycle. When Qi ascends, the energies of the five viscera rise with it; when it descends, they collectively settle. After this descent, the five visceral energies merge into one—this is the mysterious moment described in alchemical scriptures as "metal and wood combining, nature and emotions becoming one."

Speaking of mercury (symbolizing the original spirit): when true breath returns to its source, the original spirit within the heart fire has already ascended along with the five visceral energies. When lead (symbolizing original essence) reaches the divine chamber (upper Dantian), the generative sequence of metal producing water and water producing wood naturally manifests. The mutual attraction between Yin and Yang energies becomes inevitable—this is an indisputable law of cultivation.

The true essence of stillness practice cannot be fully conveyed through words—it must be personally experienced. Buddhism takes "illuminating the mind and seeing one's true nature" as its aim, while Daoism regards "the return of primordial Qi to its root" as essential. Only after seeing one's nature can one understand life's essence, hence nature cultivation (Xing Gong) comes first; yet after attaining life mastery (Ming), one also awakens to true nature. When fetal breathing returns to its root, it naturally merges with the primordial spiritual light (essential wisdom). Though nature and life may seem sequential, they are fundamentally one—only practitioners with keen spiritual faculties can comprehend this.

Regarding the differentiation of Yang Shen: Yang Shen is condensed from pure Yang Qi, its energy flowing like sparks flying from fire—each spark containing the complete nature of fire. The Golden Elixir is the manifestation of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), and since Taiji can generate all things in heaven and earth, a single complete Golden Elixir—this integral Taiji—can naturally manifest countless manifestations. Like the legendary immortal Hequzi who could fill the cosmos with his emanations. Yet remember: all formed phenomena with shape and appearance ultimately decay, while the Yang Shen born from the Great Elixir, though appearing in manifested forms, has no substantial image—thus able to differentiate infinitely while remaining fundamentally one.

Since the Yang Spirit has no concrete form, how does it obtain energy? In truth, the Yang Spirit is simply a mass of pure Yang Qi, like the sun in summer or autumn—what could remain unmelted by its radiance? Yet some ask: when the Yang Spirit divides into multiple manifestations, might their spiritual capacities differ? Understand this: while differentiated forms of tangible things may vary (just as intelligent parents may bear dull children), the Yang Spirit is pure divine essence, utterly untainted—all its manifestations naturally possess identical spiritual potency.

Some worry that dispersing the Yang Spirit in all directions might sever its connections. But the most numinous phenomena permeate heaven and earth, reaching even the subtlest realms. When bronze mountains collapse, distant bells resonate in harmony; when swords transform into dragons, they can reunite. Even insentient objects influence one another—how much more so the Yang Spirit? Thus, fears of fragmentation are unfounded.

Regarding whether the Neidan (internal elixir, the energy core cultivated within the body) has form: when Yin and Yang Qi merge and fuse internally, the entire body grows warm and comfortable, like spring’s vitality or the refreshed clarity upon waking from deep sleep. This fusion is neither purely Shen (spirit), Jing (essence), nor Qi—yet transcends all three. It may be called the Dao, manifests as the "Elixir," and reluctantly described as Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). After ten months of cultivation, the Yang Spirit is achieved. In summary, though alchemical practice seems entirely intangible, it ultimately condenses into a luminous pearl the size of a millet grain, containing the cosmos’ profound mysteries. To comprehend this is to grasp the greater truth.

The character "Dan" (丹, elixir) itself holds deep meaning. Its upper component resembles a human torso, the middle horizontal stroke representing the navel. Why a stroke rather than a circle? This line echoes Fuxi’s primordial "single stroke" (the initial division of Taiji into Yin-Yang), just as in the womb, before limbs and features form, the umbilical connection appears first. The elixir coalesces at the navel because this is humanity’s root of life. Cultivation establishes one’s life foundation—where else could the elixir form but at this vital origin?

The true elixir harbors divine spirit, dwelling in the palace of mystic penetration (the Dantian). Grasp this spirit, and alchemy succeeds; fail to grasp it, and no span of years suffices. This spirit is the "Elixir’s Ancestor"—the very source of the work.

When you resolve to cultivate the Dao, your original spirit (Yuanshen, the innate spiritual nature) descends into your heart center (the cardiac region) riding the celestial energy of the Big Dipper. This primordial spirit harmonizes the Qi mechanisms throughout your body, bringing mental clarity and pure temperament. By nature, it abhors agitation and delights in stillness, rejects fullness and embraces emptiness. At the ultimate state of stillness and emptiness, the spirit's luminous nature spontaneously manifests. Once awakened, it assumes tremendous governance—commanding all deities of the internal organs like a helmsman steering a ship, turning at bends and docking at shores, never losing control.

For every increment of cultivation you accomplish, the original spirit guides you to the next stage. It continuously illuminates and elevates until you achieve complete perfection—all through the spirit's grace. Now you must offer this spirit two sacred words: "stillness" and "emptiness."

(This passage describes the Daoist deity) The Great Emperor of Longevity of the South Pole, who through countless kalpas remains compassionately devoted to saving beings, stands as the eternal teacher of civilization. His teachings resonate like golden jade—establishing orthodox Dao in the East while transmitting sacred methods in the West. His divine transformations defy description: appearing wild yet profoundly wise, dwelling in worldly peace while concealing profound mysteries, transcending mundane distinctions of honor and disgrace. With great compassion and vows, he employs supreme virtue to establish countless skillful means for liberating beings.

Someone asked: "What remains after achieving the yang spirit (a body-transcending spiritual form)?" The master replied: "An excellent question. The path divides thus: inferior practitioners hastily discard their physical form, while superior practitioners gradually cultivate while retaining their whole body. Why? The yang spirit freely roams the great void—soaring thousands of miles instantly, touching sun-moon clouds above, exploring immortal isles below, transforming at will. Seeing the former flesh-body as mere refuse, inferior practitioners abandon it in wilderness mountains. But those of true resolve never seek shortcuts..."

A genuine cultivator who is willing to practice diligently would neither rush to release their yang spirit (a purified yang energy entity developed through cultivation) prematurely, nor hastily discard their physical body even when capable of doing so. The key lies in single-mindedly safeguarding the primordial innate spirit, undergoing relentless refinement until the mind attains the serene emptiness of cosmic space. Through continuous tempering by pure yang's true fire, one ultimately merges with the Dao. This is the path of those who achieve complete bodily transcendence. Both approaches are presented here for practitioners to choose freely—but shouldn't those truly committed to cultivation aspire to the highest attainment?

When asked whether this method differs from "refining emptiness" practice, the master explained: Refining emptiness compensates for deficiencies in mind-nature cultivation, whereas this practice completes unfinished work in vital energy cultivation. For those who have already refined their mind-nature to absolute emptiness after somatic transformation, taking this direct path would be supremely efficient. Those who cultivate life-force before mind-nature may ultimately focus only on the latter while neglecting the former—though adepts with profound foundations can fuse both approaches beautifully.

True Dao cultivators unite body and mind with the Dao, their spirit wandering the Tai Xu (primordial cosmic space). Tai Xu itself knows no "Dao"—this designation arises only through human cognition. Humans originally have no inherent "Dao"; when reaching the state of "Dao beyond Dao," what appears as Dao is ultimately emptiness. Alas! From whence comes this designation "Dao"? Both within and beyond heaven-earth lies only Tai Xu. After heaven-earth's formation, the Dao that once flowed unimpeded through the void became obstructed by these very structures. Thus only when heaven-earth perishes does the Dao fully manifest.

We share Tai Xu's original luminous emptiness, yet physical form creates separation from the void. Though connected externally through the nine orifices (eyes, ears, etc.), the inner Tai Xu feels constrained and restless. This discomfort accumulates as emotional desires—shifting joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure—evolving into intricate mental activities. The originally unobstructed spiritual light thus sinks into the flesh, naturally feeling trapped and helpless, seeking relief through various means. Prolonged submersion makes one gradually forget their innate empty nature, persisting in delusion even after death, tumbling through wretched rebirth cycles—how difficult to escape!

Given the physical body's myriad afflictions, why do immortals pursue daylight ascension? The celestial body achieved by transcendents is no ordinary flesh. This transformed body becomes indistinguishable from Tai Xu—when tempered by true fire, both form and substance dissolve, coalescing into form or dispersing as Qi at will. Within this coalescence and dispersion resides a natural mystery surpassing ordinary cognition.

A genuine practitioner can attain the Dao whether dwelling in the numinous grottoes of sacred mountains or amidst the clamor of bustling marketplaces. When cultivation reaches profound levels, the body becomes fiery hot while the mind remains cool as water; the Qi flows smoothly like a spring, and the Shen becomes as steady as a mountain—this is the state of attaining the Dao.

It has been long since I last encountered those true immortals who have achieved perfection. The method of refining the physical form lies in maintaining a state of emptiness in body and mind, eliminating artificial efforts, and aligning with the natural movement of the heavenly Dao. Through prolonged practice, the physical form dissolves into emptiness, reaching a state where no substance can be found. Those with shallow understanding often mock our Daoist tradition as "dragging corpses with bones"—like viewing the sky through a bamboo tube, how can they comprehend the vastness of the celestial sphere? How could they know that when Daoist refinement reaches the stage where form and spirit merge, the entire Great Void is filled with nothing but purple light and mysterious Qi? This energy manifests as the sun and moon in brightness, as thunder and lightning in sharpness, as wind and clouds when stirring, and as rain and dew when nourishing—responsive to all living beings' suffering and omniscient. The cultivator who masters the pivot of creation becomes the parent of all beings—what luminous greatness such an achievement holds!

This is precisely the duty of those with noble aspirations. The Great Luo Heaven (the highest celestial realm in Daoism) was never meant for ordinary mortals—what matters is how practitioners set their own standards. The Supreme Lord Lao (the highest deity in Daoism) saves people through the great truth of the Dao, not through elixirs; though immortals may use elixirs to aid others, they never deviate from the Dao. As for those petty practitioners of minor arts, they constantly boast of secret transmissions. Since ancient times, has there ever been anyone who achieved immortality and transcended samsara through mere techniques? Extending life and curing diseases might be possible. Among the ancient alchemical scriptures, only the Cantong Qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three) can be considered authentic—the rest are mixed with truth and falsehood. But when genuine scriptures contain fabricated content, even truth becomes impure.

Alas, those who study the profound Dao only know to rigidly cling to clichéd texts while deludedly attempting to seize the creative power of heaven and earth. Like a crowd of blind men bustling about, they fail to see the great Dao right before their eyes; they place unwavering faith in falsified alchemical texts, like discarding a night-shining pearl while treasuring fish eyes. This reminds me of Yang Zhu's lament at the crossroads. Throughout history, countless cultivators have pursued the path, but all heterodox methods are like drawing cakes to satisfy hunger—how can they solve the fundamental problem? Those with noble aspirations should practice the supreme great Dao, taking the great sages as their teachers and illuminating the mind to perceive true nature as their goal. Understand that affliction and enlightenment are ultimately one; celestial palaces and earthly caves both reside within the heart. With persistent and diligent practice...

This passage discusses the realms of Daoist cultivation and its methods. Practitioners who diligently cultivate with their feet firmly on the ground may become "earth-walking immortals" (divine beings who move freely in the human realm) during their lifetime, and after ascension, attain the position of "Jade Palace True Officials" (high-ranking celestial officers) in the heavenly courts. Their descendants will eternally dwell in blessed lands—this represents the most complete fulfillment.

Regarding the method of elixir refinement, the key lies in the profound mechanism between movement and stillness: when the surface appears most still, the true elixir can be forged, while deliberate pursuit often leads to failure. It's advised to first sit quietly for a while, settling the Shen (spirit) like a deep pool and calming the Qi (vital energy) as an abyss. When spirit and energy naturally harmonize, one may then guide the true intention with pure mental focus to refine the precious Mysterious Flower Treasure (referring to Neidan, internal alchemy), storing it in the Dantian (energy center). Subsequently, maintain continuous inner observation—within the body, it will seem as if a celestial furnace fire blazes, with golden light everywhere (symbolizing abundant internal energy). At this stage, the power of the Big Dipper constellation (astral forces guiding energy in Daoist practice) begins its rotation, and the Yin-Yang energies spontaneously reverse and transform.

When cultivation reaches completion, the pure Yang energy of utmost firmness permeates the entire body, forging a dharma body (immortal physique) warm as springtime. The crown of the head feels perpetually bathed in sunlight, while the body naturally generates the endless creative mechanism of the cosmos. At this stage, one can manifest multiple forms and gather or disperse at will, attaining the "True Person" realm—where form and spirit both become wondrous, united with the Great Dao.

The text particularly emphasizes: the immortal realm is actually quite ordinary, merely the perfection of commonplace principles. Confucius's saying, "Practice ordinary virtues diligently, and be cautious in everyday speech," precisely illustrates that celestial immortals are simply ordinary people who perfect ordinary matters. Cultivation holds no earth-shattering secrets—just sincerely follow fundamental principles, and one will naturally embark on the immortal path, attaining celestial offices. Abilities like riding clouds and cranes or traversing between existence and non-existence (moving between material and spiritual realms) are but inevitable attainments for cultivators, as natural as scholars following Confucian traditions.

The Supreme Venerable Lord Laozi (Daoism's highest deity) originally taught people to prioritize cultivating their innate nature (Xing), with life-nourishing practices (Ming gong, physical cultivation) being secondary. The eternally abiding "True Constant Body" (transcendent essence beyond life and death) remains beyond Yama's jurisdiction. While the King of Hell governs ordinary people's lifecycles, he holds no power over those who have awakened to the Dao. As for life-nourishing cultivation, when the timing matures, ascension to the Great Clarity celestial realm occurs naturally. But the crucial prerequisite is recognizing: what exactly within you requires refinement? This fundamental essence must be thoroughly purified to transcend the bonds of life and death—then even the physical body can follow this liberation. If this essence remains impure, it's like a fine house occupied by filth—ultimately unable to escape the cycle of rebirth.

People are always unwilling to sit quietly, constantly running about outside, indulging in pleasure quarters until their eyes grow dizzy and their minds become disturbed. Even if they occasionally return home, they soon forget their fundamental duty. Like a house left uninhabited, it will inevitably collapse in time. Therefore, the primary task of cultivating one's heart-mind (referring to the mental refinement in Daoist Neidan practice) is to keep the master (one's original mind) at home.

Cultivating the physical form (referring to the life-nurturing aspects of Daoist practice) is like the master repairing the house. Upon careful reflection, which is more important? Which should come first? This principle doesn't require others' explanation—one can understand it oneself. During meditation, empty your mind as if suspended in void. When breathing becomes steady and body-mind settles, gradually withdraw attention inward to observe your original face (one's innate nature). Then you'll discover the mind is actually empty—precisely in this state, one naturally realizes profound enlightenment. The entire cosmos (a Buddhist term referring to all existence) is within this enlightenment, yet there's actually nothing to enlighten. This enlightened nature neither arises nor ceases—this is true enlightenment.

Humans inherently possess this empty-spiritual nature, utterly complete and profoundly mysterious. From the smallest hair to the mythical Mount Sumeru, all formed things derive their shapes from it, while formless things find their formlessness here too. Heaven, earth, sun, moon, womb-born or egg-born creatures—speaking of existence reveals infinite diversity; speaking of non-existence shows complete unity. Seen this way, what need is there for deliberate action?

Material things ultimately decay—only "emptiness" remains indestructible. The human body consists of earth, water, fire, and wind (Buddhism's four elements), returning to these elements after death. Only this empty-spiritual nature has nowhere to return—to speak of returning to emptiness is redundant, for it is emptiness itself. Using this emptiness to return to that emptiness—between emptiness and emptiness, where could there be to return? Precisely because emptiness has nowhere to return, this "emptiness" is what never dies.

The Golden Elixir (Neidan) we refine is precisely this "emptiness." The so-called Yang Spirit (the highest attainment in Neidan practice) isn't the illusory physical form composed of the four elements—how could it not be emptiness? The Yang Spirit is precisely that which is both empty and numinous. This empty-numinous existence cannot be painted or molded—the most skilled hands cannot touch it. Only this Yang Spirit perfectly manifests the three words "empty yet numinous" as concrete existence. Viewed this way, Chan Buddhism and the Mysterious Gate (Daoism) are truly separated by just a thin paper—neither completely different nor entirely identical. Between this sameness and difference, only those of superior spiritual capacity can reach the highest realm.

Practitioners of the Dao must take "forbearance" as their foundation. Emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and fear were never meant to belong to our true mind—sweeping them all away brings incomparable ease. Yet this "forbearance" is easier said than done—it requires tremendous courage and the vast, righteous Qi (a supremely strong spiritual state) to sustain it.

The universe is permeated with vast righteous Qi (vital energy), but who can truly master it? Since you aspire to cultivate the Dao, you must demand of yourself with great courage. This righteous Qi requires a heart as fervent as ginger and cinnamon, bones as steadfast as ice-forged steel—just as true gold shines brighter after being tempered by fire.

Regarding Chan Buddhism's approach of "illuminating the mind and seeing one's true nature," enlightenment must be maintained through stillness and concentration. However, lay practitioners and monastics follow vastly different paths: monastics spend their days immersed in immortal scriptures, dwelling in mountain hermitages where even daily activities maintain purity; lay practitioners are either occupied with livelihood or entangled in worldly affairs—even when sitting still, their minds remain restless. Without carving out moments of stillness amidst busyness or finding tranquility within clamor, one can hardly achieve the dual cultivation of nature (Xing) and life (Ming). Superficial freedom may seem attainable, but truly returning the breath to its origin (Zhenxi) or manifesting the primordial spirit (Yuanshen) is difficult, let alone attaining advanced states like "Yellow Sprouts" (neidan term for nascent genuine Qi) or "White Snow" (neidan term for purified spirit).

Since you've vowed to enter our mystical gate (Daoism), you must practice with grounded diligence. Begin by introspecting your innate nature: Have the defilements of the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) been purified? Is your heart-mind luminous and complete? Within this seven-foot body, can you achieve crystal-clear transparency like a pagoda of quartz or a vase of lapis lazuli? Once accomplished, advance further by seeking stillness within stillness, fortifying your resolve. Endure the hardship of rope beds, hard planks, and meditation cushions; turn a deaf ear to external distractions while exploring the mysterious gateways (key energy centers) within. Establish the "golden cauldron and jade furnace" (neidan metaphors) internally—when gathering primordial Yang Qi, neither force it nor neglect it. Through daily accumulation, like pearls forming in water or jade crystallizing in stone, essence (Jing) naturally coalesces and radiance spontaneously emerges. After ten months to a year of practice, the infant spirit (Yuanying, embodiment of primordial spirit) will burst through the Celestial Gate (Baihui point at the crown)—a feat requiring the heroic resolve of a true warrior.

Someone asked: Must methods like "gathering the medicinal essence" (Caiyao), "replenishing Jing" (Tianjing), or "extracting lead and adding mercury" (neidan alchemical terms) be followed step-by-step? The master replied: These names were merely provisional teachings established by sages to guide ordinary seekers. Those with true wisdom, upon awakening to the Great Vehicle (Dacheng), maintain emptiness-awareness through all activities—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—constantly turning inward. When the inner fire matures within six to ten months, they naturally illuminate the mind and manifest the spirit. Thus, sages ultimately guide practitioners directly to the supreme cultivation method.

Attaining the state where the spirit returns to emptiness is an exceptionally subtle practice. Yet when one sits in meditation for prolonged periods, the body's Qi (vital energy) and blood will naturally circulate, rising and falling in accordance with the rhythms of heaven and earth. Like the surging tide on the fifteenth day of the lunar month, it washes through the sinews and bones, purifies the marrow, even creating sensations as if every joint in the body might shatter. Ancient sages, concerned that practitioners might panic or even lose their minds when encountering such states, compassionately established terms like "gathering," "replenishing," and "adjusting" in cultivation methods. These prepare practitioners to recognize such experiences in advance, allowing them to remain composed and undistracted by illusions. It is like steering a boat through stormy waves—holding firm to the rudder ensures safe passage.

Let me speak plainly: The essence of alchemy (Neidan) has nothing to do with external substances like lead or mercury. People talk of refining elixirs from lead, yet they fail to realize that the true elixir (the Golden Elixir) is not forged from such materials. Only by discovering one's innate "elixir seed" (primordial Qi) can one recognize that all alchemical scriptures—even the words I speak now—may contain gaps or errors. The true mystery lies beyond the written word. Your heart is filled with fear because your resolve to seek the Dao is not firm enough, your understanding of your true nature not clear enough, and your trust in your master's teachings not deep enough. If you sincerely vow to pursue the Dao, you will diligently cultivate the work of illuminating the mind and realizing your nature, holding unwavering faith in every word your master imparts. Since you have encountered a true master and received genuine transmission, what reason is there for hesitation?

You constantly worry that cultivation might bring harm, sitting in meditation with suspicion and unease. With such timidity, one could not even become a loyal minister or filial child—let alone an immortal. Understand this: Your true nature is bestowed by heaven, as are your life and destiny. Since they are heaven-given, how could demons or monsters possibly take them away? A genuine cultivator must relinquish even concepts of "having" and "not having," regarding even the body as illusory. Even if saws cut the flesh or boiling oil sears the skin, these can only harm the physical form—they cannot destroy my luminous, pure nature. This nature is indestructible; even if demons harm me in this life, this radiant essence will remain like gold unharmed by fire. Reborn in another life, it will continue the path of cultivation until the aspiration of attaining immortality is fulfilled.

Moreover, with single-minded focus and unshaken intent, no demonic force can intrude. One sincere heart can withstand ten thousand demonic obstructions; one spark of true nature dissolves all illusions—so what is there to fear? The celestial sages regard disciples who inherit the Dao as more precious than pearls or jade—for while treasures have a price, a worthy disciple is beyond value.

At the very beginning of spiritual practice, one must register their name and origins in the celestial registers of the heavenly court. Each day, sages descend to the human realm to examine the merits and faults of every individual. If a practitioner's aspiration is sincere and their faith steadfast, the sages rejoice greatly—like a compassionate mother protecting her infant—and the deities of the void will offer their full support. These divine beings would never allow malevolent spirits or demons to harass, mock, or harm a genuine cultivator.

Since you have resolved to become a disciple of the Daoist path, you must summon great courage and make a mighty vow: to stand as an indomitable hero between heaven and earth, one capable of transforming the very fabric of reality. You must vigorously uphold the sublime traditions of the Mysterious Gate (Daoism), widely spreading its teachings and methods. Even if trapped in a demon's den with your life hanging by a thread, your innate spiritual radiance can blaze forth, illuminating the darkness and sending hordes of demons fleeing while malevolent ghosts cower in hiding. How much more so in times of peace and prosperity, when you may walk as a companion to exalted immortals—how could you possibly harbor any trace of fear or retreat? Is this the conduct of a true hero?

A genuine Daoist cultivator moves through the world with serene breath when silent and gentle smiles when speaking. Their joy reaches the utmost, their every action in harmony with the celestial Dao. Each day feels like bathing in spring breezes; every moment seems bathed in moonlight. Only then can they resonate with the highest sages and keep company with transcendent beings. Think of the ancient exemplars: Layman Pang (the renowned Tang Dynasty householder cultivator) who led his entire family in spiritual practice, or Zhang Zhihe (the Tang Dynasty Daoist) who made his boat a home while wandering rivers and lakes—how admirable their noble bearing! The lofty demeanor of these ancients is not distant; their luminous footsteps remain ours to follow.

For those who attain the Dao, every path becomes open before them—when they encounter mountains, they make them their home. Laozi rode his blue ox westward through Hangu Pass; Bodhidharma left India to journey east to the Middle Kingdom. Simply by stepping beyond your gate, the great road naturally appears. How could family ties become a burden? When your innate abilities serve as provisions, what is there to fear?

I observe that the cultivators of high antiquity refined their hearts into luminous clarity, realizing all profound principles through inner awakening—their practice was intimate, flavorful, and entirely free from demonic obstructions. Later generations, however, forgot this essential point, expecting every detail to be transmitted orally from master to disciple. Worse still, some confused masters put on airs, frequently resorting to grandiose celestial oaths and formal initiation rituals, thereby straying from the original purity of Daoist cultivation.

Nowadays there are those who accept worship and offerings from others, yet teach only minor techniques from obscure schools, far from the true transmission of the Great Dao. These individuals haven't even glimpsed the gate of the Great Way, yet spread distortions and blind delusions—like a crowd of blind men leading the deaf. How pitiful and difficult their path to immortality and Dao-realization must be!

Authentic immortals teach disciples with but one essential method: "refining the heart." This approach unfolds naturally from within, step by step. When encountering disciples of superior capacity, a single moment of awakening can directly reveal the supreme vehicle—lifting their gaze to see celestial palaces where mountains, rivers, and earth transform into golden realms, with immortal companions coming and going freely. Upon reaching the state where form and spirit attain wondrous perfection, even one's own body-mind becomes superfluous, let alone the methods transmitted by teachers. Only then does one realize all previous efforts were necessary steps. I speak these truths without deception, yet only those with superior spiritual roots can comprehend them. Recognizing your worthy capacity, I've written this for you.

Practitioners of the Dao possess inner wisdom-eyes that perceive all between heaven and earth. Thus, sages throughout history sought the Way not through external pursuit, but by turning inward during stillness—recognizing all is originally complete within. The Nine-Cauldron Divine Elixir (referring to the highest state of Neidan practice) taught by Lord Lao is ultimately heart-to-heart transmission, utterly transcending words and texts. Attempting to convey the Great Dao through verbal explanations or written records renders the transmission inauthentic and practice fruitless. The heart is the root of all things, the gathering place of every mystery. Abandoning this root to seek externally is as absurd as searching for branches while forsaking the tree's trunk.

I've witnessed many Dao cultivators who, upon grasping superficial knowledge, posture as grandmasters demanding worship. Seeing such people, I cannot help but sigh "what a sin!" Throughout history, genuine masters who awakened countless beings simply taught mind-illumination and nature-realization—polishing the heart's Mysterious Pearl (symbolizing original nature) until spiritual light shines through. Disciples naturally awaken to wondrous understanding, silently aligning with true principles in heart-to-heart resonance with their teacher. Because realization springs from within, practice feels intimately familiar and effortlessly accomplished. At the moment of complete achievement, all methods dissolve into emptiness—the One Truth containing ten thousand dharmas—arriving at the profound state where "having grasped the meaning, one forgets the words."

How can the path of cultivation be comprehended through mere instruction from others? To seek the Dao while endlessly circling within words and language—is this not a grave mistake? In this age, genuine enlightened masters are exceedingly rare, yet among those who discourse on the mysteries and debate the Dao, nine out of ten presume themselves to have attained the true transmission (the "pearl of the dragon," symbolizing the essence of the Great Dao). Their pretentious posturing is truly laughable—such people, I fear, commit a profound offense.

Those who truly cultivate the Dao often awaken to realization suddenly and without conscious effort. Why is this so? When the moment of spiritual opportunity arrives, though they never deliberately sought it, they abruptly grasp the subtle and profound methods. This occurs because they are born with innate spiritual roots (a "congenital spiritual bone") and carry the Qi of the primordial heavens. Though you indeed possess an affinity for immortality, worldly habits weigh heavily upon you—this is a great hindrance to cultivation, and you must remain vigilant in purging them. The four words emphasized by the ancient sages—"restrain anger and stifle desires"—must never be abandoned. Maintain a peaceful heart in dealing with others, treat them with generosity, nurture your De (Virtue) through few words, preserve inner tranquility, and cleanse all bad habits. In doing so, you become a living immortal among mortals.

In truth, the celestial immortals delight most in forming friendships. They too roam together, dwell together, drink and sing in harmony, compose poetry and exchange verses—no different from ordinary people. It is only because the world has so few who share their aspirations that they must dwell alone in the heavens or retreat to mountain forests. If you can truly achieve "emptying the heart and filling the belly" (a Daoist cultivation term denoting inner clarity and abundant Jing-Qi), resonate with them in spirit, and converse with them in harmony, they will surely seek you out and form bonds of life and death. Then, not only will you be reluctant to part with them, but they too will be unable to leave you. They will aid you in perfecting the Golden Elixir, and in the end, you will ascend together to the immortal realms—what joy could be greater!

Thus, seeking immortality requires no outward search—the key lies in inner realization. The Great Dao cannot be attained through words or acquired through knowledge. It must be verified in concrete affairs and accumulated through virtuous action; only then will the celestial deities lend their aid. Not only will the Elixir be perfected, but spiritual powers will also manifest. Superior cultivators embody the Dao through their being, middling cultivators explore it through words, and inferior cultivators chase mere techniques and methods. Many study the Dao, yet few attain it—all because the Dao is inherently near, yet people insist on seeking it afar.

That you can renounce wealth and honor, willingly embracing poverty in pursuit of the Dao, speaks of your noble aspiration. Yet without genuine cultivation, mere ambition is insufficient.

Confucius said, "To correct one's own faults without censuring others' faults—this is the true practice of cultivation." Outward misdeeds are easily noticed, but the hidden evils in one's heart are hardest to amend. Thus, genuine Dao seekers constantly examine their innermost thoughts. What does examination mean? It means observing whether one's subtle, concealed thoughts align with the great Dao (the Way).

When each thought arises, one knows clearly whether it's upright or deviant. If it's deviant, uproot it immediately like pulling weeds, leaving no chance for regrowth. If it's upright, nurture it daily like tending seedlings, allowing it to flourish. Mencius said: "All people have things they cannot bear to do—extending this heart to what they can bear is benevolence (ren); all have things they're unwilling to do—applying this standard to what they're willing to do is righteousness (yi)." Expanding this principle makes benevolence and righteousness inexhaustible.

When benevolence and righteousness fill the heart, they naturally manifest in speech and conduct, expressing through one's endeavors—benefiting the present age while setting an example for posterity. What else is such a person if not an immortal (xian)? What else if not a bodhisattva? This is the true living immortal and bodhisattva!

Since accepting you as my disciple, I've explained Neidan (internal alchemy) and Daoist cultivation with utmost clarity. Yet I see your heart remains unsatisfied, always craving more profound mysteries. In truth, the great Dao is supremely simple and ordinary—no different from daily life. Through earnest practice, one attains the state of unity between heaven and humanity, where even breath resonates with celestial patterns. At that stage, the golden tablets and jade scriptures of the celestial court will descend naturally, with golden boys and jade maidens (celestial attendants) ever at your side—all unfolding effortlessly. Why abandon tangible practice to chase illusory realms? This only leads astray—the more you seek the Dao, the farther you stray; the more you pursue immortality, the wider the gap. Is this my original intent in guiding you?

When Dao practitioners encounter adversity, they must subdue delusions, restrain impulses, and abide peacefully. A thatched hut by mountain streams, a gourd dipper and bamboo hat suffice—nothing more is needed. Let wind and rain wail, let cooking smoke cease; listen to pine waves through myriad valleys, watch snow seal cave entrances. The Daoist in patched robes sits cross-legged on a worn meditation mat, mind lucid and empty, keeping company with winter cranes and frostbitten apes. Ordinary people find such austerity unbearable, yet I consider... [original text ends naturally here]

This passage discusses the stages of cultivation and the distinction between Yin-Shen (阴神) and Yang-Shen (阳神).

It first describes an ideal lifestyle for practitioners: in the pure bliss of serenity, simple tea and plain rice suffice for nourishment, modest clothing adequately covers the body, and nights are spent peacefully resting on a rattan bed with cotton quilts, free from worldly distractions. However, the author notes that while such a life is already a celestial blessing, it remains incomplete. True cultivation of nature and life (性命双修) requires not only oral transmission of esoteric methods but also the maturation of one's immortal destiny, after which celestial beings will naturally come to guide the practitioner.

Regarding the difference between Yin-Shen and Yang-Shen: Though Yin and Yang are fundamentally one, if the spirit emerges prematurely before Yin-Qi (阴气) is fully dissolved, it is called Yin-Shen. When Yin-Shen exits the body, it may emerge through the eyes (manifesting as white light) or ears (hearing celestial music), as insufficient Yang-Qi (阳气) prevents it from directly breaking through the Heavenly Gate (天门). While Yin-Shen can wander freely—passing through streets, climbing mountains, or traversing waters—it remains limited to a single form, incapable of division. It can speak but cannot consume food, and though it roams the human realm, it lacks the ability to soar or transform. Moreover, Yin-Shen fears the midday sun, indicating that while it carries traces of immortality, it has not yet transcended the ghostly path and thus falls short of the true Daoist state where form and spirit attain perfection.

When asked whether Yin-Shen can be refined into Yang-Shen, the answer is affirmative. Just as a potter may shatter a flawed vessel to recast it, a cultivator can "shatter" Yin-Shen and refine it anew in the "golden cauldron and jade furnace" (金鼎玉炉). When the fire (火候) is sufficient, Yin-Qi dissipates entirely, Yang-Qi is restored, and the true form of an immortal emerges. The method involves forgetting the physical body, emptying the mind to a state of absolute stillness, and achieving a mental void—this enables the transformation of shedding the mortal shell.

Finally, the passage reflects on the attitude of ancient cultivators: they embraced contentment wherever they were, treating even venomous snakes and fierce beasts as brothers, let alone fellow humans. This exemplifies the transcendent detachment of Daoist practitioners.

You seek a quiet place for cultivation precisely because your practice is still immature. Those truly possessing virtue (De) and wisdom do not act this way. They meet adversity with equanimity, responding to others' anger with joyful composure. Consider how the orchid grows amidst weeds without needing to proclaim its fragrance, yet its scent naturally distinguishes itself; how the crane stands among chickens without flaunting its grace, yet its celestial bearing remains incomparable.

Ancient Daoist masters of attainment would voluntarily enter demon palaces to deliver wicked spirits, transforming even demon kings through their virtue (De) until these malevolent beings bowed in reverence. If such fearsome entities can be enlightened, why concern yourself with worldly gossip? Having vowed to realize the true Dao and attain supreme awakening, how laughable it is to still quarrel with ordinary people over trivial matters!

As for whether to erect altars or perform rituals—these are mere superficialities. Within your heart lies the true sacred space. Simply clear away distracting thoughts, kindle the incense of your heart with primordial true fire, and I shall naturally descend to commune with you, transmitting esoteric teachings. Why cling to external forms?

When asked why various visions arise during meditation, the master explained: All phenomena originate from our body-mind. Those arising from deluded mental fluctuations are called "scenery" (jing)—like mirages appearing when clinging to external realms, which vanish upon awakening. Those emerging from profound stillness are called "images" (xiang)—when beginners first quiet their six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), accumulated subconscious impurities manifest as demonic apparitions that naturally disperse when ignored. The distinction lies in this: "Scenery" is illusory without substance, while "images" though false, possess form. This occurs because movement belongs to Yang—Yang energy being formless—while stillness belongs to Yin, and Yin energy easily condenses into shapes.

Yin and Yang interact to give birth to all things. Understand that the visions seen during meditation are actually projections of the thoughts normally harbored in the mind. These manifestations—whether seemingly real or illusory—are all tricks of the conscious mind (shishen). If practitioners of the Dao can maintain clear awareness in daily life, constantly observing their minds like a brightly hung mirror and illuminating with wisdom like a radiant pearl—recognizing thoughts as they arise and letting them dissolve after awareness, completely extinguishing them without allowing rebirth—then the activities of consciousness can be exhausted even in motion. When it comes time to sit in stillness, how could any illusions possibly appear? Just as no ghosts or demons stir in broad daylight, when a true cultivator (zhenren) manifests, no demonic obstructions will disturb them throughout the ten directions. What freedom this is! What joy!

People today only fear the illusions that arise during meditation, unaware that the visions conjured by ordinary thoughts are far more startling. To reach the state where there is no self or other, where the mind-heart is vast and open—not imposing on others what one would not wish for oneself—this is true cultivation of the Dao. The highest attainment is "forgetting emotion"—even the thought of "forgetting emotion" must be forgotten. It is because people cling to the duality of "self and other" that desires arise; when desire stirs, realms appear; when realms manifest, deluded thoughts emerge; and when deluded thoughts take root, they conjure countless illusory visions like castles in the air. People are born in these illusions and die in them as well.

The root of birth and death is nothing other than this single thought of "self and other separation." When a spark of spiritual light (lingguang) gazes from the great void upon the loves and desires of the human world, it is unwittingly stirred—like a seed sprouting anew—and the thought of birth and death is born. Once karmic bonds are formed, the fire of ignorance can no longer be suppressed, and in an instant one falls into the cycle of rebirth. At this point, the two energies of Yin and Yang take command, the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) follow in operation, and the person becomes as dull and muddled as a drunkard sleeping wherever they collapse.

Thus, those who cultivate truth must see through these illusions, seeking reality within falsehood and perceiving their true nature amid emotion. It is like suddenly awakening from a deep dream—the spirit becomes instantly clear. At this moment, karmic ties are severed, and the path of birth and death is cut off. This awakening is like turning over in the midst of raging waves to emerge from the ocean depths; steadying the spirit, one sees: the other shore is not far, and that pure, luminous home has never changed. Like a prodigal returning home or a wanderer coming back to their abode—what exhilaration this is!

I observe that most people in the world chase delusions while losing their true nature. How rare are those who, in the midst of life's clamorous dream, can be drenched awake by a bowl of cold water, causing illusory bonds and realms to vanish instantly!

What troubles spiritual practitioners most is the lack of enlightened guidance, leaving them to grope in the dark and ultimately achieve nothing. How many heroes and sages have been trapped in the cycle of birth and death? Can we not take charge of our own destiny and become truly carefree beings between heaven and earth?

Reading scriptures, discussing principles, waving dust-whisks while discoursing on the profound Dao; delving into abstruse mysteries, burning incense in silent meditation; traveling to famous mountains across the land, witnessing wondrous sights from all directions; playing the qin and se zithers in celestial gardens, cultivating divine herbs among jade towers. One might even participate in the creation of heaven and earth like the celestial immortals, assist in governance within the Emperor of Heaven's realm of sublime emptiness, or hold pivotal office in the Supreme Ultimate Palace. Performing these acts effortlessly, moving with natural ease and perfect order, commanding all things between heaven and earth as if they were within arm's reach—what boundless joy this would be!

Among tens of thousands who cultivate the Dao, nine out of ten who practice through esoteric techniques go astray, with only one mastering orthodox methods like the Three Primordial Energies (Sanyuan), Five Phases (Wuxing), Seven Transformations and Nine Returns. Yet finding those who truly comprehend the Dao's mysteries—such individuals are rarer than one or two in ten thousand. Alas, this stems from widespread misunderstanding of "longevity." These two characters have never been properly understood since ancient times. Before grasping longevity's essence, people chase its effects, hence the proliferation of theories about refining lead and mercury, balancing water and fire. Ignorant masses with greedy delusions vainly seek the immortal path, mostly abandoning it midway. Even those who achieve something merely prolong their lifespan by a few centuries—still ultimately finite. How laughable that such practitioners consider themselves enlightened! True longevity lies in realizing our innate marvelous substance (primordial Shen). The four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) and five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, volition, consciousness) of the physical body are all subject to birth and death—only this primordial substance is neither born nor destroyed. Attaining this is obtaining the supreme elixir. Through further cultivation over five to ten years, one nurtures an immortal embryo and eradicates accumulated karmic habits. What's called alchemy is essentially mind cultivation—this is the fundamental purpose of the Supreme Venerable's (Laozi) teachings on alchemy. Since no one has ever pointed this out clearly, wouldn't it be beneficial if my revelation today awakened those practicing alchemy in the world?

The study of nature (Xing, one's true mind) and life (Ming, vital origin) is inherently unified. Upon perceiving true nature, one naturally establishes the root of authentic life.

When the ten-month gestation period of cultivation reaches completion, the pure Yang spirit can emerge through the crown. Although this represents the fulfillment of life cultivation (minggong), it essentially accomplishes what is inherent to our original nature (xing), demonstrating that nature (xing) and life (ming) are fundamentally inseparable.

The most crucial principle of practice, as emphasized by all sages and perfected beings, culminates in the state of extinction (nirvana, referring to transcendence beyond the cycle of birth and death). If Daoist practitioners cannot attain this state of extinction, they will be unable to survive the kalpic catastrophes. However, there is a distinction between the cultivation focus of immortals (xianjia) and Buddhists: Buddhists emphasize refining nature (lianxing), seeking the solitary radiance of spiritual light that transcends the six senses and their objects—this is called "eternal nature" (xing changsheng). Immortals emphasize refining Qi (primordial energy), forging a body of pure Yang through tempering, filling the Dharma realm with golden light—this is called "eternal Qi" (qi changsheng). Yet when reaching the ultimate source, Qi and nature become one, and eternal life is itself extinction. Why is this so?

What ordinary people call Qi is merely the energy of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases—a tangible, material substance. Such Qi can give life but also cause death; it can form a human body but also transform into ghosts. The Qi cultivated by immortals transcends the Five Phases. Simply put, it is the primordial spiritual light that has existed since the beginning—all-pervading, perfectly harmonious, and supremely genuine, yet formless and immaterial. Since it has no form or substance, what kalpa could possibly affect it?

Many who study the path of immortality mistakenly believe that immortals are beings who indulge in bliss and pleasure. This is a foolish notion—where there is bliss to enjoy, there must also be suffering to endure; where there is joy, sorrow inevitably follows, for these are opposing principles. To pursue the Dao with a mindset craving pleasure is no different from being bound by the three delusions of greed, anger, and ignorance—such an approach only leads one further from the Dao.

(From Scroll 5) The Green Emperor of the Southern Pole Heaven (a revered Daoist deity), who shares in the primordial energy of the Wood Lord (Dongwanggong, the Eastern King), dwells as a neighbor to the Golden Mother (Xiwangmu, the Queen Mother of the West). At times he roams the vast shores of the sea, at others he rests his spirit atop Mount Kunlun, delivering beings from calamities of flood, fire, and war, and subduing demonic hordes during the great yang-jiu and bai-liu catastrophes (referring to cosmic calamities). One moment he descends to the human realm as a local deity, the next he returns to the celestial spheres as auspicious light spanning ten thousand miles. In golden furnaces he refines the elixir of creation—lower medicines heal the body, while superior medicines harmonize spirit and energy. On jade tablets are inscribed the secrets of longevity—spiritual prescriptions save ordinary people, while miraculous formulas directly transform them into immortals. The breadth of his merit surpasses all description, and his supreme virtue cannot be fully articulated.

This passage explains how to recognize one's "true primordial heart-mind" (the authentic original nature) through seated meditation practice. The immortal masters teach that to perceive one's fundamental mind, one must realize it in a state of tranquil stillness. During meditation, all distracting thoughts should be released, like the unobstructed sun in a cloudless sky. In this state, neither thoughts arise nor awareness is actively generated, yet it is not a condition of complete unconsciousness.

Mistaking total unconsciousness for the fundamental mind leads to "stubborn emptiness" (a lifeless void state), while clinging to states of conscious perception falls into the realm of ordinary delusional thinking. The correct method is: within this seemingly unaware state, to seek the knowing-perceiving essence—this constitutes the "foundation of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)" (the fundamental basis of Daoist cultivation).

When someone suddenly calls your name, that which responds without deliberation—the "who" that answers—is your true primordial heart-mind. This demonstrates that even when no thoughts arise, the fundamental mind remains ever-present. As Mencius speaks of "original nature" and the Yijing (Book of Changes) describes "tranquil and unmoving, yet sensitive and penetrating all," both refer to this responsive fundamental mind.

Where does the fundamental mind reside when thoughts run wild? The immortal masters say: Even amidst mental chaos, if someone suddenly calls you, that immediate responding "here" still exists. In the very moment of response, all distracting thoughts temporarily vanish—this ever-responsive awareness is the fundamental mind. Like tangled vines (representing scattered thoughts) that can be severed by sudden calling, revealing how the fundamental mind remains as clear as a polished mirror.

When the power of thought illuminates and dispels illusions, a sudden call evokes an immediate response—in that instant, all emotions and distracting thoughts cease, and fundamental attachments vanish. Our original luminous nature manifests spontaneously in this interplay of call and response.

Here we observe: When perception becomes inactive, all phenomena disappear, yet in the call and response, the true nature remains undisturbed. This reveals that the mind does not vanish with phenomena. When perceptions arise chaotically, all phenomena appear, yet in the call and response, the true primordial Qi (innate vital energy) naturally emerges. This shows that the mind does not arise with phenomena either. This is what we call "neither arising nor ceasing."

If one suddenly awakens in this moment, the great matter of life and death is resolved. Before my parents gave birth to me, I was already here; after my parents gave birth to me, I pervade the trichiliocosm (a Buddhist term referring to the vast cosmic universe). At this point, someone might laugh and clap their hands, asking: "If you say you were here before birth, then if someone called you before birth, could you respond?" The answer: "Why couldn’t I respond? At that time, I had no form—who would you be calling? If you call to emptiness, emptiness has nothing to respond with. That which can respond is not true emptiness, so non-response is the true answer of emptiness. Who says I didn’t respond?"

The questioner continues: "If you say that after birth you pervade the trichiliocosm, then when someone calls, the entire trichiliocosm should respond. Why is it only you who answers?" The reply: "Who says the trichiliocosm isn’t responding together? You fixate on my response and assume other sounds don’t exist. Know that my single response is the simultaneous response of the entire trichiliocosm. Do not limit understanding to form—that creates obstructions. It’s like using wood to make fire: if you stubbornly believe fire arises only from this piece of wood, you’ll think only this wood contains the nature of fire. In truth, all wood contains this nature, and the essence of all fire is the same. Throughout the universe, past and present, there is only one nature of fire. Thus, the Tathagata (Buddha) can contain the lands of the ten directions within a single hair-tip (a Buddhist metaphor for transcending spatial limitations)."

Someone may ask: "If the essence of mind is originally empty, where do joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure come from?"

This passage addresses the fundamental nature of the human mind. Originally, the human heart-mind (xin) is pure, clear, and empty, devoid of emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure. These emotional responses only arise when encountering external phenomena. Just as one doesn't feel inexplicable joy or anger without cause, such emotions necessarily emerge in response to specific joyful or infuriating circumstances.

If someone were to experience unprovoked mood swings between joy and anger, others would surely consider them mad or possessed by evil spirits. This demonstrates that the heart-mind inherently lacks these emotions. As the Doctrine of the Mean states: "When emotions arise and all attain their proper measure, this is called harmony (he)." The mind resembles a mirror - it naturally reflects phenomena with appropriate responses, requiring no artificial arrangement. This is the state of perfect harmony.

The Book of Changes declares: "In stillness it remains unmoving; when stimulated it penetrates all things." The mind in its quiescent state contains nothing, yet when stimulated by external phenomena, it comprehends all existence. The sages' use of the character "stimulus" (gan) in the Book of Changes is profoundly insightful, showing that the mind first receives stimulation before responding - proving that joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure aren't intrinsic to the mind's original state.

Someone might ask: If these emotions arise upon encountering external phenomena, does this mean they were already latent within the mind? The answer: The mind's essential nature is luminous emptiness. If it inherently contained these emotions, the mind would become a mere object. How could an object respond to all phenomena? All emotions emerge when external phenomena stimulate the mind - because the mind is supremely sensitive, it responds immediately. After stimulation passes, the mind returns to its original clarity.

Observe your own mind right now: In moments devoid of emotion, where does joy reside? Where does anger dwell? If these were innate, they should be constantly detectable. Yet when deliberately attempting to conjure emotions, one finds it impossible. This proves the mind's original purity - its emptiness constitutes its spiritual capacity, enabling immediate response to external stimuli. As Mencius described: Upon suddenly seeing a child about to fall into a well, everyone spontaneously feels compassion - this is the mind's natural response to external circumstances.

When one suddenly sees a child falling into a well, that surge of alarm and compassion arises instantly; when not witnessing such an event, the mind remains empty of these feelings; and after the incident passes, the emotions fade away. This spontaneously arising compassion bursts forth like a breached riverbank—utterly unstoppable and beyond conscious control.

If we were to claim these emotions were premeditated, why then does the mind remain vacant when not encountering the situation, only for them to vanish again afterward? Though they disappear, they reemerge when facing similar circumstances later. Are these mental states substantial or illusory? In truth, this is the numinous response emerging from a mind in profound stillness. Only when the mind is sufficiently empty and sensitive can it react spontaneously to external events, returning to clarity afterward. This is what Daoists call the "Mysterious Pass" (Xuanguan, the key aperture connecting humans with Heaven and Earth)—through observing this phenomenon, one may comprehend most of the Dao's principles.

Yet we must distinguish carefully: the compassion felt seeing a child fall into water differs fundamentally from covetousness upon seeing wealth or lust upon encountering beauty, though all arise circumstantially. Any thought that emerges naturally and completely manifests the true mind; the slightest artificiality renders it delusional. The compassion felt for the drowning child—that genuine, unforced quality—burns like summer's scorching sun and cuts like autumn's bitter rain, perfectly mirroring the great bodhisattva's salvific compassion, neither more nor less. This is the true mind's revelation.

When greed or lust arises, though also circumstantial, we instinctively know these thoughts cannot bear daylight—daring neither to confess them openly nor relinquish them immediately. They lack the completeness and purity of spontaneous compassion. Only when realizing these base desires are ultimately unattainable do they melt away like winter's ice. In that very moment of dissolution, the true mind shines forth completely, allowing practitioners to ascend to higher states—as if seated upon a lotus throne expounding Dharma to sentient beings, their inner radiance illuminating the trichiliocosm. Thus, all naturally perfected thoughts reveal the true mind, while the slightest artifice breeds delusion.

This discussion revolves around the concepts of "delusional thoughts" and the inherent goodness of human nature. Mencius proposed that human nature is fundamentally good, but some raise the objection: If emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are all reactions triggered by external circumstances, then isn't the compassion one feels upon seeing a child fall into a well (the seed of benevolence) also externally induced? From this perspective, virtues like humaneness (ren), righteousness (yi), propriety (li), and wisdom (zhi) all appear to arise in response to external situations rather than being inherent to the human heart.

The respondent explains: When Confucians discuss human nature, they primarily approach it from the perspective of "exhausting principle" (qiongli, investigating the underlying patterns of things), maintaining that ren, yi, li, and zhi are rooted in the heart. However, if we consider the original substance of the heart in its state of perfect stillness and inactivity, it is no different from the Great Void (taixu, the cosmic origin). Can we truly say the Great Void contains ren, yi, li, and zhi?

An interlocutor counters: Doesn't heaven and earth's nurturing of all things demonstrate "humaneness"? The orderly succession of seasons manifests "righteousness," their harmonious operation shows "propriety," and the discernment between things reveals "wisdom"—how then can we claim the Great Void lacks these virtues? The respondent clarifies: These are all manifestations of qi (vital energy) operating within the Great Void, but we cannot equate the transformations of qi with the Great Void itself.

The discussion progresses: If the Great Void contains these qi transformations, then doesn't it follow that the human heart naturally possesses ren, yi, li, and zhi, with both being interconnected? The respondent replies: This is a post-heaven (houtian) perspective. Before any qi transformations occurred, the Great Void existed in its primordial state—a time when even the concept of "heart" didn't exist, let alone these virtues.

The final insight reveals: Confucians approach the discussion of heart-mind and nature from the perspective of post-heaven phenomena (after the Supreme Ultimate [taiji] generates the myriad things), while Daoists trace these back to a more fundamental state (prior to the Supreme Ultimate). When emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are expressed with perfect appropriateness, this represents the harmonious equilibrium (zhonghe) that aligns with the Dao.

The moral principles of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom become selfish desires with the slightest deviation, and thus cannot be said to arise naturally from the original mind.

After the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin) took form, it initially existed in a state of absolute stillness, which gradually evolved into movement and transformation. In truth, movement originates from stillness. When Confucianism discusses the transition between stillness and movement, it does so in broad terms, hence the saying that "benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are rooted in the heart." Daoism, however, traces back to the primal state of stillness to investigate the transition from stillness to movement, and also extends to the final state to examine the return from movement to stillness. This is the fundamental distinction between the two schools. Nevertheless, sages such as Fuxi, Shennong, the Yellow Emperor, Yao, Shun, Yu, King Wen, the Duke of Zhou, and Confucius all spoke of similar truths, though people have not deeply grasped them.

The Daoist concept of "emptiness" (xu) and the Buddhist notion of "void" (kong) both possess the quality of seeing and hearing all things without obstruction. For example, when two people face each other and generate thoughts, their physical forms create a barrier, preventing each from knowing the other's mind. But the "void" knows no such separation—it is inherently boundless. Thus, while a person's thoughts may be unknown to others in the same room, the limitless "void" perceives them. The Book of Documents states, "What Heaven sees comes from what the people see; what Heaven hears comes from what the people hear." How does Heaven know the people's sights and sounds? Precisely because Heaven's essence is the "void." Confucianism emphasizes "vigilance in solitude" (shen du, being cautious even when alone) out of reverence for the power of this "void." When petty people act wrongly in solitude, the noble-minded can still discern their thoughts, precisely because the noble mind has attained the state of "void." The function of the "void" is truly vast!

Someone asked: If the "void" in the human mind and the "void" of the cosmos differ in scale, how can both be equally all-seeing and all-hearing? My reply is: All things in the world have distinctions—only the "void" has none. If the "void" in the human mind differed from the cosmic "void," then the "void" in a jar would differ from the "void" in the air, the "void" in a room would differ from the "void" in a courtyard, and the "void" in the courtyard would differ from the "void" beyond the roof. In this way, there would be countless different kinds of "void" in the world. Consider: Does the "void" have form? Does it have shape? If the "void" had form, then the shape of this "void" could not be identical to that of another "void." The "void" is inherently without boundaries or limits. All things may be divided, but the "void" remains eternally continuous.

All things in the world have boundaries and divisions, yet only the Void remains unpartitioned; all things maintain distinctions, yet only the Void knows no separation; all things exhibit differences, yet only the Void remains undifferentiated. Within that vast, boundless Void, luminous spiritual radiance flows unimpeded—revealing itself even in spaces as fine as a hair's breadth, resonating with sounds as faint as a mosquito's hum. Just as in the human body, where blood vessels interconnect and spirit intermingles, one can perceive even the bite of a louse or the sting of a mosquito.

How does the nature of the Void differ from this state? If you can relinquish all form and return to emptiness, attaining a state of oceanic voidness, you will realize: the Void within our hearts and the Great Void of the cosmos are like wildfire and a household lamp—seemingly distinct yet fundamentally one. To perceive two Voids is to misunderstand true emptiness; genuine Voidness is inherently undivided. Test these words by experiencing this empty state yourself.

The Dao is "the One," the unchanging ultimate truth. From the differentiation of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) into the myriad things, it was thus at the beginning and shall be thus at the end; it was this at the origin and remains this at the conclusion. Across one world or a hundred thousand worlds, through time and matter, its essence never alters—this is why it is called the Dao. The human original mind is likewise eternally constant. Its apparent fluctuations arise solely from contamination by deluded thoughts—these are not the true mind. If the mind could truly gather and scatter, endure and perish, then the Heavenly Dao would likewise change. Comprehend the Heavenly Dao, and you understand the human heart.

Yet throughout life, humans remain perpetually deluded by wandering thoughts—when have they ever glimpsed their original mind for even a moment? Upon seeing this true mind, one discovers: across this life and countless others, through kalpas without number, it has always been this same mind, never altered. Thus when a person lives, it is only deluded thoughts that arise and cease—the original mind neither lives nor dies; when a person dies, it is only deluded thoughts that perish—the original mind neither comes nor goes; even through ten thousand kalpas of rebirth, while delusions rise and fall, the original mind never enters the cycle of suffering.

Therefore, if one can illuminate the original mind in a single instant, this moment of awakening instantly severs the chain of endless rebirth. Beyond this point, one no longer revolves through life and death, no longer sinks into kalpic cycles, transcends the bonds of the Three Realms, and forever escapes the suffering of samsara.

Human suffering and confusion all stem from attachments in the present moment. From birth to death, from death to rebirth, through countless cycles of reincarnation (kalpas), our deluded thoughts persist like dirt beneath fingernails—never ceasing. These thoughts entangle like vines, branch endlessly like trees, multiplying without end. Consider how vast these myriad kalpas are, yet people's delusions never pause, leading to perpetual cycling through the Three Paths of Suffering (fire, blood, and blades) and the Eight Obstacles to cultivation—as if these torments were familiar homes. Speaking of this truly breaks one's heart.

Genuine Dao seekers should nurture their spiritual foundation (linggen), cultivate De (Virtue) extensively, and earnestly realize the purity of mind in this very thought-moment. By maintaining this single pure thought, one transcends the cycle of birth and death. From a single day to an entire lifetime, from one instant to ten thousand kalpas—all are governed by this clear mind. Expanding from this realization, connecting all phenomena, ascension to immortality becomes as natural as water flowing downhill.

The Dao gives birth to heaven, earth, and all things, yet humans possess the greatest spiritual potential. Achieving immortality and sagehood depends entirely on the human form; only humans can participate in heaven and earth's creative transformations. Thus humans hold the most honored position between heaven and earth—not even heaven and earth can rival human potential. So should cultivators resign to fate or take destiny into their own hands? If humans expect heaven's favor, heaven likewise observes human effort. When both defer responsibility, the vast cosmos produces few true heroes who can shoulder heaven and earth. Alas! Among so many people, how few truly live as complete human beings.

Those with aspiration should create unprecedented achievements within their heart's field (fangcun wei). Heaven becomes clear through you, earth finds peace through you, and all things flourish through you. Would you call such a person ordinary? Immortal? Or sage? In truth, all great deeds are accomplished by ordinary people—it's just that people refuse to remain ordinary. Some compose poetry believing themselves brilliant, unaware heaven and earth lack nothing from these few lines; others paint landscapes claiming mastery, ignorant that creation needs not these ink strokes. Wasting limited time on meaningless diversions—how lamentable!

Now I must warn you all: human life passes in an instant, death arrives in the blink of an eye. Rather than indulge illusions, engage in substantial practice. Those self-proclaimed refined scholars, writing a few poems or painting some scenes while preening—do they not realize the cosmos has no lack for such trivial skills? Squandering precious time on these fruitless pursuits is truly regrettable!

[Note: Parenthetical terms are annotated only at first occurrence. Specialized Daoist concepts like "Three Paths and Eight Obstacles" retain their original religious expressions without oversimplification. The cultivation method emphasizes "maintaining single-mind clarity" as core principle, avoiding excessive technical details.]

Do only what truly matters between heaven and earth—leave those trivial matters that are neither here nor there to the idle. Such trifles cannot compare to the great matter of life and death, nor can they achieve genuine transcendence. Practitioners should be like those who yearn for clothing in the cold or thirst for clear water, never forgetting cultivation day and night. In truth, the Dharma-body (the true self attained through practice) already exists, and the Dharma-realm (the realm of truth) is not far away. With every breath, one connects with the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth; with every movement, one subtly aligns with the workings of nature.

Gather the transformations of Yin-Yang within the space of a single thought, and contain the movements of the sun and moon in the smallest of places. Though the Dao may be profound and unfathomable, the operation of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) never ceases. The mind can encompass the changes of all things, and Qi can circulate the mysteries of heaven and earth. Above, one may reach the Nine Heavens; below, one may sweep away the Netherworld. By harmonizing Yin-Yang and blending primordial Qi, a hundred days of practice can lead to spiritual communion. Then, celestial immortals, earthly transcendents, water deities, and mountain spirits will join together to fulfill the great vow of aiding the world and liberating all beings. The Wind Master, Cloud Master, dragon-tiger spirits, and divine phoenixes and qilins will accompany you, assisting in the propagation of the true path.

The Book of Changes says: "Those who truly attain the Dao align their virtue with heaven and earth, their radiance with the sun and moon, their actions with the rhythms of the four seasons, and their fortune or misfortune with the responses of spirits. They act before the time of heaven yet do not violate its way; they follow after heaven’s time yet still accord with nature. Even heaven and earth do not oppose them—how much less so men and spirits?"

The teachings of the Most High Lord Lao (Laozi) on cultivating the Dao are, in essence, about cultivating the self—there is no Dao apart from self-cultivation. Filial piety, brotherly respect, loyalty, and trustworthiness—these everyday virtues are the Dao. The profound gate of Daoist practice holds no other secret. If one can fully embody the duties of a child, a subject, a younger sibling, and a friend, a place in the celestial palace will naturally await.

The key to refining the Golden Elixir (Neidan, internal alchemy) lies first in illuminating the mind and realizing one’s true nature. The countless realized immortals in the heavens all attained their status through clarity of mind. If the mind is impure, even temporary ascension will ultimately result in a fall. The Most High Lord Lao delivered eighty-four thousand beings—all through mind-to-mind transmission, without the slightest distinction. The slightest trace of differentiation prevents the attainment of true realization. Thus, the phrase "refining the mind" is the fundamental method of pure cultivation—all true transmissions ultimately return to this. Do not dismiss it as simple and overlook its significance.

Your mind is clearer than before, but you must still reach the state of "emptiness within emptiness, mystery within mystery," advancing tirelessly until all attachments are completely relinquished. Only then can the root of the cycle of birth and death be severed. A true man of courage should press forward unwaveringly—with sincere aspiration, even celestial demons will retreat. Confucius said, "When it comes to benevolence, defer not even to your teacher." As your master, I tell you: the Dao has no other Dao, and the method has no special method.

This scripture passage discusses how sincerity (cheng) is the key to Daoist cultivation. The author states that the Great Dao is as essential to daily life as food and clothing—if one strays from the proper path for even a day, they risk degenerating into a beast. What fundamental difference exists between humans and those feathered or horned creatures? In truth, they are the same.

Though the Dadong Jing (Scripture of the Great Cavern) contains abstruse and challenging language, its meaning will naturally unfold for those who practice with sincere devotion. Understanding the Dao's principles is not difficult; the true challenge lies in persistent practice. To fulfill one's aspiration for cultivation, one must maintain unwavering commitment year after year. With such dedication, attaining genuine realization of the Dao is not hard.

Sincerity is the foundation of cultivation. The human body encompasses all things, but without sincerity, delusions arise. The "Three Corpses and Six Thieves" (sanshi liuzei, symbolic representations of destructive mental tendencies) will seize the opportunity to wreak havoc, conjuring all manner of illusions. Conversely, with a sincere heart, one's true spirit (shen) will manifest, reaching a state of pristine clarity. Many today dismiss the work of "rectifying the mind through sincerity" (chengyi zhengxin), assuming Huang-Lao teachings disregard such practices. Yet this is precisely the genuine skill of cultivating reality.

Daoist practice must follow a gradual sequence: first refine one's heart-mind, then temper the crucible and furnace (referring to neidan/internal alchemy practice). This order cannot be reversed. Every person has the potential to become the Celestial King of Primordial Beginning (Yuanshi Tianwang, the highest Daoist deity), just as Mencius said anyone could become a sage like Yao or Shun. The notion that the Celestial King was inherently divine is mistaken—he too attained the Dao through cultivation.

This passage explores the distinction between the innate (referring to humanity's original pure nature) and the acquired (referring to worldly-conditioned habits), as well as the influence of the human mind on spiritual cultivation. The so-called innate state resembles the clear, empty brightness of the sky, while the acquired state manifests as a dull and ignorant condition. Although humans are divided between these two states, the mind itself makes no such distinction—it all depends on how one cultivates it.

Heaven does not restrict one's qualification to become either a sage or an ordinary person; the key lies in one's own choice. Since ancient times, there have only been two paths: those who cultivate themselves into sages may attain immortality (Daoist adepts who realize the Dao) and roam freely in the celestial realms with the Primordial Heavenly King (the highest deity in Daoism); those who descend into mundanity become ghosts, bound in the underworld under the rule of King Yama. The difference between heaven and hell truly lies in a single thought.

Confucius said that noble individuals elevate themselves while petty ones degrade themselves; the Book of Documents speaks of the precariousness of the human mind and the subtlety of the mind of the Dao—this delicate distinction determines success or failure in cultivation. The state of equilibrium described in the Doctrine of the Mean as "before joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are expressed" resembles the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), which contains all things. If the human mind can maintain this impartial and spiritually receptive state, it becomes attuned to the Dao of Heaven.

Within heaven and earth, the interactions of Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) condense to form all things, including the spirits and ghosts (referring to the numinous workings of Yin and Yang energies). As soon as a single thought arises in the human mind, one falls into the Yin realm (a field of negative energy) and becomes detectable by these spirits. This slight deviation in thought can pull one into the whirlpool of desires. For spiritual practitioners seeking liberation from life and death, the key lies in stabilizing the mind so that it remains unmoved. Just as the Buddha endured countless trials precisely because his mind remained unshaken—demonic forces and external distractions (negative influences that obstruct cultivation) found no opening to exploit, allowing him to eternally preserve his Dharmakaya (the enlightened essence).

Those who dwell in the Dharma realm (the Daoist state transcending worldly concerns) often find that within the time it takes to eat a meal—before the sun has moved much—countless distracting thoughts come flooding in. Such people still claim to be studying the Dao, but I've never seen anyone attain realization this way. The ancient Buddhas and Tathāgatas dressed, ate, and lived like ordinary people. They appeared to have no active thoughts because there were truly no thoughts to be moved; they seemed to be constantly thinking, yet no thoughts truly arose. Confucius said, "At seventy, I could follow my heart's desires without transgressing the bounds." How profound this statement is! Therefore, the most crucial aspect of Daoist cultivation is first refining the heart-mind, making it empty, luminous, and perfectly harmonious—like a pearl the size of a millet grain. This is the most mysterious divine elixir (shen dan). The immortal state of neither birth nor death, eternally free and unbound, is nothing more than this. Why seek elsewhere?

People today do not pursue the fundamental Dao but instead cling to elixir refinement (lian dan). They do not speak of cultivating the heart-mind and nurturing nature but constantly discuss the mutual interaction of water and fire (referring to the alchemical combination of lead and mercury in external alchemy, waidan). Is this not abandoning the root for the branches? The ancient sages never once mentioned the word "elixir" (dan) in their writings. The concept of elixir refinement originated in the Han dynasty, when celestial immortals (xianzhen), out of compassion for sentient beings trapped in delusion, used the idea of elixirs to guide people toward the Dao. Later generations divided cultivation into two schools: nature (xing, the heart-mind) and life (ming, the physical form). But if one cannot refine the heart-mind and instead fixates on techniques like Yin-Yang, the Eight Trigrams (Bagua), or the interaction of Li (Fire) and Kan (Water), even if they cultivate until the coming of Maitreya Buddha, they will hardly achieve realization.

The true Great Elixir (da dan) has no form or appearance—it is supremely numinous and wondrous. How could a turbid heart serve as the vessel for the Golden Elixir (jindan)? The moment lustful thoughts arise, the true Qi scatters. Yet people wish to use a body filled with the seven emotions and six desires as the alchemical cauldron—how is this possible? Thus, the essence of elixir refinement can be entirely summarized in two words: "refining the heart" (lian xin).

The essence of the Great Dao lies entirely in the word "emptiness" (xu). This single word encompasses all methods. The "being" that arises from emptiness is true existence; the "reality" that manifests from emptiness is true reality. The supreme deity Yuanshi Tianwang (Primordial Heavenly King) is honored with the title "Self-So of Emptiness and Non-Being" (xuwu ziran). Even the myriad sages and immortals cannot transcend these four words. The reason all things undergo birth and death is that they fail to reach the state of emptiness. Heaven has Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (wuxing), so it is not yet fully empty. Earth has hardness and softness, dryness and dampness, so it too is not fully empty. If even Heaven and Earth cannot escape birth and death, how much less can humans?

Take spirits and deities (shen gui), for example—they seem empty, do they not? But if one does not cultivate the Dao in life, though the physical form may dissolve after death, the seven emotions and six desires will still cling to the last flicker of spiritual awareness, leaving one to drift aimlessly in the netherworld.

Those who remain trapped in the path of ghosts, though they may possess intelligence and upright virtues, can never attain the natural state of seamless unity or transform into spiritual beings—ultimately due to karmic obstructions. Only those who truly attain the Dao (the Way) align every thought with the void, harboring no attachments in their hearts, nourishing their spiritual essence like a dragon guarding its pearl. When their true nature shines forth in radiance and merges with the primordial Dharma realm, ascension to the celestial spheres follows as a matter of course—is this not the natural order of things?

Yet, I have seen far too many cultivators, and among them, only a handful grasp the essential methods. Why is this? Though they aspire to immortality, their minds remain filled with worldly delusions, imagining the life of an immortal as one of endless transformations and pleasures, while neglecting the fundamental task of cultivation. Practicing this way, even for ten thousand years, they will never achieve realization. The reason Lord Lao (Laozi) became the supreme existence is precisely because he maintained unwavering focus through countless kalpas, harmonizing with the natural transformations and wandering freely in the realm of truth, forever free from craving and attachment. Without speaking, he moved all beings; without anger, he naturally commanded awe. Never needing deliberate effort, the principles of the Great Dao (Da Dao) are perfectly clear, unchanging from the dawn of creation to the present day.

The celestial realms have their hierarchies, and immortals have their distinctions between sages and ordinary beings—all determined by the virtue (De) cultivated through personal practice. To seek immortality without cultivating virtue is utterly impossible. How can those with genuine aspiration not awaken to this? The term "alchemical path" (Dandao) contains profound mysteries that must be transmitted by a true master. Yet even if one encounters such a teacher and receives genuine instruction, one must still sever worldly ties with unwavering resolve: first, establish the foundational work of clarifying the mind and realizing one's true nature; next, refine the interplay of water and fire (symbolizing the harmonization of Yin-Yang); and finally, attain the supreme state of manifesting multiple forms. As for ascension to immortality, it requires the accumulation of three thousand merits and the perfection of eight hundred virtuous deeds—no achievement for the impatient or opportunistic.

Therefore, genuine cultivators must first nourish their spiritual root and cultivate the foundation of virtuous thoughts: speaking with care, keeping their gaze steady, listening without distraction, and acting with rectitude, allowing the Great Dao to coalesce within them. Only when they can stand blameless before the divine should they then set up the alchemical furnace (symbolizing the practice of internal alchemy, Neidan) and refine lead and mercury (representing the transformation of essence [Jing], vital energy [Qi], and spirit [Shen]). Thus, celestial beings will naturally offer protection, demonic obstructions will dare not approach, and even nine generations of ancestors may be elevated to the immortal realms.

People today often entertain vulgar and base ambitions of attaining immortality and sainthood with their crude physical forms. I ask you—could the celestial officials of heaven possibly be won over through human scheming, like worldly riches and honors? Therefore, one should worry not about whether they can become immortals, but whether they can cultivate the Dao (the Way). Confucius once said: The Dao is not far from man. Fulfilling one's duties as a filial child, a loyal subject, a respectful younger sibling, and a trustworthy friend—this is the supreme method of cultivating immortality. Countless enlightened beings have entered the path from this very point. There has never been a principle where deliberate pursuit of sainthood leads to heavenly blessings, just as beasts and birds are destined to suffer in hell.

Consider this: Which is more joyful—playing the sheng and se beneath peach blossoms, feasting with immortals, or swallowing molten iron in dark caves, keeping company with malevolent ghosts? Which path should one choose? The fundamental difference lies entirely in a single shift of thought. Alas, how crucial this choice is! And who creates this distinction? A single virtuous thought arises as faint as a wisp of smoke, while a single wicked thought weighs as heavy as ten thousand mountains. Why, then, is the accumulation of goodness so difficult, while the accumulation of evil so effortless? Therefore, those who understand the principle must nurture virtuous thoughts ceaselessly until only goodness remains, with no trace of evil—how could they possibly fail to attain immortality?

Neidan (internal alchemy) has no secret beyond calming the Shen (spirit), harmonizing the Qi (vital energy), and nourishing the Jing (essence). Yin and malevolent energies are the pests of alchemy, while cunning and scheming minds are its enemies. If one can maintain virtuous thoughts in every moment and act with goodness in every situation, the yin and malevolent forces will naturally dissipate, and cunning will naturally vanish. The Shen will be at peace, the Qi will be in harmony, and the Jing will be abundant—then all things will align with the primordial Dao. On the contrary, if one harbors a defiled mind, clinging thoughts, restless Qi, and dissipated Jing, yet still claims to be practicing alchemy—can success ever be possible?

Those who study the Dao may have three states of mind: the initial resolve, the intermediate perseverance, and the ultimate attainment. The initial resolve is the vow to begin; the intermediate perseverance is the refusal to abandon the path halfway; and the ultimate attainment is the fruition of the Dao. Yet these three states can also become three obstacles: if the initial resolve is rooted in deluded fantasies—expecting immortality and heavenly luxuries; if the intermediate perseverance, though unrelenting, involves arbitrary changes in methods, preventing deep mastery of a single practice; if one abandons old techniques for new ones after only brief attempts...

A practitioner who seeks quick results will most likely encounter problems at the crucial final stage. Even if one's cultivation reaches ninety-nine percent completion, the wrong mindset can render all efforts futile. When extraordinary phenomena appear—such as clouds forming beneath one's feet or a halo manifesting above the head—they should be regarded as ordinary occurrences. This is the mark of a truly great cultivator. If one becomes elated by such signs, they risk falling into demonic paths, wasting years of arduous practice—a truly regrettable outcome. These three pitfalls (greed for speed, attachment to phenomena, and delight in marvels) must be vigilantly avoided by all who study the Dao.

A genuine Daoist cultivator should attain the state of "Great Stillness" (Dading). This does not merely refer to stillness during seated meditation but maintaining unwavering composure in daily life. Like clouds drifting effortlessly from mountains or streams flowing naturally from their source, Daoist practice emphasizes consistency in all activities—walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. One should move like a feather floating with the wind, responding to circumstances without the slightest attachment. Neither feeling honored when revered nor resentful when insulted. Neither craving delicacies nor resenting coarse food. Meeting high officials as if they were ordinary people, and treating beggars as dear relatives. A practitioner who reaches this state earns praise from Heaven itself, surpassing even the admiration of sages. If such a cultivator fails to ascend to the celestial realms, I have never witnessed such a thing.

For a Daoist, the highest value lies in sincerity of aspiration, uprightness of conduct, and treating others with spring-like warmth. Only those who embody these three qualities can be called true cultivators, moving effortlessly between transcendence and worldly life. Even celestial immortals (Zhenxian) revere such practitioners—how much more should ordinary people? Now past forty, you stand at the golden age for establishing virtue and wisdom. Elevate what should be elevated; abandon what must be abandoned. To hesitate now risks missing the chance for transformation. Remember: the realm of sages is no exclusive privilege, and heroic spirit is forged through courageous refinement. The yellow crane is no rare bird—call sincerely, and it will come. The white clouds are not unfeeling—summon with true heart, and they will gather. The essential question is this: Am I of celestial nature or mere mortal stock? Among the ranks of immortals upon golden palace steps (Jinque Yaojie), is there a place for me? Reflect deeply upon this, and practice with unwavering resolve.

When a cultivator reaches this state, they can stand confident and without shame—this is the mark of a true immortal. There is no need to ask others whether one is an immortal, nor to seek validation from living saints. If your heart knows no deficiency, a place awaits you among the golden towers and jade steps of the celestial realms. The palaces of the Great Luo Heaven will surely prepare your abode, and immortals will descend on clouds to guide your ascent. As the Zhongyong states, "It should be as natural as hating foul odors and loving beautiful sights"—this is the genuine satisfaction of the inner self. Mencius said, "When one's actions leave no cause for shame, the Qi remains unshaken." If you attain this state of perfect fulfillment, I shall take you soaring through the boundless heavens, riding ten thousand auspicious clouds while celestial music fills the skies. What supreme bliss this is!

The true seeker of the Dao does not pursue immortality, fame, or wealth, but transcends all utilitarian aims. Only by relinquishing all attachments can one be called a cultivator. Yet this does not mean the Dao is useless—Laozi long ago revealed that "the greatest utility lies in what seems useless; all action springs from non-action (Wuwei)." To understand this principle is to take the first step on the path.

Today, many delude themselves with fantasies of becoming immortals to escape this turbid world. Little do they know that celestial beings labor daily in the mortal realm, relieving suffering ten times more busily than idle worldlings. Despite exhausting efforts to guide even one or two souls toward liberation, countless beings remain drowning in the sea of sorrow. When has the compassion of sages ever known bounds? Even were the world to perish, this mercy would never wane. Thus, true immortality means shouldering the burden of saving all beings until every soul is delivered. As the Book of Documents declares, "If even one person remains unsaved, the fault is mine"—such is the undying heart of the sage. This is genuine cultivation.

A Daoist cultivator must regard saving the world and delivering sentient beings as their fundamental duty—not for personal immortality, nor for individual fame and achievement. One should treat all beings suffering in the Three Paths (hell, hungry ghosts, and animal realms), the Eight Hindrances (eight conditions obstructing the hearing of the Dao), the Six Realms (heavens, humans, asuras, hells, hungry ghosts, and animals), and the Four Modes of Birth (womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born) as if they were one’s own parents. Witnessing their suffering should feel like enduring it oneself; seeing their delusions should feel like being trapped in them. One must guide them by all means to receive the teachings, ascending together to the pure and wuwei (non-action) paradise of Daluo Heaven—only then can the original great vow be fulfilled. Therefore, a student of the Dao must establish such resolve, uniting with the virtue of Heaven and Earth’s embrace and the radiance of the sun and moon. In cultivation, saints will naturally manifest, and divine beings will offer protection. Why? Because shared aspiration makes ten thousand people as one. Let the Crane-Hermit (a metaphor for cultivators) take this as self-encouragement.

The foundations of cultivators vary: some are celestial beings reborn in the human realm, others descend from blessed immortal isles like Penglai, while some accumulate wisdom and virtue through human cultivation. The first two types possess deep roots—a single thought turning toward the Dao attracts celestial guardians, much like a former high official who, though temporarily in seclusion, can easily return to court with old colleagues’ support. Those who seek the Dao through human-earned wisdom and virtue must undergo five to ten years of rigorous purification before moving Heaven to send immortals for guidance—akin to a humble scholar relying solely on their efforts, naturally facing greater hardship. Yet regardless of foundation, the ultimate attainment is the same.

Most futile are those with shallow virtue who vainly seek the Dao—like a frog in a well gazing at the clouds, they will never succeed. Even if they stumble upon true transmission, forcing cultivation without accumulating merit invites not celestial immortals but malevolent demons, ruining themselves in vain. What a pity!

Novice cultivators, whose concentration remains weak, must understand their own roots. If during practice the mind suddenly opens, flooded with profound realizations as if recalling past-life knowledge, this signals the hidden guidance of sages.

Those with profound innate wisdom receive divine guidance and protection in their cultivation, even if unconsciously. Ordinary practitioners, however, must dedicate themselves to rigorous effort—what you reap corresponds directly to what you sow. As the Doctrine of the Mean teaches: "If others succeed with one attempt, I shall try a hundred; if others succeed with ten, I shall try a thousand." With such determined practice, how could the immortals not extend their compassionate aid? Perseverance will ultimately lead to realizing the Dao—this is the path for those of middling capacity.

As for the restless-minded who pay lip service to the Great Dao yet practice sporadically—today diligent, tomorrow negligent—they remain entangled in domestic pleasures or worldly socializing, their hearts unsettled and conduct at odds with the Dao. These least-gifted individuals couldn’t be saved even by dwelling alongside sages. Their present state foretells their future rebirths. Once the human form is lost, reclaiming the path of cultivation becomes immeasurably harder.

True cultivators maintain integrity even in solitary darkness as if walking beneath the open sky. Only those with such authentic character deserve the title of genuine immortals. Their innate capacity allows them to roam the celestial void and ascend to the heavenly realms—this is their rightful destiny.

Should someone with heroic talents devote themselves to sage-learning, nurturing vast righteous Qi (vital energy) through disciplined introspection, their future ascension will assuredly rank them among the immortal host. Not only could they liberate beings in the underworld but also bless their descendants—such achievements are truly magnificent. Yet nowadays, we often see mediocrities without exceptional qualities deludedly attempting advanced practices like refining the Kan (Water) and Li (Fire) trigrams. How can they form an immortal embryo when worldly desires remain unsevered? Craving material comforts while fantasizing about celestial purity—wouldn’t this make the heavens’ immortals laugh in derision?

Let this be plainly stated: unless you’re a sage or heroic figure, don’t expect immortality; unless you’re a Confucian master of your generation, don’t seek Daoist mentorship. Celestial law is strict, and heaven’s ear is ever near—a single deluded thought can bring misfortune to seven generations of ancestors. Where this scripture resides, auspicious light and violet Qi (vital energy) surge skyward, delighting the celestial realms and drawing reverence from all sages—its merit is boundless. Should fools ignorant of the Dao’s mysteries dare slander this classic, the Flying Celestial Kings will surely punish them with strange maladies in this life and consignment to the Fengdu hells after death, suffering endlessly with eternal regret. How could such matters not demand utmost gravity?

(Postscript to Chants of the Dao’s Truth)

This passage recounts the spiritual journey of a practitioner named Jue, who at age thirty-nine still knew nothing of Daoist cultivation. It was not until his fortieth year—specifically during the cyclical year of Siyou (in the traditional Heavenly Stems and Earthly Branches calendar)—that he encountered a transformative experience while receiving the "Great Method of the Refined Primordial Imperial Brush Talisman" (a Daoist Fulu ritual technique). During this ceremony, the Daoist deity Qinghua Daofu (the Blue Radiance Dao-Father) descended to the altar and personally instructed him, revealing that immortality through cultivation was indeed attainable and accessible to all.

The practitioner observed that most Neidan (internal alchemy) scriptures circulating at the time were filled with cryptic metaphors, obscuring the true methods. He lamented that while these texts were originally meant to guide people toward enlightenment, their deliberate concealment often misled seekers. Only Qinghua Daofu directly pointed to "refining the heart-mind" as the fundamental method—sincere practice alone would naturally unveil its profound mysteries. This teaching was remarkably simple yet profound, direct yet ingenious, a rare revelation seldom seen throughout history.

During his three years of devoted service to the Dao-Father, Jue experienced numerous miraculous signs: collapsing walls left him unharmed, thieves passed by without entering, epidemics did not touch him, and even chronic illnesses vanished. Though he lived in humble poverty with only coarse tea and simple meals, he deeply felt the extraordinary grace of receiving such authentic transmission as an ordinary mortal—a once-in-a-thousand-lifetimes opportunity not to be squandered.

The text emphasizes that the core of cultivation lies in "refining the heart-mind." With a purified heart-nature, the true meaning of practice becomes self-evident. The Dao-Father's teachings open a broad and direct path for all beings to reach the highest realm—the Three Pure Realms (Sanqing jing), merging with the primordial unity of Yuanshi Tianzun (the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning).

This passage is the preface to Changdao Zhenyan (True Words of Singing the Dao) written by the Daoist practitioner Dongyang Hequzi. The general meaning is:

In preserving this scripture and transmitting it to future generations of young seekers, I (Dongyang Hequzi) truly hope these disciples will in turn safeguard this classic, allowing it to endure eternally without vanishing even through ten thousand kalpas (a Buddhist term indicating immeasurable time cycles). This vow of mine is not made for self-encouragement, but to repay the grace of the "Dao-Father" (the Daoist honorific for supreme truth).

The text presents the dialectical relationship between "guardian" and "the guarded," embodying the Daoist principle that "reversal is the movement of the Dao" (Daode Jing Chapter 40). The author emphasizes that transmitting scriptures is not a one-way offering, but a two-way cultivation: elders safeguard disciples while disciples preserve the scriptures, forming an unbroken chain of transmission. The phrase "endless kalpas" manifests Daoism's orientation toward eternal values.

Confucius spoke of the Dao (the Way) as being divided into benevolent and non-benevolent paths. In our Mystic Gate (Daoism), the Dao similarly bifurcates into orthodox methods and heterodox views. Those steadfast in the true path remain unshaken by deviant teachings, just as those deeply entrenched in heresy resist conversion to the right path. Yet for those teetering on the brink of spiritual downfall—not yet fully lost—and those aspiring to enter the true path but lacking firm resolve, who stand at this critical juncture between success and failure, I have words to share.

The essence of the Great Dao emerges from emptiness, much like the Confucian teaching that "all principles originate from a single source before manifesting as myriad phenomena." Ultimately, it returns from "being" to "non-being," reverting to the primordial state of the Supreme Void (cosmic origin)—precisely echoing the Buddhist truth that "all dharmas return to One, and One returns to Void." Extending this principle, we observe it in vegetation's flowering and fruiting, the cyclical rotation of seasons, the rise and fall of human affairs, and the perpetual circulation of cosmic vitality (zhenyuan). All phenomena follow this fundamental rhythm of commencement and conclusion, expansion and contraction—why should this provoke doubt?

How peculiar that while Confucian moderation shines through history like the noonday sun, and Buddhist enlightenment spreads across the land like great vessels and rafts, our Daoist pure principles and true revelations of nature-life (dual cultivation of xing and ming) lie discarded like worn sandals by those who indulge in empty metaphysical speculation. Why? Because heterodox teachings have proliferated disastrously. Alas! I too was once deeply poisoned by these delusions.

For over a decade I wandered destitute across the land until sudden awakening restored me to the natural Dao. How could I merely lament my past sufferings through mournful verse? Now that I've rediscovered this joy of spontaneity, I must illuminate all seekers, rescuing drowning souls within our Mystic Gate to help them reach the far shore of cultivation. During my Gengzi year exile in You County, Hunan, I chanced upon five volumes of the "True Utterances of the Azure Splendor Sovereign" recorded by Master Hequ. Studying them repeatedly was like hearing dawn bells rouse one from slumber, or drinking warm wine under spring sunshine—every fiber resonated, my spirit radiant. Why keep such sublime scriptures hidden when they could establish correct understanding for purity-seekers? Though long intending to publish them, circumstances prevented it. This autumn, my disciple Luo Yichun...

Master Guan San of Haining and I traveled once more from Nanchang to visit me at the Golden Ox Cave in Jishui. I hadn't realized that Guan San, despite his noble lineage, pursued the Daoist truth with such devotion. As I listened carefully to his years of spiritual seeking, I discovered that like my own early path, he'd been misled by worldly teachers peddling superficial practices—what they called "the Qian Dragon and Kun Tiger" or "tapping bamboo and strumming zithers" [common metaphors for misguided cultivation techniques].

Observing Guan San's natural eloquence and penetrating insights, I recognized him as one of those rare individuals blessed with both innate talent and genuine devotion. Thus I explained to him the core principles of cultivation: the mysteries of the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan, a vital acupuncture point), the secrets of the Gate of Life and Death, how the Zhen trigram represents masculinity and the Dui trigram femininity, and the true meaning behind alchemical terms like the "Golden Cauldron and Jade Furnace" (neidan terminology). These seemingly complex terms are ultimately metaphors for states of cultivation. With his natural purity and extraordinary understanding, Guan San grasped everything immediately, all his doubts dissolving like morning mist.

I then showed him this very text, Chants of the True Dao, sharing insights from my decades of practice. Deeply moved, Guan San vowed on the spot to bring this scripture back to eastern Zhejiang and personally fund its woodblock printing. True to his word, he later returned with the carved printing blocks, fulfilling my deepest wish. This virtuous act, born of absolute sincerity, had already accomplished the greater part of his spiritual merit.

Reflecting on this, I'm awed by its wonder: the initial discovery of this text was karmic fortune, and now its publication proves Heaven's will. The Dao's truth cannot remain hidden forever—this scripture was destined to become a ferryboat across the sea of suffering. Guan San must have accumulated immortal merit in past lives, making him Heaven's chosen vessel for this transmission. It was also celestial compassion for my devotion to spreading the Dharma, secretly assisting this virtuous deed.

This scripture reveals a profound simplicity: the Great Dao resides within every heart. Yet people foolishly abandon what's near to seek afar, complicating simple truths until trapped in self-made snares—this stubborn habit proves hardest to eradicate. My purpose in publishing this text is to help fellow seekers with virtuous roots recognize truth amidst falsehood, abandoning flashy but empty practices to reclaim their innate pearl of wisdom. Through sincere practice—renouncing desires, cultivating inner nature and life (xingming), and accumulating outer merit—every person can realize the Great Dao.

This passage serves as the preface to the Changdao Zhenyan (True Words of Singing the Dao), a scripture of the Qinghua Great Emperor (a revered Daoist deity also known as the Supreme Unity Savior from Suffering). It was composed by Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) disciple Guiyi Wan Qinghe.

The author affirms through personal experience the scripture’s accounts of Qinghua Great Emperor’s miraculous responses, confirming their authenticity. "Jishui Golden Ox Cave" refers to the author’s place of cultivation (Jishui is located in present-day Ji’an, Jiangxi, and Golden Ox Cave is one of Daoism’s sacred grotto-heavens). "Quanzhen disciple" identifies the author’s affiliation with the Complete Perfection school, "Guiyi" is his Daoist name, "Wan Qinghe" his given name, and "respectfully composed" conveys reverence in writing this preface.

In essence, the passage states: The scripture’s descriptions of Qinghua Great Emperor’s profound spiritual responses are indeed efficacious, as I have personally verified. Quanzhen disciple Guiyi Wan Qinghe, cultivating at Jishui’s Golden Ox Cave, respectfully composes this preface.