《語錄大觀》

Patriarch Lü (Lü Dongbin, one of the Eight Immortals of Daoism, revered as "Sovereign Emperor of Pure Yang, Celestial Master Patriarch Lü") said: The true Dao cannot be described in words—what can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. Those who deliberately use language to describe the Dao merely grasp its empty shell; those who intentionally practice the Dao become like worms gnawing at its essence. The Dao is too subtle and mysterious—where did it reside before Heaven and Earth took form? After their formation, where does it manifest?

The Dao penetrates the ninefold abyss, reaches the ninefold celestial realms, encompasses the four directions of Heaven and Earth, and circulates between the two poles of Yin-Yang. The wise cannot touch it with cleverness, nor can the skillful grasp it with technique. Only by hiding in clumsiness, holding fast through simplicity, nourishing through purity, and cultivating through stillness can one ultimately reach the wondrous state of spiritual radiance. To attain the highest mystery, one must first cultivate; to truly cultivate, one must first nourish; to nourish, one must first hold fast. Those who hold fast firmly must conceal deeply. Only through deep concealment can one hold fast; only through holding fast can one nourish. When nourishment is sufficient, one naturally attains the unfathomable state of the divine.

Yet this supreme Dao is fundamentally wuwei (non-action). It cannot be called emptiness, nor can it be called substance. Freely transforming between emptiness and substance—this is the ultimate Dao. When those of inferior capacity hear these principles, they often laugh heartily. Why be concerned with what they ridicule? They cannot even comprehend emptiness—how could they understand substance? They cannot grasp substance—how could they perceive emptiness? Stuck in superficial appearances and clinging to concrete forms in their search for the Dao, they either stray into heterodox paths or become so filled with preconceptions that they never awaken to the profound truth.

In truth, the subtle Dao resides within the human heart. The clever play with deceit, seeking shortcuts for quick success; the wise flaunt private knowledge, trying unconventional paths to reach their goals. Thus, they invent various techniques like refining elixirs, only to distance themselves further from the Dao. Even if someone can articulate exquisite theories, without genuine practice, it remains empty talk—what practical use is it for cultivating the Dao?

All seekers of the Dao should, with utmost sincerity, eradicate selfish thoughts, abandon cleverness and cunning, hide in clumsiness, hold fast through simplicity, nourish through purity, and cultivate through stillness. Over time, one will naturally attain the wondrous state of spiritual radiance, and the Neidan (internal alchemy) will be accomplished spontaneously, achieving the same merit as the sages of antiquity. If desires for profit remain unremoved and self-attachment persists, recklessly discussing the great Dao will only become an obstacle to cultivation. How lamentable that those of inferior capacity refuse to delve deeper into practice!

The true Dao—I cannot fully know it, nor can I exhaust it with words. Precisely because it cannot be known, my understanding here is utterly useless.

This passage speaks of how the true essence of cultivating the Dao lies in transcending the limitations of words and intellectual knowledge. The supreme Dao cannot be fully expressed through language nor completely grasped through ordinary understanding. Those who cling to verbal descriptions or conceptual knowledge of the Dao will only scratch its surface. True wisdom surpasses form—it is formless yet all-knowing, ineffable yet all-expressing. Practitioners must relinquish attachment to knowledge and language, reaching a state of wordless knowing, for this is the profound and mysterious true Dao.

The secret to refining the Golden Elixir (the core of Daoist Neidan/internal alchemy) lies in preserving one's original, authentic state. One must nurture the spirit (Shen), maintain a mind of serene emptiness, and return to the primordial chaos of the pre-heaven state, never forgetting one's true nature. Like the natural purity of green mountains and clear waters, one harmonizes effortlessly with all things.

For ordinary seekers, the first step in Dao cultivation is regulating the breath (Qi). Coarse breathing leads to restless thoughts; a restless mind breeds reckless actions; recklessness gives rise to indulgent desires; indulgence destabilizes the heart of Dao; and an unstable Dao-heart invites misfortune. Thus, breath regulation is the foundational practice for entering the Way.

The great Dao is perfectly impartial. Its profound method reveals this paradox: maintaining naturalness brings enlightenment, while clever contrivance creates obstacles. Those who penetrate the Mysterious Pass (the crucial point in cultivation) will realize the so-called "Three Treasures" (Jing, Qi, Shen) are ultimately illusory. But those who fail to break worldly attachments will find their six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, mind) becoming sources of karmic burden. One must turn abruptly from delusion, seeking liberation in the vast sea of suffering; act decisively to perceive the clear sky within emptiness. Ordinary people worry endlessly about worldly affairs, unaware they compound errors upon errors—laboring like oxen to build legacies for descendants, accumulating sins as sharp as blades. Remember: a human lifespan of a hundred years is fleeting—how can one vainly seek immortality? Discipline the restless "monkey mind" and diligently tame the "dragon and tiger" (symbolizing the harmonization of Yin and Yang). Without sincere practice, even reciting scriptures all day is wasted effort. May all seekers tread the upward path earnestly, not squandering precious time. These words suffice as guidance.

Finally, a warning to Xiao Xiusu: Cultivating the Dao is like facing an endless ocean—where is the far shore? Where does it culminate? I fear you have yet to reach that realm.

What use remains for this physical body after death? Rather than waiting until then, one should seek the true Dao (referring to cultivation for immortality) now. Sitting idly in meditation brings little benefit—try practicing with a tranquil mind for three months first.

Sit in meditation here for a hundred days and observe what insights arise; only then can one truly comprehend the great matter of life and death.

Someone asked Liu Shoushu: "Do you grasp even a fraction of what I’ve said? Share the parts you understand." Liu Shoushu replied: "When you speak of 'One,' are you referring to the Primordial (the cosmic origin)?" The answer came: "'One' is not the Primordial. Can the Primordial even be described in words? From the moment Fuxi drew the trigrams, we have already entered the realm of the conditioned. Can you also grasp the deeper meaning in my writings? First articulate the surface meaning—only by peeling away the outer layers can the essence be revealed."

The questioner then asked: "Explain the meaning of emptiness and substance." Liu Shoushu answered: "Emptiness is the Primordial." The reply was: "Where does the Primordial take its stand? What you describe is merely its foundation, not the Primordial itself. Only by transceling Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—the three treasures of human life—can one reach the Primordial state. Cultivating these three treasures belongs to the conditioned realm; in the Primordial, they are no longer needed. The Primordial is a state of 'forgetting forgetfulness, nothingness within nothingness'—utter stillness that tolerates not a single distracting thought. The slightest stirring of the mind means one has fallen from it."

Someone asked: "This disciple does not understand—please illustrate with an example." Wu Yishu inquired: "How should the mind be applied at the beginning of cultivation?" The answer: "Initially, focus on the Mysterious Pass (Dantian). Once you enter the gate and perceive its subtleties, maintain a mind of no-mind. This is the secret of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path."

Question: "What state follows the emergence of the infant (a Neidan term for the manifested spirit)?" Liu Shoushu answered incorrectly, so the explanation came: "I asked what to do after achieving the infant stage. By then, one has transcended the conditioned and glimpsed the Primordial. The Primordial is Wuwei (non-action)—having seen it, one must abide in non-action. If the mind cannot reach perfect emptiness, the slightest thought will invite the Three Calamities (deviations in cultivation)."

Liu Shoushu asked about the essence of movement and stillness. The reply: "Without movement, there is stagnation; without stillness, there is chaos. Their value lies in naturalness. Yin-Yang is the natural expression of movement and stillness; the cycle of seasons follows their natural rhythm. Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) embodies the natural process—movement reaching its peak gives birth to stillness, and stillness reaching its depth gives rise to movement. Only Wuji (the origin of Dao) transcends both."

Disciple Shou Ru once again inquired about seeking guidance from perfected beings (gaozhen) regarding the three grades of cultivation (upper, middle, and lower). The master replied: "How could an infant already fully formed remain ignorant of profound mysteries? Yet after the infant (metaphor for neidan/internal alchemy) is perfected, one must never rush to release it from the dantian. It requires continued nurturing for ten or twenty years, even thirty or fifty years. The method of nourishment lies fundamentally in wuwei (non-action) and naturalness—otherwise it's difficult to avoid the Three Calamities (Daoist tribulations of war, plague, and famine). You may cross-reference my words with the scriptures for verification."

The Great Dao has no fixed name or form—it must be apprehended in that state between existence and non-existence, its truth grasped between the presence and absence of thought. Forget both self and external objects to reach the realm where no sound or breath remains.

Our method is supremely vast, our precepts exceptionally strict, our Daoist practice absolutely impartial, and our discipline particularly solemn. Those who can uphold the sect rules and maintain the precepts must achieve unity of heart and speech, steadfast conviction, retiring into quiet cultivation without worldly concerns or self-inflicted troubles. Cast off all restraints—do not pursue glory only to invite disgrace. You must abandon heterodox thoughts and return to the true path, maintaining softness and stillness to nurture primal qi. Only then can you truly enter meditative absorption.

Someone once asked a Ling Mountain Temple monk: "Where is Ling Mountain? Do you understand your cultivation method?" The true Ling Mountain isn't in any fixed location—it transcends conceptual thinking. It's neither within the city nor in the Western Regions, nor even within the mind. Can you recognize where Ling Mountain truly is? Clinging to Ling Mountain means failing to recognize Ling Mountain. Those jade towers gleaming white, those countless dust-mote worlds painstakingly contemplated—in truth, a single hair's tip contains mountains, rivers, and the great earth. So where then is the true Ling Mountain? Cease idle speculation—the incense flowers and jade candles before you are none other than the Western Pure Land. I explain this for you to ponder deeply: Your method is fundamentally empty (śūnya), while our Daoist practice empties even that emptiness—not even the concept of "emptiness" remains. What more is there to investigate? Know that all methods share one source, ultimately returning to a single point. Seeking the Dao in yellowed scriptures is no different from a fool's deluded dream. Thus our Daoist practice takes non-abiding mind as supreme, while your method emphasizes non-abiding phenomena. But understand—when phenomena aren't abided, mind still remains. Why not empty this mind as well? Nowadays those studying Zen and Dao resemble heretical paths expending energy fruitlessly. I tell you truly: Ancient buddhas and immortal sages all worked from substantial foundations. Had Śākyamuni not endured six years of ascetic practice in the snow mountains, how could he have attained awakening upon seeing the morning star? Present-day practitioners merely pick up a few phrases of wild fox Zen (superficial Zen sayings) while sitting on meditation cushions—truly lamentable!

Those who spend their days lost in idle thoughts and restless agitation waste their entire lives in vain. Meanwhile, glib-tongued individuals merely craft a few specious phrases to deceive later seekers. They establish altars to expound the Dharma, yet thoroughly corrupt the ancestral traditions of ancient masters—truly pitiable and lamentable!

However, such matters are naturally understood by those with clarity, while the confused remain oblivious. Consider us Daoist cultivators: though the world is full of people constantly discussing spiritual practice, how many truly comprehend the principles of emptiness and substance? Since you've entered my school, you must practice earnestly. If you sincerely and reverently follow the teachings, the path will naturally reveal itself, and you won't suffer pointless reprimands.

If the human heart-mind (Shen) doesn't maintain emptiness, it becomes rigid and stagnant—like a pool of stagnant water that inevitably putrefies over time. Only by preserving emptiness can it remain lively and vibrant, like echoes in a hollow valley: one sound arises, and countless responses follow. Thus, the crux of cultivation lies in keeping the heart-mind empty yet not lifeless. Only then can one penetrate the mysteries of the "mysterious pass" (Xuanguan, the critical gateway in cultivation) and attain the realm of spiritual transformation.

Throughout history, many cultivators could condense the "infant embryo" (Ying'er, the Yang-spirit formed at advanced stages) and manifest the Yang-spirit, yet ultimately achieved nothing. This was precisely because they failed to grasp the principle that "the valley spirit never dies" (Gushen busi, meaning the heart-mind should remain eternally empty like a valley). Thus, the profound mystery of Laozi's 5,000-word Daodejing ultimately converges on this single truth. Those who endlessly discuss refining nature (Xing) and form (Xing) are abandoning the root for the branches—where is the true profundity in that?

Someone asked: What do "water and fire, Kan and Li" mean? What is water? What is fire? And what are Kan and Li? Others believe the sun and moon embody heaven and earth's essence, and that cultivating the Great Elixir (Dadan, the pinnacle of Neidan practice) must begin with them. But then—what are the sun and moon?

Let me explain clearly: Though the sun belongs to Yang, it contains a drop of Yin-essence (Yinjing). Without this Yin-essence, the sun's scorching heat would burn all things barren, leaving no life to flourish. The moon, though Yin, harbors a spark of Yang-energy (Yangqi). Without this Yang-energy, the moon would possess form without spirit, unable to illuminate the earth. Thus, though sun and moon are divided as Yin and Yang, in truth they intermingle—all formed through the mutual stirring of heaven and earth's energies. This is why Daoists use sun and moon to symbolize the elixir, with heaven and earth as the furnace, Yin-Yang as the firing times (Huohou, the rhythmic control in alchemy), and the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) of primordial origin as our life's fundamental face. As for Kan and Li (two of the Bagua trigrams representing water and fire)—their meanings...

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation. It explains why practitioners refer not to "Qian and Kun" (representing pure Yang and pure Yin) but to "Kan and Li" (symbolizing water and fire), because pure Yang cannot generate life and pure Yin cannot foster growth. In the Kan trigram (☵), a single Yang line is enclosed by two Yin lines, embodying Yang enveloped by Yin with generative potential; while in the Li trigram (☲), a single Yin line is embraced by two Yang lines, representing Yin nurtured by Yang with creative capacity.

In Daoist practice, one first uses Kan and Li to regulate the primordial Qi (Danyuan, or elixir essence). The Yang energy from Kan is then guided into the Yin energy of Li, facilitating a return to the pure Yang state of primordial existence. Many mistakenly believe the alchemical secret lies simply in the interaction of water and fire (Kan and Li), when in truth the essence resides in harmonizing the dual energies of Yin and Yang within the human body.

Qi manifests as both Yin and Yang. Those unversed in the Dao remain oblivious to their distinction. Practitioners must first discern these energies before achieving their mutual nourishment. Both Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) are expressions of Qi—hence Daoists emphasize Qi rather than speaking separately of "spirit."

When asked how to distinguish Yin and Yang energies, the answer unfolds through tangible manifestations: clarity signifies Yang while turbidity indicates Yin; exhalation is Yang, inhalation is Yin; ascending movement is Yang, descending is Yin; upper regions are Yang, lower are Yin; the left side is Yang, the right is Yin; heart Qi is Yang, kidney Qi is Yin; the Wood-phase liver is Yang, the Metal-phase lungs are Yin. Ultimately, the human body is predominantly Yin, containing only a crucial spark of Yang essence—this vital Yang Jing constitutes the foundation for attaining immortality and must not be discussed lightly.

Regarding the nature of "Xing" (innate nature), the teaching reveals: this Xing existed before heaven and earth took form—where Xing exists, Qi follows. Xing is the heart of heaven-earth, while Qi constitutes its body. Neither can Xing exist without Qi, nor Qi without Xing. Yet when speaking of heaven-earth, we cannot isolate either. If only Xing existed, what would account for the undulating terrain? If only Qi existed, what invisible force maintains its ceaseless motion without collapse? Thus, when referring to heaven-earth, the single word "Dao" suffices—for it encompasses both Xing and Qi.

Human beings are constituted by the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth. First comes innate nature (primordial spirituality), then arises Qi (vital energy), and with Qi the physical form takes shape. Without Qi, the body would disintegrate; without innate nature, Qi would lose its master. Qi resembles a house, while innate nature is like the master of that house. Once you find the master, there's no need to inquire about the dwelling. Therefore, realizing one's true nature makes attachment to Qi cultivation and bodily practices unnecessary.

Yet how can beginners recognize the "master" (innate nature) without first understanding the "house" (physical body)? To find the master, one must first locate the house. Discovering the house naturally leads to encountering its master. However, some may find the house yet fail to recognize the master, or the master may remain unwilling to appear. Thus I advocate transcending all external forms to directly realize one's true nature as paramount. Still, beginners should first nurture their physical form—without comprehending the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan, the crucial point of cultivation) and without refining Qi to strengthen the body, when physical collapse occurs, innate nature will have no abode.

For those seeking shortcuts, after I complete the three-tiered practice system (upper, middle and lower grades of cultivation), follow the steps systematically. When the body becomes stable and Qi abundant, innate nature will manifest spontaneously. Like infants who naturally develop Yang Shen (advanced form of primordial spirit) without complex practices, one may attain wondrous realms of boundless transformation.

Silencing sounds cannot compare to quieting the body; quieting the body cannot compare to pacifying the mind. When the mind becomes still, all sounds are forgotten; when the mind is truly tranquil, all sounds disappear. If the mind remains unsettled, even sitting in meditation all day without hearing external noises, it will still be entangled in distracting thoughts, never attaining momentary clarity. Therefore, Dao cultivators must first cultivate the mind. The essence of mind cultivation lies not in seeking quiet chambers, but in working amidst disturbances—only then can one verify the mind's states of movement and stillness.

If mind cultivation avoids turbulent situations, merely pursuing serene environments, when disturbances eventually arise, previously attained states of stillness will unconsciously vanish. Moreover, when does life ever offer truly quiet moments? Precisely amidst chaos can one silently maintain inner peace. Let daily activities like eating and resting follow their natural course without artificial manipulation, lest they disturb the Dao-cultivating heart.

Ultimately, spiritual practice means cultivating the heart-mind—the sovereign ruler of Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Sages become saints through this mind; Daoist adepts achieve immortality through this mind; Buddhists attain enlightenment through this mind. The sacred teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism and Daoism all ultimately point to this cultivation of heart-mind nature.

This passage elucidates the core principles of mind cultivation. It begins by illustrating how the human mind resembles the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) — containing both the innate purity of Wuji (the primordial state before movement) in stillness and the acquired impurities arising from mental activity. When completely tranquil, all distracting thoughts vanish, allowing return to the pristine state of Wuji (the origin of Dao). Once thoughts stir, one drifts increasingly from this fundamental purity, as afflictions invade through the six sense faculties (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind).

Though Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism differ in approach, their essence lies in mind cultivation. The text particularly emphasizes Daoist practice: through concentrating the Three Treasures (Jing/essence, Qi/vital energy, and Shen/spirit) to form the spiritual embryo (core of Neidan/internal alchemy), and penetrating the mysteries of the Five Phases to comprehend the profundities of the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing, Daoism's highest deities). Without mental stillness, one cannot attain spiritual clarity — remaining dull as unyielding stone, incapable of forming the spiritual embryo to achieve the Golden Elixir (Jindan). Laozi teaches people to take purity as their foundation, maintaining softness and humility so the empty mind may give birth to spiritual illumination. All teachings ultimately distill to mind cultivation; other elaborate methods are later additions that distance practitioners from the Dao.

The author humbly states that while these explanations may not exhaust the Dao's subtleties, they integrate the essence of the three teachings to clarify the fundamentals of spiritual practice. This Threefold Sublime Classic contains the verified essence of all traditions, making supplementary methods unnecessary — though few in this world study it earnestly. Those with sincere devotion and pure foundation may comprehend it without a teacher's guidance. Its merit equals the Jade Classic, revered even by celestial rulers. Widespread circulation brings boundless blessings, capable of resolving present calamities and planting liberation seeds across countless eons. Truly a wondrous scripture for saving humanity, readers are admonished not to treat it lightly.

Finally, it compares three levels of virtuous conduct: the perfected person (highest attainment) acts with virtue as naturally as the empty sky leaves no traces; the worthy person must exert sustained effort to approach sincerity; while ordinary people's goodness flickers like ephemeral bubbles.

Ordinary people often perform good deeds solely to seek blessings, but this mindset already deviates from the true nature of virtue. You who follow the path must remember: when cultivating your heart-mind, never allow greed or ignorance to arise. Constantly examine yourself with remorse, maintaining sincere and steadfast determination. Simply follow these teachings, and the due blessings will naturally manifest.

Both good and evil originate in the mind. When doing good, don't contemplate rewards; when committing wrongs, don't harbor illusions of escaping consequences. The very calculation of karmic retribution is the root of evil thoughts. Consider someone who performs one or many good deeds while secretly wondering, "Will Heaven reward me?" If no reward appears, they abandon virtuous intentions, deeming goodness useless. Similarly, when someone commits misdeeds while speculating, "Will there be retribution?" and escapes punishment, they assume evil brings no harm and cease repentance.

True virtue isn't deliberate. The moment you think "I am doing good," your mind is already impure. Discernment between good and evil is simple: ask whether the matter aligns with natural principles. Virtuous and wicked thoughts needn't manifest in actions—a single good thought contains boundless merit, while one evil thought harbors immeasurable harm. Thus the method for seeking goodness ultimately returns to mind cultivation. When the mind settles, wisdom naturally appears—why seek externally?

Your dedication to the Dao must be steadfast, your heart-mind grounded in reality. Without firm and genuine resolve, you'll easily succumb to external disturbances. Even if destined for the Dao, obstacles will multiply.

Consider the Way of the qin (using zither practice as metaphor for Dao cultivation)—it contains profound mysteries. When playing, the mind must be tranquil and qi serene, fingers resting at ease. Don't cling to physical form, external objects, environment, nor even the instrument itself. Merge consciousness with emptiness, and every note played becomes primordial music. If you merely chase novel melodies to please listeners, you descend into superficiality and decadence, straying from the qin's true essence.

Physical ailments may be treated with medicine, but mental afflictions resist cure; external disturbances can be subdued, yet inner demons prove harder to conquer. Wrong beliefs breed delusions, delusions create karmic causes, causes form obstructions, and accumulated obstructions invite demonic interference. Once these mind-demons take permanent residence, they stir up endless turmoil.

This passage speaks of how people often become entangled in various delusions and attachments—experiencing nightmares, harboring resentment, cursing others, slandering the true Dao, or indulging in heretical views. In severe cases, these thoughts can destroy families; even in minor instances, they harm one's innate nature. Though one may momentarily repent, they soon lose their way again, trapped in an endless cycle. I grieve for all beings, like a physician treating ailments of the heart, helping them dispel inner demons. When mental afflictions are resolved, the body naturally recovers; when the mind is purified, external disturbances cannot invade. Without treating the heart's sickness, as the malady deepens, both inner and outer demons grow more rampant. Reflect deeply, and you will grasp this truth.

True cultivators must be like iron tempered in blazing fire or dragons emerging from deep waters. Those who follow the Dao must understand relinquishing attachments—yielding in interactions with others demonstrates the vessel of cultivation. If even a trace of self-attachment or arrogance remains, one cannot truly enter the Dao.

Human life between heaven and earth is as fleeting as a mayfly's existence. This applies not only to ordinary people but also to immortals and buddhas throughout history. While physical life is finite, the spirit is boundless. Measured against the cosmos, our lives seem as insignificant as mayflies; yet viewed through our spirit, heaven and earth appear no greater than a single mayfly. Observing mayflies, I see that a single day encompasses their entire lifespan—birth, death, and transformation compressed into moments. Over millennia, it remains the same cycle of birth, death, and change. People recognize mayflies' lives but overlook their deaths; they witness their demise but miss their metamorphosis. To me, mayflies and the cosmos share the same eternity.

Daytime is when all beings stir; nighttime is when all things rest. This alternation of movement and stillness, mirroring the waxing and waning of existence, follows heaven and earth's natural order—the very principle of perpetual renewal. Yet worldly people often invert day and night, defying nature's rhythm and abandoning life's truth, severing their own transformative potential. Thus, to move by day and rest by night, conserve Jing (essence) and nurture Shen (spirit), refrain from contention with all things, purify desires, and understand the cultivation of stillness—only then can one aspire to longevity.

We cultivate the Dao with serenity and emptiness as foundation, immortality as aim, benefiting the world as aspiration, and carefree liberation as pursuit. In remote mountains and secluded valleys, many yearn for this state, yet sadly, few encounter genuine enlightened teachers.

This scripture, presented in a dialogue between master and disciples, reveals the pitiable state of worldly beings enslaved by desires while elucidating the true meaning of the "Dao mind."

People wallow daily in the pursuit of fame and profit, drowning in an ocean of desires, losing themselves in attachments of love, hatred, and passion. Though they fear death and crave longevity, they paradoxically forget life itself in their greed for wealth. They abandon the enlightened path right before them and ignore the accessible way of cultivation—truly lamentable indeed.

The master asked his disciples: "Do you all possess a mind? Where is this mind?" One disciple replied, "I don't know." The master said: "Marvelous! Herein lies the truth—in these very words 'I don't know.' This 'not knowing' means the mind remains unattached when encountering external phenomena. Just as your minds are present here now, they'll wander elsewhere when encountering other matters. How can one possibly locate such a flickering, unstable mind? What we call the 'Dao mind' is precisely awakening—awakening to the truth that 'knowing is not-knowing.' Realizing this 'not-knowing' leads to the state of wuwei (non-action). Through wuwei comes authentic action, ultimately returning to the primordial origin (the source of Dao). The original substance is inherently wuwei—thus 'not knowing' constitutes true wisdom."

Someone asked: "Human awareness constitutes the mind, yet this mind comes and goes without fixed abode—where does it truly reside?" A disciple answered, "The mind is before the sage." The master sighed: "People fail to attain the Dao precisely because they cling to having a mind and its dwelling place. By saying your mind is before me, you've fixated it upon my form. Once attached to my image, your mind ceases to be yours—it becomes mine instead. How can my mind become yours? Therefore, those who attain the Dao appear mindless—not truly mindless, but with a mind like the Supreme Void (cosmic substance), utterly unattached. When the mind dwells nowhere, what is it really? We call it 'mind like the Supreme Void,' yet this Void isn't lifeless emptiness. When the Sixth Patriarch Huineng heard 'Let the mind arise without dwelling anywhere,' he experienced sudden enlightenment. Though I explain in detail, why do you still not understand? It's like shattering empty space—this goes beyond mere non-attachment to present phenomena."

Finally, the master offered a floral metaphor: "This flower is originally pure and fragrant—once polluted, it loses its true nature. Sentient beings, I tell you: The mind is originally pure—attachment is its defilement."

This passage expounds the proper attitude and essential methods for Daoist cultivation.

Practicing the Dao is like preserving one's true nature while wading through muddy swamps—maintaining purity of heart amidst worldly defilements. I grieve seeing sentient beings drowning in desires, hence transmitting these wondrous methods. Cultivation should resemble growing lotuses in fire (symbolizing practice amid adversity) and seeking coolness within heat (finding stillness amidst turmoil). Never bury blossoms after rain (missing the opportune moment), thus wasting one's innate spiritual potential. Believe that springs can emerge from rock crevices to reach the ocean (small persistent efforts lead to the great Dao), for doubt and suspicion will forever obscure the Way. Let ordinary people harbor suspicions—this old Daoist teaches only to save the world. The ultimate outcome will prove these words true.

A cultivator should maintain lofty vision and expansive mind. Neither grow arrogant when honored, nor resentful when insulted. Let your heart be vast as the ocean, your mental state empty and luminous like the Taixu (primordial cosmic void). Face high-ranking positions and generous salaries with equanimity—accept what should be accepted without pride; encounter meager meals of simple fare with detachment—decline what should be declined without affectation. Ancient sages governed the world without attachment, discarding empires like worn sandals—when did they ever dwell on distinctions of wealth or poverty? Modern people, however, remain entangled in such thoughts. Should they suddenly attain high office, they'd likely become intoxicated with pride. Aren't those stubborn, narrow-minded individuals precisely like this?

Some people understand these principles intellectually but fail to practice them, hence the great Dao remains obscure. Seeking the Dao requires no excessive discussion—simply progress step by step, free from deluded thoughts or deviant paths. Those pursuing cinnabar refinement (Waidan external alchemy) chase empty fame, for the great Dao manifests in heaven and earth's natural operations—the alternation of day and night, the waxing and waning of moon phases. Harmonize Yin-Yang, unify the cosmic principles of Qian (heaven) and Kun (earth). The cultivation path abounds with hardships: the five senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body) activate the nine Qi (various energies), while the six thieves (form, sound, scent, taste, touch, and mental objects) provoke the seven emotions. One must ascend thousand-ren peaks and descend hundred-zhang abysses, like dragons churning mighty waves or tigers roaring across mountain ranges. What conquers these challenges? Only the sword of wisdom can sever karmic roots, restrain wayward thoughts, and exorcise demonic influences.

Cultivation requires cleansing both body and mind, maintaining the Huangting (Dantian energy center) in pristine clarity. Let your mental state shine like the moon in azure skies, move freely as clouds drifting over mountain summits. Forget cunning intentions and physical forms, transcend ego and fame. The essential truth lies wholly in preserving this state of empty stillness and spiritual luminosity.

Finally, consider the precious rarity of human incarnation: the mother's ten-month pregnancy hardships, three years of nursing and nurturing. These remind cultivators to cherish this bodily existence and diligently practice the great Dao.

A mother's meticulous care for her child is such that she anticipates the child's discomfort before it's even voiced; every movement in the child's daily life, though not physically experienced by her, weighs constantly on her heart. Seeing the child smile brings her joy, hearing the child cry fills her with sorrow, and watching the child learn to walk makes her heart race with nervousness. She would rather go hungry herself than let the child miss a meal, endure the cold herself than let the child lack warm clothing. Her eyes grow weary from longing to see the child grow into someone accomplished; her nights are sleepless as she plans for the child's future marriage and career.

Some parents brave wind and rain to build a family fortune, others cross mountains and valleys to restore their lineage—all their toil is for the sake of their descendants, all their late-night worries are plans for their children. How can such kindness ever be fully repaid? As children seeking to return this debt of gratitude, we should naturally devote ourselves wholeheartedly to filial devotion, maintaining sincere reverence at all times. Ensure parents are well-fed, warmly clothed, and cared for physically; speak gently to bring them joy, follow their wishes, and discern their unspoken needs. The ancients said that anticipating parents' needs before they arise is the mark of true filial piety.

If one fails in this most fundamental duty of filial piety, then even performing hundreds of good deeds like hosting vegetarian feasts for monks or giving alms to the poor will all be in vain. To violate basic human ethics is to sink below even beasts. In life, such people will be despised and scorned, and the laws of the land will not tolerate them; above, the gods will be angered, below, ghosts and spirits will stir up trouble. They may face disasters of flood and fire, epidemics and plagues, or demonic harassment—even being struck by lightning, their corpses finding no rest, rejected by both water and fire. Are such retributions not terrifying?

If you don't plow deeply, don't expect a good harvest—how can fate alone be relied upon? Lose your conscience and corrupt your virtue, and even a destined fortune will turn to poverty; cultivate your nature and nurture your character, and even a difficult fate will eventually find its way.

The Song dynasty's Zhen Shu admonishes: If you're truly capable of doing good, why slave away for your descendants? The bittersweets of officialdom, the hardships of the world, the storms and deceptions of human relations—this sea of suffering has no shore, but repentance is the harbor. Busy all day chasing fame and profit, in the end the feast may not conclude well. Why envy delicacies when plain tea and simple rice suffice? Coarse cloth and hemp sandals can rival silks and satins. If you can pull back at the critical moment and find contentment in stability, you'll naturally enjoy endless blessings.

A father must not be overly indecisive, nor excessively harsh and temperamental. Wise fathers raise outstanding sons; kind fathers beget filial children. How many ancients became accomplished without guidance? How many turned toward goodness without effort?

This scripture expounds the fundamental principles of cultivating the Dao and being human. It first observes how few in this world can understand their original mind or carry on the aspirations of sages without proper study. As fathers, we should comprehend this truth well.

When instructing disciple Wu Yishu, I said: "There are no immortals in heaven who lack filial piety toward their parents. You should return home to serve your parents diligently, calm your mind in seated meditation, and not waste your days amid worldly clamor. Those who truly attain the Dao transcend the constraints of fate because they have reached the state of 'no-self'—ponder these words deeply."

To all disciples I admonish: Do not act selfishly, neither treating others with excessive harshness nor undue indulgence. Those who follow my teachings I will never reject; those who defy them I will never compel. Those who comprehend my intentions will surely receive heavenly blessings; those who secretly violate these precepts will inevitably incur divine retribution. Flowery words masking a hypocritical heart may deceive people, but how could they fool the divine spirits?

In summary, you must achieve this: When alone, maintain a clear conscience; in conduct, be open and upright; in cultivation, progress unceasingly. Thus you may approach the realm of sages and comprehend the great Dao of heaven and earth. How could worldly riches, honors, or longevity ever constrain such a person? Disciples, remember this well.

Having taken refuge in my teachings, you must thoroughly cleanse your hearts and awaken resolutely. For those who practice goodness yet encounter misfortune, I will respond to their cries for deliverance; for those who persist in evil without repentance, I shall secretly correct them. Disciples Xing Shu and Gu Zi have quietly practiced virtue: showing filial piety to parents who showed them little affection, maintaining brotherly love amidst discord, treating others with sincere warmth, and conducting themselves with genuine earnestness. They understand Chan principles yet observe them silently, grasp the profound mysteries of our Daoist path yet embody them deeply—how vastly different from those whose words and deeds diverge, who traffic in hearsay! Therefore I esteem them.

Wu Yishu possesses fundamental integrity and childlike purity, interacting with others without artifice. He understands how to assess circumstances and speak appropriately to each person, his mind expansive as heaven and earth, his spirit free as drifting clouds. His aspirations soar beyond worldly constraints—truly a person of noble purpose, and thus I favor him. Yet I must remind both disciples to examine themselves constantly and cultivate with grounded diligence, neither lagging nor growing lax. Do not let my praise become license for indulgence, squandering your bright potential. Reflect deeply; remain vigilant.

In life, nothing is more perilous than indecision. With resolute determination, what Daoist method cannot be mastered? What immortal rank cannot be attained? The true fear lies in speaking with apparent sincerity while acting contrary to the path.

Observe the multitudes of ordinary people—most engage in unkind and unrighteous deeds: disloyalty to rulers, faithlessness to friends, and lacking compassion toward others. Some are children who fail in filial piety toward parents, some are elder brothers who show no affection for younger siblings, some are younger brothers who disrespect their elders, and in all their interactions they deal with others through hollow pretense. In their own conduct they are consistently sinister and harsh, while in treating others they lack humaneness and righteousness. Some even seize the flesh and blood of others to fatten themselves, destroying lives to nourish their own existence.

They neither revere Heaven, Earth, nor the spirits, but instead scorn and insult them. They show no respect for precious scriptures and classics, casually slandering and defaming them. They associate with wicked companions to commit evil deeds and indulge in unrestrained lust. All these transgressions are recorded by the divine beings, who mete out punishments according to their severity: some suffer calamities of war, floods, fires, or plagues; others endure lives of hardship, poverty, and lowly status. These retributions are self-inflicted, the just deserts of their own misdeeds.

Those who take refuge in our Daoist path must be loyal to rulers, filial to parents, respectful to elders, and affectionate to younger siblings. They must maintain an upright heart, act with honesty and integrity, and conduct themselves with impartiality and benevolence. Furthermore, they must observe fasting and purification rituals (Daoist practices for cleansing body and mind) and devoutly worship the celestial and earthly deities. They should concentrate on reciting scriptures and diligently complete their spiritual practices.

If someone can sever worldly desires and sincerely seek the Dao, I will manifest to guide them—whether in dreams or during meditation—allowing them to swiftly grasp the essential teachings and attain immortality through cultivation. Even if they cannot reach such heights, as long as they follow my instructions, practicing good deeds earnestly in the world and refraining from wicked thoughts, I will grant their wishes: those seeking great blessings shall receive great blessings, those seeking longevity shall receive longevity, those seeking virtuous and filial descendants shall receive them, and those seeking fame, rank, and wealth shall receive these as well.

If they persevere in their practice with unwavering dedication, I will lead them to the Southern Palace (a Daoist celestial realm) to enjoy carefree bliss. With sustained effort over time, they may attain the fruit of higher immortality, forever liberated from the sufferings of the mundane world. These consequences of merit and retribution that I speak of are utterly true and real. Disciples must listen attentively and each apply them earnestly. Do not treat them carelessly, do not slacken in diligence, do not deviate from the true path, and do not heed heretical teachings. Let each cultivate according to the orthodox way, accumulating merit individually. With sincere adherence, auspicious blessings will naturally follow. Keep these teachings close to your hearts.

The merit of aiding the world and saving others is not measured by size or quantity—it depends solely on the utmost sincerity of one’s heart. Even saving a small insect or cherishing a single blade of grass, if done with full effort, can accumulate immeasurable merit. Disciples, listen carefully: from this day forth, reflect deeply within, fulfilling both loyalty and filial piety, so that your conscience may remain clear and unburdened.

One must harbor reverence and sincerity in the heart to uphold the righteous Dao. To lack kindness and generosity toward others, to show no compassion toward all beings, to pursue selfish gains at others' expense, to kill living creatures to sustain oneself, to offer sacrifices to deities without reverence, to recite scriptures without faith, to start tasks without finishing them, to appear honest while harboring deceit within, to compete with companions over superiority, to draw distinctions among fellow practitioners, to envy others' strengths while concealing one's own shortcomings—these are all manifestations of an unrighteous heart.

If one fails to establish oneself in the world with uprightness and magnanimity, though such faults may seem ordinary, they make one an offender against the teachings of propriety. You who cultivate the Dao must examine yourselves in solitude—if you find these faults within, you must immediately repent and reform. Use sincere reverence to rein in wandering thoughts, and rely on divine power to dissolve transgressions. Perform good deeds to aid the suffering, speak kind words to resolve grievances, and extend help to those in peril. Those with parents should fulfill filial piety to the utmost; those with siblings should maintain fairness and harmony. Persist in these practices until they become second nature, and you will gradually approach the realm of sages.

Encourage and admonish one another, unite in virtue, and mutually correct each other's faults—do not repeat past mistakes, and you will naturally tread the path of goodness. Know that Heaven observes even the finest details: transgressions accumulate like mountains, while merits are as scarce as spoonfuls of water. Life and death, fortune and misfortune hinge on a single thought—be ever vigilant and self-disciplined.

The human heart must hold firm to proper understanding. When thoughts lack steadfastness, one cannot walk the bright and upright path, but instead clings stubbornly to personal views, rejects admonishment, schemes cunningly, and contends for superiority. If one cannot subdue the arrogant mind and return it to the proper path, it naturally conflicts with the realm of luminous integrity. Though such a person may occasionally perform minor good deeds, if the fundamental nature remains flawed, what benefit do these small acts bring? Those with such faults must strive to reform—do not flaunt petty cleverness or cling to biased views, but thoroughly purify the mind, offering your true heart without obstruction. Be an upright person and do upright deeds, advancing step by step. If you can do this, all endeavors will proceed smoothly.

The essential point lies in exhausting one's sincerity—all sages and worthies return to this single word "one." If you attain genuine awakening in a single thought, the blessings received will be boundless.

I observe that the seeking hearts of cultivators are as insubstantial as foam upon water, yet their pleas for my compassion burn with the urgency of raging flames. Why do people not transfer this same fervor to their spiritual practice? If one could truly do so, blessings would naturally multiply without conscious pursuit; virtue (De) would expand of its own accord without striving; benefits would accumulate abundantly without scheming—what need would there be for external supplication?

With compassionate heart I guide all beings, desiring that each may reach the shore of awakening. Yet if seekers lack sincerity, treating cultivation as child's play, it is better to strictly guard the gate of entry than to permit half-hearted abandonment midway. The human heart often shows initial diligence followed by slackening, or begins in indolence only to apply effort later. May the diligent remain steadfast and the slackers awaken to self-discipline—this would be perfection. You must cultivate with greater refinement and sincerity, for the slightest negligence may forfeit the opportunity for transformation.

When alone, one should maintain vigilance as if under the scrutiny of divine beings (Shen)—how much more so when actually facing them! How dare we indulge then? The wickedness of worldly people often stems from momentary self-indulgence that gradually escalates into arrogance and rebellion, ultimately inviting manifold transgressions. Should we not take this as solemn warning?

For Daoist practitioners, the most precious qualities are gentleness and forbearance. Maintaining equanimity without contention yields immeasurable benefit. Not only does this allow one to stand before others with clear conscience, but even when reporting to spirits and deities, one's integrity will be recognized.

In affairs, judge not others' rights and wrongs—the essential is self-examination. Even when one's conduct is beyond reproach, still reproach yourself for failing to guide others toward goodness, and feel remorse for being unable to transform the obstinate. Though you may have perfectly embodied the Dao (Way) and stand blameless before others, meet wrongdoers with particular gentleness. To convert one evildoer to goodness is profound merit. Even when facing those too deeply mired in wickedness to transform, treat them with kindness. What matters is maintaining the Middle Way with reverent sincerity—neither servile nor overbearing, responding with open humility. Gradually, even the most recalcitrant will develop awe and submit sincerely, daring no more insolence. Then what external slander or demonic obstruction need be feared?

Good deeds and evil both arise from a single thought. In solitude, the subtlest mental stirring marks the boundary between virtue and vice. That moment when doing wrong while thinking "none can see"—this very delusion of secrecy is the beginning of downfall.

The original nature of all humans is fundamentally similar, each carrying the seed of goodness. However, if one carelessly gives rise to wicked thoughts, they may gradually become arrogant and conceited, ultimately losing the chance to illuminate their innate virtuous nature across lifetimes. Such individuals grow violent and unrestrained (恣睢 means indulging without restraint), capable of any evil deed until they provoke divine wrath and cannot escape heaven's punishment.

My heart aches with sorrow for these transgressors, which is why I tirelessly expound the teachings in gentle terms. When you practitioners witness evildoers receiving retribution, maintain compassion rather than schadenfreude; nurture vigilance rather than thoughts of emulation. This way, you'll naturally distance yourself from wickedness and steadfastly pursue goodness.

Human life passes as swiftly as a white steed glimpsed through a crack—once you miss your chance through misstep, regret will be too late. When you hear the clear temple bell at midnight, awaken with a start: all your past scheming and manipulation were as absurd as actions in a dream. If you don't promptly cleanse your heart, renew yourself as a virtuous person, and advance toward the Dao of goodness, you'll sink deeper into suffering rebirths, struggling for lifetimes to attain liberation, even bringing calamity upon descendants and family decline. Moreover, wickedness inevitably meets retribution—it's only a matter of time. How pitiful to remain unawakened!

The world's good deeds can never be exhausted, nor merit ever fully accumulated. The more virtuous sages become, the more humble their hearts grow. Upon witnessing goodness, they fear they cannot match it; pursuing the Great Dao, they feel they've barely begun. Even after accomplishing much and establishing great merit, their hearts remain unsatisfied. How much more so when one's virtuous deeds and merit remain incomplete—how dare one grow arrogant? As the ancients said, "Fullness invites loss, humility receives benefit"—this is the Dao's natural principle. If such is heaven's way, how can humanity's path differ?

A person doing good becomes virtuous; one doing evil becomes wicked. The distinction between sage and sinner lies entirely in a single thought.

Some claim all matters are predestined. But the sages taught that those who cultivate to perfection can alter destiny, for creation lies within one's own hands—how can fate constrain them? As for those who enjoy wealth and status without performing good deeds, perhaps they inherit ancestral virtue or reap blessings from past lives. But if they persist in wickedness...

Only through continuous acts of virtue can one sever the roots of descendants enjoying wealth and honor. If the blessings a person accumulates are only sufficient for their own use, Heaven will reduce these blessings according to their deeds. Would the law of karma spoken by the Supreme Venerable Sovereign (the highest deity in Daoism) ever be deceitful words? Everyone must strive to cultivate virtue, examine themselves, and not betray my earnest admonitions.

Good and evil deeds each bring their own retribution. If virtuous acts showed no visible effect, people would cease to do good; if wickedness went unpunished, evil would run rampant. We revere the divine not to seek rewards—maintaining a heart of reverence and sincerity alone plants the seed of virtue. There is no need to deliberately pursue results, for they will manifest naturally. Having studied various scriptures, I find they all emphasize the merit of reciting sacred texts—this is no empty claim. For a single sincere thought during recitation can dispel past delusions; a momentary act of goodness can amend former wrongs. To discard falsity for truth, to reform evil into virtue—who can say there will be no retribution? The pity is that people often awaken to sincerity only to lapse back into arrogance; they perform one good deed, only to abandon virtue for vice later. How, then, can they expect divine favor and blessings?

Thus, the classics of ancient sages, Buddhist texts, and Daoist scriptures all employ uplifting words to encourage virtuous conduct, guiding practitioners toward continuous goodness to attract auspicious Qi (vital energy). Yet this does not mean that insincerity and irreverence—merely chanting texts while the mind dwells on pleasure—can erase sins and bring blessings. Only wholehearted reverence, unwavering and diligent, constitutes true virtue.

On the essentials of transcribing scriptures: Characters should be uniform in size, with balanced weight; solid strokes on the left, void strokes on the right, and harmonious proportions. Before lifting the brush, visualize the character’s form, but avoid rigid adherence to fixed styles. Writing should balance solidity and emptiness—where solidity is due, apply firmness; where emptiness is called for, use lightness. To violate these principles is to lose the spirit of calligraphy. Follow my guidance: do not strive for deliberate beauty, but prioritize dignity and steadiness over excessive delicacy. Wield the brush with compact strength—better slow than hasty—always maintaining upright strokes.

I have often observed so-called devotees of the Dao among worldly people—most seek either divine ascension, the art of alchemy (Waidan, external alchemy practices), or techniques of "harvesting yin to supplement yang" (a Daoist cultivation term referring to harmonizing yin-yang), hoping for immortality and eternal wealth. As the saying goes, "With a fortune tied at the waist, ride a crane down to Yangzhou." Yet few truly aspire to the highest states of "serene emptiness and tranquil extinction" (the pinnacle of Daoist cultivation) or the "True Constant Great Dao" (the essence of the Dao itself).

This passage discusses the relationship between Daoist cultivation and human conduct. It begins by noting how some individuals, despite studying Confucian classics in youth and serving as officials governing people in adulthood, still yearn for the immortal path (referring to Daoist practices for achieving transcendence). This demonstrates that sincerity of heart is paramount in cultivation. The scripture states, "Before cultivating the immortal Dao, first cultivate the human Dao," meaning if one hasn't even mastered fundamental principles of human conduct, the path to immortality remains distant.

Cultivating the human Dao refers to how the Great Dao (the fundamental truth of the universe), though formless, fills heaven and earth. People should comprehend this principle and expand their minds to embrace all things. Whether it's the Confucian ideal of "bringing peace to the elderly and security to the young," Buddhism's universal salvation of sentient beings, or Daoist guidance for practitioners, all essentially spring from the same benevolent heart. However, cultivators must constantly examine themselves—whether their actions align with righteousness, whether they serve the people wholeheartedly in official duties. This embodies the Confucian concept of "assisting heaven and earth in nurturing all things," the Buddhist teaching of "the radiance of one's true nature shining through," and the Daoist principle of "forgetting form to merge with emptiness."

The text cites examples like Guanyin Bodhisattva (a Buddhist figure) who once manifested as an official to teach Dharma, and Laozi (venerated in Daoism as "Taishang") who served as the Zhou dynasty's Archivist (head of the national library), proving that officials can equally pursue the path of purity. The key lies in sincerely serving the people, educating them, handling governance, and cultivating oneself. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism ultimately share the same genuine heart—there's no need to rigidly separate them.

Finally, it discusses specific cultivation methods: Practitioners should focus wholeheartedly, quietly comprehending the profound celestial mysteries (cosmic secrets), maintaining inner contemplation and serene emptiness while harmonizing with worldly affairs. One must cultivate with single-minded dedication, eliminating distractions and desires for fame and profit, forgetting physical form, using the mind to regulate Qi (vital energy), harmonizing Qi with Shen (spirit), and ultimately merging Shen with emptiness—reaching the state of Wuwei (non-action), the highest Daoist attainment where even the concept of "forgetting" is forgotten. Understanding this principle constitutes "illuminating the Dao," while diligent practice constitutes "walking the Dao."

The cultivation methods of the Nangong lineage, though considered orthodox Daoist practice, still fall short of the supreme Dao that transcends life and death while benefiting the world through Wuwei (non-action). Thus, the Supreme Venerable Sovereign (Laozi) stated, "Clarity and stillness through non-action constitute the proper path of heaven and earth," and further declared, "Nourishing Shen (spirit) and preserving primordial Qi (vital energy) form the foundation of longevity." As for those techniques involving Fulu (talismans) and incantations, they are far from the true path. Many worldly people delight in such practices, but these are merely cases where literary spirits become possessed by jingguai (essence-monsters) after death, channeling their accumulated knowledge from past lives.

Regarding Waidan (external alchemy) practices that smelt cinnabar and lead in cauldrons, these utterly delude and deceive the masses—countless ignorant people have fallen prey to such deceptions. Never has there been record of any immortal attaining the Dao and transcendence through such means. When Master Zhengyang (Zhongli Quan) transmitted the art of creating gold and silver to me, I feared misleading future generations. It was precisely this awakening thought that ultimately led to my transcendence and immortal ascension. Seeing people still seeking such methods today truly pains my heart.

Who in this mortal world can forever remain in one place? A true man is born with aspirations that reach the four directions. Yet this "reaching the four directions" should mean seeking enlightened teachers and pursuing the great Dao: scholars traveling a thousand miles with their bookcases to find masters, cultivators wearing out straw sandals in their search for immortal teachings, never resting until their learning is complete and the great Dao realized. But later generations journey only for fame, profit, and power—whether as traveling officials or far-ranging merchants, all depart with worldly gain as their motive. Others become obsessed with landscapes, exhausting themselves in sightseeing while neglecting their elderly parents. Little do they realize such so-called "traveling" remains entirely within the mundane realm.

A genuine Zhenren (Perfected Being) travels spiritually through the Great Void, traversing millions of miles in a single breath, roaming all mountains and realms in moments. When departing, none know their destination; when returning from cosmic journeys, none perceive their origin—ultimately returning to silent emptiness. Only those who comprehend this realm of "travel" attain its highest form. Among the vast sea of humanity, scarcely one in a hundred grasps this truth.

Thirty years ago, I began teaching sentient beings through phoenix-writing (Daoist planchette writing), manifesting at Ezhou (modern Wuchang, Hubei) and establishing my presence there. At this place I laid the foundation for three grades of spiritual achievement and forged countless karmic connections of virtue. Initially establishing my work in one building, I later moved to the Song family's pavilion named "Han San" (Embracing the Three), then to the Qiao residence where I completed transmission of the Upper Volume of Immortal Scriptures. Recalling this now seems like yesterday. That I could accomplish this teaching mission owes entirely to your tremendous support, particularly the wholehearted dedication of the earliest disciples. Though the great work is now complete and all have received immense blessings, reflecting on these years...

In my early days of cultivation, my heart was always filled with compassion, feeling that my efforts were still insufficient to repay the toil of all sentient beings, which made me reluctant to leave the mundane world.

With a merciful heart that pitied all living beings, I tirelessly remained in the earthly realm—both to align with the heavenly virtue of cherishing life and out of compassion for the suffering of beings drowning in the sea of misery. Thus, I made a grand vow to traverse kalpas (cosmic cycles) to universally deliver sentient beings, widely bestowing the sweet dew of Dharma rain, hoping that countless beings as numerous as the sands of the Ganges River might ascend to the shore of the Dao and reach the luminous other shore. In this way, my sincere heart might find some solace.

I am not unaware of the fickleness of worldly ways or the shallowness of human relationships. Lately, people's livelihoods have become increasingly difficult, forcing them to chase after profit. But when one's mind is solely fixated on gain, it leads to ever-worsening deceit and cunning, with endless schemes and tricks emerging—harmful actions that deceive the world and benefit oneself at others' expense abound. Even those with specialized skills exhaust themselves in scheming. Tracing the root cause, it all comes down to calculating benefits, becoming more adept at opportunism than those before them. As this decline deepens, disasters follow in succession—fires, robberies, government punishments, droughts, locust plagues, and diseases bring unending suffering.

When evil thoughts first arise in people's minds, they might still feel shame; when they hear thunder and lightning, they may still know fear. But as they gradually sink into bad habits, they tread the path of wrongdoing as if it were level ground, growing ever more accustomed to it. Occasionally witnessing cases where good and evil seem to go unpunished, they assume the deities are deaf and blind, and thus indulge recklessly without restraint. Even with thunder at their side or executioner's axes before them, such people turn a deaf ear and a blind eye, arrogantly believing that "money can move the gods"—truly pitiable and laughable. How can such people avoid eternal rebirth in the cycle of suffering and retribution? Even if I wished to save them, where would I begin?

The word "Dao" is the most mysterious pivot between heaven and earth, the essence of yin and yang. It establishes the laws of the cosmos, creates the civilization of past and present, and is profoundly subtle and hidden, without form or name. The Dao is the origin of creation, the foundation of all things, dating back to the primordial chaos of the Great Beginning. Whether in Buddhism, Daoism, or Confucianism, the sages all ultimately trace their roots to the Jade Pure Realm (the highest heaven in Daoism), differing only in their branches: Buddhism speaks of the Three Vehicles (Śrāvakayāna, Pratyekabuddhayāna, Bodhisattvayāna), Daoism divides into three teachings, and Confucianism establishes its single school. In truth, Confucianism emphasizes practical principles, Buddhism focuses on the meditative mind, and the interplay of emptiness and substance reflects the essential energies of yin and yang (the fundamental elements constituting all things). This state is both existent and non-existent, hazy and indistinct, yet contains the most profound truth.

The profound mystery of the navel wheel (Dantian region) is unfathomable and elusive. Above, it connects to the moon cave at the crown of the head (Baihui point), and below, it roots into the celestial foundation at the soles of the feet (Yongquan point). Whether in motion or stillness, one should always maintain a state of purity and tranquility. Reality and illusion coexist, and all cultivation methods ultimately return to the undifferentiated primal Dao (the Way).

The Great Dao cannot be described in words; practitioners must forget the self. True "forgetting" means even letting go of the concept of "forgetting" itself—this is genuine "true forgetting," beyond the grasp of ordinary thought. Those with wisdom must first establish the state of "sincerity." With sincerity comes clarity, and with clarity comes manifestation. When this manifestation permeates both inner and outer realms, the Dao reveals itself. Cultivation knows no difficulty or ease; the key lies in unwavering sincerity.

Today, spirit writing (a form of divination) is widespread, with many claiming to guide and enlighten, and numerous followers in tow. Truth and falsehood mingle, and gatherings are fleeting. Yet people often mistake those who predict fortunes as true Dao practitioners and those skilled in poetry and prose as talents worth gathering. Our phoenix hall (spirit writing platform) has endured for decades, never luring people with omens of fortune or misfortune, nor do disciples come seeking blessings or avoiding calamities. Though lacking ornate rhetoric, we uphold dignified rituals for learning, allowing us to remain steadfast and ever-renewing, distinct from those transient and sensational groups.

Some worry that our hall might rely on extraordinary phenomena to attract followers, but I find nothing particularly unusual here. The crux lies in how one perceives the word "ordinary." In life, we engage in the most mundane activities: clothing, food, shelter, and travel. Everyone possesses the faculties of seeing, hearing, speaking, and acting—this too is ordinary. From childhood studies to adult understanding, from self-cultivation to harmonizing family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world, all follow the teachings of sages—the path of the golden mean and the ordinary. Even in Buddhism and Daoism, one seeks to illuminate the mind, realize true nature, and transcend life and death, while the other emphasizes cultivating nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu) to attain longevity. Though these may seem profound and elusive, they are ultimately paths of returning to the source—the ordinary way.

To put it plainly, neither Buddhist practitioners nor Daoist immortals (xianjia) ever deviate from human nature to engage in empty cultivation, nor do they abandon fundamental moral principles in pursuit of mystical realms. The original intentions of loyalty, filial piety, benevolence, and righteousness must never be forgotten, while humble and reverent conduct should be practiced in all things. Those who serve their parents with perfect filial devotion may be called filial sons among the immortals; ministers who dedicate themselves to their country are likewise loyal subjects within the celestial gates. By extension, all who fulfill their human relationships and treat all beings with kindness possess the foundation for attaining immortality or Buddhahood.

In truth, though Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism follow different paths, they ultimately return to the same realm of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin), with no inherent sectarian divisions. Those narrow-minded Confucian scholars who remain utterly ignorant of the true unity of these three teachings, rashly criticizing and slandering them, only invite my laughter at their pedantic foolishness. As for sincere seekers of the Dao, even if I cannot fully comprehend all they've seen and heard, so long as they refrain from affectations of mystery, they demonstrate genuine insight. Those who wish to enter my school should regard it as an ordinary matter—this is the mark of true mastery. The great Dao I transmit ultimately boils down to two words: "common decency."

My method is vast as the ocean, with compassion hidden in subtlety and radiance concealed within the indistinct. With sincere faith, one will surely commune with the divine. My only fear is that people might consider me dispensable, making it difficult for me to respond immediately. Yet if one honors parents, cherishes siblings, maintains trust in friendships, acts with fairness in worldly affairs, exercises self-discipline in public service, and fulfills one's proper roles—this is like meeting and conversing with me daily, and I will silently offer my approval from the unseen realms.

To understand the death of the living, why not observe the rebirth of the dead? Ordinary people only know that when yang longevity ends comes death, yet theories about the afterlife vary widely: some say rebirth follows immediately after death, others claim the postmortem destination is uncertain, while still others insist there is no afterlife at all. The ancients said matters of life and death are profoundly significant—indeed, they defy simple conclusions. Judging by proper principle, humans receive...

The interplay of Yin and Yang Qi (vital energy) gives life, while the balance of clear and turbid Qi determines physical form. The arrival of life resembles the morning sun's ascent, vast and unstoppable as a rolling wheel. People witness the sunrise, yet who can truly confirm it emerges from Fusang (the mythical sunrise tree)? When death comes, breath stills and the body withers like the setting sun, vanishing in an instant. People see the sunset, but who can verify its disappearance beyond Yanzhi (the legendary sunset mountain)?

Thus, those who understand the Dao focus solely on their present physical form, engaging in authentic practice. Regarding life and death, they simply accept these as natural rhythms. Destiny can be sensed but not fully articulated; fate has limits, so one should abide in their fundamental nature. This is the great wisdom of perceiving life's truth before physical form manifests—aligning consciousness with this understanding. After form takes shape, one harmonizes with life's rhythms to return to emptiness. Such profound mysteries are not for all to comprehend.

Among the seventy-two recorded rituals of the Northern Dipper (Big Dipper), thirty-six conceal essential truths, while the rest serve as ceremonial teachings. In truth, star veneration (Lidou) is valued not only across Daoist lineages but also in Buddhist celestial practices, though their forms differ. Buddhist scriptures refine the "mind essence" more subtly than Daoist liturgy (Keyi), incorporating Sanskrit chants and siddhi (achievement methods) of immense depth. Chan (Zen) Buddhism likewise uses these to illuminate original nature—like a lamp of wisdom that, once lit, dispels all darkness. Consider a pitch-black room suddenly brightened by torchlight: such is the instantaneous clarity. Even the dull-witted, through sincere celestial veneration and adherence to Vedic rituals, may attain sudden awakening—as when the Buddha glimpsed the morning star to attain enlightenment, or held up a flower to transmit wisdom.

Sanskrit mantras possess miraculous power, containing six supernatural abilities (abhijna) with inconceivable merit. Even our Xuánmén (Mystic Gate) esoteric liturgies are revered by celestial immortals, performed in accordance with cosmic rhythms. Yet without proper foundation or pure practice, one cannot receive the authentic transmissions of the Lingbao (Numinous Treasure) or the Supreme Mystery (Tai Xuan) teachings.

This scripture primarily expounds on the practice methods for venerating the Celestial Honored Ones (the highest deities in Daoism) and the essential techniques for cultivating one's nature and mind.

The Celestial Honored Ones who govern the constellations possess profound and steadfast vows, boundless compassion, and unfathomably mysterious Daoist methods. Even those who have cultivated to the ninth-grade fruit position (a rank in Daoist practice) cannot fully comprehend their profundity. The liturgical texts recorded in the Five Dippers Scripture (an important Daoist classic) all contain hidden mysteries beyond ordinary practitioners' understanding. Unless one is a true vessel chosen by the Nine Heavens (a practitioner with superior spiritual capacity), these sacred words remain inaccessible. Yet ordinary people who sincerely practice according to these liturgies may still receive various spiritual responses—some may sense the Celestial Honored Ones' presence in the Purple Palace (celestial court), others may witness their manifestations during meditation, or behold auspicious signs like celestial flowers descending and immortal offerings appearing.

Those with superior spiritual roots seeking immortality will attain their wish, while those with middling capacity will have their prayers answered. Though receiving blessings through prayer and disaster prevention is considered minor attainment, the greater achievement lies in gaining supreme wisdom and liberation. Advanced practitioners may directly receive the Mysterious Three-Five True Formula (an advanced cultivation method), attaining transcendent sagehood. This resembles how Buddhist recitation leads to rebirth in the Pure Land—through devoted practice, one transforms body and mind, becoming pure and subtle like a lotus-born being. The classics state: even the most foolish may awaken, the weakest may become strong. Such is the profundity of venerating the Celestial Honored Ones—seemingly without fixed methods, yet containing fundamental truths; appearing formless, yet manifesting wondrous functions.

The true meaning of "Jing" (scripture) is to teach people to uphold constant principles and maintain reverence. The wise comprehend it intuitively, the middling learn caution, while ordinary people develop reverential awe. When establishing teachings to instruct others, this word "Jing" contains infinite guidance—not relying on ornate language for display. The crux of mind cultivation lies in gathering scattered thoughts—when maintaining reverence, whether serving deities or interacting with people, one remains as cautious as if divine beings were present. From single matters to hundreds, from minor to major affairs, one must always "keep the mind within the chest cavity" (maintain mindful awareness), preventing mental dispersion. Over time, one's nature becomes naturally refined, free from reckless audacity and unrestrained behavior.

This method of gathering the mind constitutes the guiding principle of our teachings, the essential purpose of scriptural exposition, and the very mystery of cultivating immortality and Buddhahood that I often discuss. Practitioners who maintain constant vigilance—walking as if on thin ice, progressing diligently without cease, and especially maintaining utmost reverence before deities—will gradually attain the state where the mind finds its true master.

This passage primarily critiques those who lack sincere spiritual cultivation and fail to show proper reverence toward the divine. Ignorant individuals who habitually neglect mental discipline—allowing their desires to run wild and indulging in reckless behavior—also approach deities without the slightest awe, behaving with irreverent impropriety. Such people are universally condemned across traditions: Confucianism brands them as "the contemptible," Buddhism as "violators of monastic precepts," while Daoism names them "the arrogant and rebellious."

At the heart of this scripture lies the principle of reverence (jing), emphasizing that both sacred texts and deities demand heartfelt veneration. True piety is not superficial performance but must spring from inner sincerity. When serving the divine, one should comport oneself with the dignity reserved for elders or sovereigns: wearing clean attire, maintaining dignified posture, moving with tranquil grace, and performing rituals with unhurried solemnity. This reverence must surpass worldly courtesies, for divine response is swift—the connection between gods and humans resonates like an echo, compelling genuine awe from the depths of one's being.

The text particularly notes that those approaching with authentic devotion naturally manifest respectful demeanor, never daring to jest or act frivolously. True piety isn't confined to verbal or written expressions but requires aligning one's heart with scriptural teachings (yi xin yin jing). The author concludes with lamentation, grieving for those who understand nothing of reverence.

This passage discusses the cultivation and qualifications required to serve as a "Luan shou" (the medium who holds the writing instrument during Daoist spirit-writing rituals). The core principle is: Whether serving deities or conducting oneself in daily life, sincerity is paramount.

First, it explains the fundamental rule of serving deities: Even if a ritual appears simple, as long as one participates with devout sincerity, whether or not divine presence is felt, one must fulfill the rites wholeheartedly. Those who fail to grasp this principle will neither conduct themselves properly nor serve the deities well. Communication between humans and gods is founded on "sincerity" (cheng)—genuine sincerity can resonate with heaven, and virtuous character (De) is the true fragrance of offerings. While external rituals may take countless forms, their essence lies in the sincerity of the heart.

Next, it details two paths to becoming a qualified Luan shou: The first is for those with innate spiritual gifts—individuals naturally endowed with wisdom, a tranquil temperament, and a stable Shen (spirit), who differ from worldly pursuits, maintain virtuous thoughts and integrity, and focus on inner cultivation (Neidan), ultimately attaining a state of communion with the divine. The second path is through acquired cultivation, requiring long-term sincere practice, careful speech and conduct, until one achieves unity of heart and Shen.

A crucial warning is emphasized: Deities will not attach themselves to those whose words and deeds are flawed, hypocritical, or doubtful. Even during spirit-writing, distractions, emotional turbulence, or skepticism can obstruct divine revelation. Thus, finding a true Luan shou is difficult, and finding one who can both conduct spirit-writing and interpret scriptures is even rarer.

The passage concludes by underscoring the key point: The individuals chosen by deities must possess both moral virtue and spiritual foundation. Therefore, the role of "Luan shou" is not easily attained—it demands cultivation of both inner character and outer skill to fulfill its sacred duty.

In the prime of youth and vigor, one must practice self-restraint in all matters—this is the foundation for cultivating De (Virtue/Power). A gentle and generous disposition is essential for nurturing one's heart-mind. What Confucians call "preserving the heart and nourishing nature" is precisely what we Daoists term "refining Qi (vital energy) and refining Shen (spirit)."

Those who study the Dao must first understand the principle of "death." Without grasping the true meaning of death, how can one fathom the profundity of life? One must conceal vitality within what appears to be the gateways of death—this requires personal realization through contemplation. Otherwise, obsessing over prolonging life will only hasten demise. The ever-renewing Dao contains profound mysteries; do not let worldly habits pollute it or earthly delusions obscure it. The awakened mind comprehends instantly, like lighting a torch in a dark room—illumination comes in an instant. Do not waste intelligence on trivial matters.

Disciple Chengshu (a term of address for students), being entangled in worldly affairs is common among people, but you differ from the mediocre crowd and naturally should not harbor vulgar views. At this moment, I expound these principles to you one by one, but what is absent cannot be forced, and what is present cannot be taken away. Though I wish to alter your destiny, how easily can preordained fate be changed? I tell you this now in hopes you understand: all human contrivances are like dreams, illusions, or bubbles. Simply abide in your true nature and await the opportune moment to verify future wondrous fruits.

As I now open this teaching assembly, it is the perfect time to awaken your wisdom—this is the fruition of your seventy years of karmic connections and cultivation. Gradually release worldly attachments, free yourself from mundane sentiments, diligently rectify your heart-mind, and when conditions ripen, you may assist me in propagating the Dao's teachings to benefit countless beings. This will not only perfect your present cultivation but also realize the karmic rewards of past spiritual practice.

Since you've taken refuge in my lineage, embody my intention: maintain reverential awe in heart and harmonious gentleness in conduct. Neither hold yourself in excessive esteem nor indulge in arrogance and extravagance. When encountering beauty, emulate Liuxia Hui who remained unmoved with a woman in his lap; when facing others' unreasonable behavior, reflect thrice like the nobleman. Have you not read the Book of Zhou stating, "The August Heaven shows no partiality—it supports only those with De"?

Disciples bringing family members to take refuge certainly demonstrates sincere aspiration for the Dao. But many mistakenly believe adopting a Daoist name alone constitutes refuge. This completely misunderstands its true meaning. "Taking refuge" means making the Dao your ultimate home; "relying" means making the Dao your supreme support. Only through genuine faith, practice, and observance of precepts—maintaining discipline within the Daoist community without transgressing rules, upholding human ethics in the secular world without violating propriety, keeping one's heart upright, being reverent and truthful, and acting according to principle in all matters—can one truly fulfill the meaning of refuge.

Those who truly take refuge (meaning wholeheartedly devoting themselves to Daoism) must comprehend the essence of such commitment. Merely seeking the title of a Daoist and considering it as completion of refuge is superficial and meaningless—how much more so for those lacking even basic understanding, like women and children?

To cultivate my Daoist methods, one must practice earnestly with devout faith. If one willingly descends into depravity, they will only sink deeper; if one persists in diligent progress, they will naturally ascend. As for the crucial aspects of nurturing Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) and harmonizing one's temperament, it all lies in maintaining clear and tranquil cultivation and a state of profound stillness (the Daoist meditative state where self and objects are forgotten). If one cannot restrain themselves, with a restless and agitated mind, even the divine spirits will not respond—how much more severe will the consequences be for graver transgressions, which inevitably invite stern retribution.

Hong Ducheng (likely the name of a seeker), do you understand the deeper meaning behind my name "Han San" (Embracing the Three)? Since the division of heaven and earth and the establishment of the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity), heaven has illuminated all things with the Three Lights (sun, moon, and stars), while earth has guided human hearts with the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism). Yet human endowments vary: Buddhism divides its teachings into Three Vehicles (Sravaka, Pratyekabuddha, and Bodhisattva), immortal elixirs are graded into three tiers, and Confucianism distinguishes between superior, middling, and inferior temperaments. Tracing back to their origin, all initially stem from the same primordial Qi, embodying the same heavenly principle. Thus, though the Three Teachings are distinct, they share a single source. One who comprehends their unifying truth may return to the essence of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate).

Taiji is the primordial Qi (the cosmic primal energy), from which heaven and earth separated and the Three Powers took form. The Three Teachings are merely branches of Taiji, all ultimately rooted in the same truth. Hence, I deliberately adopted the name "Han San" to signify the convergence of the Three Teachings into the single Dao. Within the Mysterious Gate (Daoism), cultivation is divided into heterodox paths and the true path: heterodox methods focus solely on prolonging life, while the true path exclusively cultivates the Golden Elixir (the highest Daoist practice). The so-called Golden Elixir is what Buddhism calls the "perfectly bright awakened nature"—neither gold nor stone yet more enduring than either, transcending Yin-Yang while encompassing their subtlety, infinitely responsive and unfathomable in its divine power. Achieving it grants the physical body longevity, enduring for centuries without decay. Discussions of herbal formulas, firing techniques, timing, and the balancing of rising and descending energies are but minor details; the true essence lies in penetrating the root of one's nature and life, subduing the deluded mind—the great Dao is right before your eyes.

As I once stated in the Mystical Chapters: I advise all seekers of the Dao to tame their own temperament as one would subdue a hairless fierce tiger (symbolizing the unruly deluded mind).

This scripture primarily discusses how the core of Daoist cultivation lies in taming the mind. The text compares the untamed mind to a "hairless fierce tiger," while "Yellow Dame" (referring to the spleen-earth, representing conscious intention) serves to harmonize the water and fire Qi (vital energy) within the body. The key to cultivation is single-pointed concentration—when the mind is focused, the body's Qi naturally follows its movement.

The text mentions the "Eastern King Father" and "Western Queen Mother" (symbolizing metal-wood and water-fire respectively), illustrating that cultivation requires the balance of Yin and Yang. Yet the foundation of all this lies in refining the mind. The various alchemical terms are merely expedient descriptions—what truly matters is subduing the deluded mind. As the Daode Jing states: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao"—the true Dao cannot be fully expressed in words.

The latter section shifts to admonishing worldly people: human life is precious and should be cherished. The intelligence, material comforts, and blessings one enjoys now are the rewards of past virtuous deeds. If one fails to be grateful and instead violates moral principles, losing one's innate nature, calamities will follow in this life, and worse, rebirth in hell awaits after death. Yet the path beyond the cycle of rebirth is right before us—illuminate the mind, awaken in the present moment, and liberation is attained. Life is like a dream, but how many can find their true selves within it?

This passage blends Neidan (internal alchemy) practice with moral exhortation, discussing cultivation methods (breath regulation, harmonizing Yin-Yang) while emphasizing mind cultivation as the root. It ultimately returns to the theme of urging virtue and treasuring human existence.

People often chase after illusory things without knowing how to grasp reality amidst the delusions. During life, they fail to cultivate themselves through self-reflection; after death, their souls fall into chaos, clinging to plants and trees for mere survival—where then can their original spiritual nature remain? All that's left is lamentation in the underworld, but who cares about such desolation in the darkness? Once the human form is lost and one falls into the cycle of rebirth, there's no escape through countless kalpas—isn't this truly terrifying?

For ages, people have lost their true nature, completely neglecting the Three Treasures (in Buddhism: Buddha, Dharma, Sangha; in Daoism: Dao, Scripture, Master), indulging only in bodily desires. They don't realize that the physical body will inevitably decay—only the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) can grant eternal life beyond the wheel of rebirth. But this Golden Elixir isn't the heretical practice of refining mercury-based elixirs, which only ruins families and yields no results. The true Golden Elixir cultivated by immortals is actually the cultivation of the heart. Every person inherently possesses this Golden Elixir (their primordial spiritual nature), yet they refuse to refine it, thus remaining trapped in the cycle of rebirth.

To attain liberation, one must first vow to repent past transgressions and take refuge in the Three Treasures. Though Buddhism and Daoism use different terms for the Three Treasures (Buddhism: Buddha, Dharma, Sangha; Daoism: Dao, Scripture, Master), the underlying principle is the same. With sincere devotion to the Dao, one can realize the pure Dao-body. Enlightenment is but a single thought away—if the mind unites with the Great Void (the cosmic origin), free from constraints, liberation is immediate. Otherwise, even after eons of suffering, no amount of compassion can save one.

Life and death follow natural laws, yet each case has its own causes: some die because virtuous roots from past lives haven't matured; others perish before their evil karma manifests; some abandon Buddhist or Daoist cultivation midway, their good deeds unfinished while evil accumulates. Conversely, some who committed evils their whole lives repent at death, and this single virtuous thought leads them to a favorable rebirth. Thus, the disparities in gender, wealth, lifespan, and fortune among people aren't arbitrary divine arrangements—they're the consequences of one's own actions. Those who joyfully practice goodness and follow the Dao in past and present lives naturally receive blessings and ascend to heaven. Those who don't find the heavenly gates shut, with hellish retribution inescapable. The most crucial step is to develop sincere faith and revere the Three Treasures—only then can accumulated sins be cleansed, liberation from the sea of suffering be attained, and the Great Dao of eternal life be realized.

One must first cultivate a heart of repentance, awakening to the realization that throughout countless lifetimes, one has failed to comprehend the profound methods of Daoist cultivation (the fundamental practices of Daoist refinement). Having neglected the cultivation of one's original heart and true nature, the luminous essence of one's being became obscured and imprisoned by ignorance and afflictions, ultimately descending into the realm of hungry ghosts. This repentant heart generates manifold merits, much like polishing a bronze mirror—once the dust and grime are removed, the mirror's surface shines with clarity. Thus, it is essential to understand that the key to transcending life and death lies in refining the heart. If one aspires to longevity, one must revere virtuous conduct.

Virtuous deeds form the foundation of blessings, while wicked actions are truly omens of calamity. Whether performing good or evil, all arise from this very heart. A single virtuous thought in the heart is like fertile land yielding fine crops—with careful watering and nurturing, it will surely bear abundant harvests. A single wicked thought, however, is like dark clouds obscuring the sky, immediately dimming the sun's radiance. If one repents and awakens, it is like a fresh breeze dispersing the clouds, revealing clear skies once the mist has lifted. The luminous nature of a Daoist practitioner is no different.

Most people fail to grasp the true meaning of cultivation, believing ignorant ordinary folk are unworthy of the Dao. Little do they know that the root of the Dao lies within the human heart—there is no profound principle beyond the nature of the heart-mind. If there truly were another Dao to cultivate, all Buddhas and immortals would be deceiving the world. In truth, refining the heart is cultivating the Dao. With sincere repentance, one is not far from the Dao. Try reciting the Daoist scriptures—though their words are many, their essence is none other than this very principle.

The human heart originally possesses the qualities of strength, balance, purity, and subtlety, utterly free from selfish desires at its inception. What we call selfish desires are the myriad greedy and deluded thoughts—chasing wealth, status, beauty, fine food, and the like. Once these desires sprout, they deviate from one's innate nature, leading one astray from true essence to pursue illusions, sinking into endless cycles of rebirth. Thus, they cannot be called "heavenly nature" but rather "human desires." These desires vary from person to person, violating the universal and impartial heavenly principle, hence they are deemed selfish. Simply remove these selfish delusions, and the original nature will shine forth—the Dao will be right before you. If one can awaken to this nature in an instant, it is the Great Dao of the Golden Elixir (the highest method of Daoist cultivation). Contemplating this daily will naturally liberate one from suffering.

At the beginning of life, there is only pure original nature, nothing else. This nature is the Primordial Qi (the cosmic source energy). Heaven attains clarity by receiving this Qi, Earth attains tranquility by receiving this Qi, and humans, endowed with the clear and tranquil Qi of Heaven and Earth, form their bodies, giving rise to the distinctions of Yin-Yang purity and turbidity. This Qi of Heaven and Earth originates from the Taiji (the cosmic source). What we call Taiji is the Primordial "One"—it is none other than human nature.

The primordial energy of heaven and earth (Xiantian Yiqi, the Primal Qi) is the origin of all things in the universe. In human beings, this is called "original nature." While in the womb, this pure original nature combines with the essential blood of one's parents to form the physical body. However, the parents' essential blood itself is also born from the clear and tranquil Qi of heaven and earth. When this formless, pure state enters the physical body, the Primal Qi becomes mixed and impure. This is why the Daode Jing states, "The Dao gives birth to the myriad things."

In the womb, original nature and life are still an undivided whole. The first cry at birth shatters this originally perfect and luminous essence. At this moment, original nature manifests, and destiny begins to differentiate, leading to distinctions of wealth, poverty, longevity, and early death. Although original nature is inherently pure, its light becomes obscured after birth, giving rise to the concept of the "mind." Original nature is the substance of the mind, while the mind is the function of original nature—the two separate like heaven and earth. Further down to the level of "thought," one drifts even further from original nature, just as the waters of the Yellow River become muddy once they leave their source at Mount Kunlun.

With the emergence of form come distinctions such as the five senses and four limbs. This is what the Daode Jing means by "Being arises from Non-being." Only sages and buddhas deeply understand this principle and return directly to the source. The Daoist practice of "seven returns and nine restorations" (Qifan Jiuhuan) is essentially refining emotions and desires to return to original nature—what the Daode Jing calls "returning to the root and restoring destiny." Similarly, Buddhist cultivation methods are ultimately about "illuminating the mind and perceiving original nature."

For ages, people have been obscured by ignorance (avidyā) and lost their true nature. Though this ignorance is still called "nature," it is like the relationship between the ocean and its waves: the turbulent waves are still fundamentally water—one cannot say the waves are not water. When the wind calms, the ocean returns to its clear and tranquil essence. Likewise, if a person can subdue deluded thoughts and return emotions and desires to original nature, they will share the same virtue (De) as heaven, earth, the sun, and the moon.

The Confucian teaching of "restraining nature" means controlling ignorance, while the Daoist teaching of "refining nature" means transforming ignorance. Yet the root of creating karma and wrongdoing lies in mistaking deluded thoughts for true nature.

This scripture passage primarily discusses how spiritual cultivation must overcome greed and resentment, while emphasizing that Daoist ritual ceremonies (Zhaijiao) should be conducted within one's means with sincerity as the essential principle.

The physical body requires material sustenance, yet even when well-fed and clothed, human greed remains insatiable. Thus, the Taishang Jing (Scripture of the Supreme) teaches that one must first eliminate these obstacles—neither giving rise to covetous thoughts nor harboring resentment. Greed drives people to harm others for personal gain, while resentment breeds envy toward what others possess and bitterness over what one lacks. Accumulated over time, such tendencies create heavy karmic burdens. When life approaches its end, the merit accumulated during one's lifetime cannot be taken along. Before the Mirror of Karma in the underworld (a Daoist ritual instrument believed to reveal all good and evil deeds), every action is laid bare—and by then, regret comes too late.

In the past, grand ceremonies like the "Dragon Sands Manifestation" (an important Daoist ritual) to expound the profound "Eight Grades of Mysterious Texts" required tens of thousands in expenses at Piling (modern Changzhou). Later, when reviving the tradition to teach the "Five Grades of Scriptures," the cost still amounted to thousands. By the time the Han San Gong (a Daoist temple) propagated the Qingwei lineage scriptures, expenditures had reduced to a little over a thousand. Eventually, when expounding Chan Buddhist scriptures, the Buddha's revelation guided all proceedings toward simplicity. Though historical ceremonies often involved grand offerings, today's declining moral climate and dwindling faith mean rituals must now be conducted according to one's capacity.

As the one now entrusted with this responsibility, though I strive for frugality, this does not imply disregard for doctrine. Essential ritual implements must still be prepared, for the ceremony's solemnity invites the descent of divine beings (Daoism holds that deities descend during rituals), demanding utmost reverence. Organizing such ceremonies while also reciting scriptures is no easy task, yet participants must be patiently guided to maintain sincerity throughout—only unwavering devotion yields true merit. Those who serve the Dao with genuine faith will naturally receive blessings, for this resonance between heaven and humanity manifests swifter than a shadow follows form.

The passage concludes with an abrupt shift to governance, mentioning how officials in remote, famine-stricken regions must care for the people as their own children. This sudden transition suggests the recorder may have combined teachings from different occasions.

This passage primarily discusses the art of governance and the relationship between heavenly principles and human affairs.

First, it explains that officials should care for the people as tenderly as one nurtures an infant, sharing both their joys and sorrows. Heaven values life above all else, so officials must not only exercise caution in punishment but also prioritize moral education. If they chase empty reputations, leading to unclear rewards and punishments or misguided policies that leave the people lost, they have failed in their duties. This is especially true when handling legal cases, where life-and-death decisions demand utmost prudence. Historical figures like Lord Wenzhong, known for their integrity, accumulated blessings that extended to their descendants—all because they governed with compassion. Officials should empathize with the people, cherish their labor, and act with impartial fairness; only then can their virtuous influence endure.

Next, it cites the Book of Documents (Shangshu), which states that the Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism yet consistently supports the virtuous. Governing the people requires balancing kindness with authority, firmness with gentleness. The Book of Songs (Shijing) similarly advises moderation in governance—neither too lenient nor too harsh—so that Heaven’s protection may be secured and petitions fulfilled. Special compassion must be shown to the impoverished in remote regions: officials must discern with keen insight yet act with careful deliberation. Frontier populations are easily guided but also prone to wavering; the key lies in maintaining equilibrium between benevolence and discipline.

The final section, drawn from Postscript to the Recorded Sayings of Han San, reflects on the nature of the Dao. The Dao is ultimately ineffable—Laozi’s Daode Jing in five thousand words already captured its essence. Yet later generations clung to fragmented interpretations, arguing endlessly, like spitting saliva at one another, worse than the most beguiling sophistry.

This passage documents the compilation origins and core teachings of the Daoist scripture Hanyan Yulu (Discourses Embracing the Three). The content can be divided into three main sections:

First, it describes how Patriarch Lü (Imperial Lord Fu You) established an altar at Ezhou (modern Wuchang, Hubei) to expound the Three Grades of True Scripture. Like Laozi (symbolized by the green ox) manifesting anew, he rang bells to awaken the world, systematically interpreting the profound principles of the Daode Jing's five thousand characters. He revealed its hidden mysteries while synthesizing scattered doctrines, bridging the essential teachings of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism to create a revitalized classic.

Next, it explains how these lectures were recorded by the Song family and compiled by Sun of Jinling into Hanyan Yulu. The text directly points to the arcana of cultivation and essential formulas of the Golden Elixir (Jindan), avoiding discussions of external techniques like energy manipulation or visualization, nor advocating breath regulation methods. Instead, it emphasizes that cultivating the "Three Treasures" (Jing/essence, Qi/vital energy, and Shen/spirit) must begin with heart-mind refinement. With compassionate wisdom, Patriarch Lü first taught foundational virtues like loyalty, filial piety, and kindness before transmitting advanced practices like Taiji alchemy (Taiji Danfa) and Yin-Yang elixir cycles (Yinyang Danhou), enabling cultivation within the integrated framework of the "Three Grades" (superior, middle, and inferior vehicles).

Finally, the passage records Daoist Master Wang Zhen's postscript written in the first month of the Yimao year (using the celestial stem-branch calendar). He emphasizes how every word in the text illuminates one's innate nature, serving as vital guidance for liberating sentient beings. Particularly, he notes that sincere practitioners who repeatedly contemplate Patriarch Lü's revealed mysteries will surely comprehend boundless Daoist wonders. Originally transmitted secretly, the scripture's current publication represents a great blessing for the Daoist tradition.

This scripture primarily expounds the essential principles of cultivating the heart-nature and practicing virtuous conduct through filial piety. Lü Dongbin (Emperor Lü) first emphasizes that filial devotion, fraternal duty, loyalty, and trustworthiness form the foundation of one's character, much like the four pillars supporting a house. Genuine filial piety is not merely material support but must stem from sincere reverence in the heart, especially when caring for parents who are impoverished, ill, or aged. Violating filial duty invites heavenly retribution—one may lose even their human form, let alone attain immortality or realize the Dao.

The text states that "among all evils, licentiousness stands foremost; among all virtues, filial piety comes first." Cultivation requires accumulating hidden virtue (Yin De), acting in accordance with heavenly principle, speaking in harmony with human hearts, and maintaining inner integrity to stand blameless before heaven, earth, and the spirits. Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism share the same essence: Confucians speak of preserving the heart and nurturing nature; Buddhists speak of refining the heart to perceive nature; Daoists speak of tempering the heart to perfect nature. Like "one child carried on three shoulder poles," these three traditions jointly nurture this single character—"heart."

Practitioners should constantly examine themselves: Is my original heart clear and awake? Is it healthy and at peace? The remedy for governing the heart lies in thirty parts rectifying the heart, thirty parts sincere intent, and thirty parts self-cultivation—the key is to stabilize the heart-mind within the bodily cavity (Qiangzi). The human heart shines brighter than the moon, for moonlight has places it cannot reach, whereas an awakened heart illuminates all things universally.

The path of Dao makes no distinction regarding innate endowments—one should advance courageously and follow nature's flow. If, like ordinary people, one performs minor good deeds while anxiously seeking reward, they have already strayed from the true intent of cultivation. Daily practice requires perseverance and serene sincerity, avoiding the initial blaze of a basin-fire that soon dies out or the weak afterglow of melting ice. Cultivating the Dao is a gradual process of accumulation; one must not rush for quick results. Guard against being swayed by idle gossip or abandoning the path midway. As Confucius taught, it demands broad learning, careful reflection, clear discernment, and earnest practice.

To truly comprehend the essence of Daoism, one must begin with diligent study before grasping its core principles. Those who aspire to understand the Daoist truth must devote at least ten years to reading scriptures and another ten to self-cultivation—otherwise, they won't even touch the threshold. Nowadays, some ordinary folks casually flip through a few Daoist texts and boast of having penetrated all mysteries—ha! If attaining immortality were so easy, wouldn't everyone in the world have become transcendents by now? Why are genuine adepts still so rare? This proves spiritual cultivation is no overnight endeavor. Only when one's body becomes still as withered wood and the mind tranquil as dead ashes can one truly set foot on the path of cultivation.

A genuine practitioner must embody these qualities: remaining unshaken by heaven-shaking emergencies, unperturbed by major upheavals, and undeluded amidst extreme chaos; maintaining steadfast resolve when facing life-and-death partings, and resisting greed when tempted by beauty or wealth—only then can one be considered a qualified cultivator.

Where do karmic obstacles originate? Though they arise from deluded thoughts, their root lies in the physical body. It is precisely because of this corporeal form that karmic obstacles emerge. When the mind becomes empty and luminous, even the sense of bodily existence vanishes, and karmic obstacles naturally dissolve.

Even immortals fear falling into the red dust of worldly affairs. Acts of benefiting others may bring empty fame, while wealth and honor ultimately prove illusory—only the hardships of cultivation are real. The slightest carelessness can plunge one into the three wretched paths of hell, hungry ghosts, or beasts—a thought that evokes profound lamentation.

Saving others is indeed the highest form of goodness, but how can one deliver others before attaining enlightenment oneself?

There was once an immortal named Li Mingyue who sought to enlighten Yang Congzhi. Disguised as an itinerant Daoist, he sat in meditation outside Yang's gate, begging for a silver ingot. After half a month of sitting—prompted by Yang's wife's persuasion—Yang finally gave one. Unexpectedly, the Daoist then demanded three more. Though reluctant, Yang complied, only for the Daoist to depart without thanks. Yang secretly sent a servant to follow, who reported the Daoist placed the silver by the city wall and meditated all day, indifferent when passersby stole it. As the servant finished his report, the Daoist returned demanding three more ingots, provoking Yang's fury. Only then did the Daoist reveal: "When my eyes are open, the silver exists; when closed, it vanishes." Hearing this, Yang experienced sudden awakening and followed the Daoist into mountain seclusion, eventually achieving ascension in broad daylight.

Another true immortal encountered a seasoned cultivator he wished to enlighten. First, he had the man sit in meditation with this warning: "While I perform rituals outside, all joys and sufferings you experience in samadhi are illusions—you must not utter a sound. When the Golden Elixir (Jindan) completes its nine transformations and you ingest it, ascension will follow. But if you speak, the mercury will leak from the cauldron, the cinnabar will scatter, and all previous efforts will be wasted." The cultivator obeyed and practiced in perfect silence.

This scripture recounts the various trials a Daoist practitioner must overcome and the principles of cultivation. During deep meditation, an adept saw visions of immense wealth and high-ranking official positions, yet he remained silent as his master had instructed. He endured the separation from family, the suffering of old age and illness, and even the torment of death. When brought before the underworld courts for judgment, he still maintained his silence. The King of Hell reincarnated him as the son of a wealthy family, yet he refused to speak even into his twenties. When his furious wife dashed their child to death in anger, his grief finally broke his silence—causing the cultivated Qi (vital energy) of his Golden Elixir to dissipate, undoing years of effort. The immortal sighed: this adept had transcended all trials of emotion—joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure—yet failed to sever the bonds of familial love. He was one step short of attaining the Dao.

The scripture then outlines the principles of cultivation: illnesses and afflictions that arise during practice are demonic trials—one must never retreat. Tyranny invites fatal disaster, while indulgence inevitably leads to ruin. The noble person navigates the world without cunning schemes, whereas petty minds constantly reveal their calculations. Those who act recklessly, speak harshly, disregard rules, and chase only fame and fortune will never escape the cycle of rebirth.

The essential method of cultivation lies in reducing material desires and restraining greed, maintaining inner purity. Avoid befriending the powerful, never harm others for personal gain, nor use public office for private ends. Let your words match your heart—no duplicity, no compromising benevolence for petty advantages. One must fortify the resolve for the Dao and withstand the Four Demonic Trials: wine, lust, wealth, and wrath. Empty fame and worldly gains are the greatest obstacles to immortality. The truly awakened see through the temptations of reputation and riches. Recognizing how these entanglements bring only suffering ensures unwavering perseverance through trials, naturally allowing passage through cultivation's barriers.

(Note: "Elixir Cauldron" refers to the Dantian (energy center) in Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice; "Qi" denotes primordial energy; the "Four Demons" represent wine, lust, wealth, and wrath—the four major obstacles in cultivation.)

The method to subdue inner demons is like being deaf to sounds and mute to speech—no matter how the external world disturbs you, treat it as passing wind by your ears. Learning the Dao is easy, but conquering inner demons is the hardest. Each time you overcome a layer of delusion, you penetrate deeper into the realm of Dao—the key lies entirely in your own grasp.

Cultivation is like refining true gold in fire: with each tempering, its quality improves. Just as clear water reflects the moon brightly while murky water obscures its light, when the water of your heart-mind (referring to one's original nature) becomes pure, the bright moon within (one's true nature) naturally appears. People often claim they have no time for practice, yet I once drank to intoxication thrice in Yueyang and wandered from the North Sea to Cangwu in a single day (symbolizing free-spirited travel), never neglecting my inner cultivation. If you wait for leisure to begin practice, you will never attain the Dao.

Beginners need not seek profound methods first. What matters most is wielding a sharp blade to decisively sever attachments—wine, lust, wealth, anger, greed, hatred, and delusion. This is what Buddhists call the "Great Heroic Spirit" (da xiong, meaning fearless resolve). Only by truly understanding "detachment" and "luminous emptiness" can the mind settle. Just as a blade must have a hilt to be held, facing worldly distractions requires inner clarity to avoid missteps. But only by completely severing attachments can one escape the cycle of rebirth. Refining the heart and nurturing nature is the shortcut to transcendence—when delusions vanish into stillness, original nature manifests spontaneously.

The character for "detachment" (淡) contains water (symbolizing softness), and gathered water can quench fire (symbolizing stillness overcoming desire). A detached heart gives rise to true water (innate vital essence, Jing), while an empty, luminous mind leaves no foothold for the fires of craving. The crux of practice lies in upholding "detachment" and "emptiness": refining the self (cultivating the mind) is like controlling fire, while establishing the foundation (building one's core) is like accumulating water.

Complete abstinence from wine, lust, wealth, and anger is unnecessary—the key is tempering your mind when facing temptation. For example, drinking wine while keeping the heart aligned with the Dao, and so with other matters. This is the true alchemy of turning base metal into gold (transmuting the false into the genuine). Practicing divorced from reality means old habits will resurface when tested, nullifying all progress. This is called "stubborn emptiness" (wan kong, clinging to void without true insight), not the true path.

Empty talk of wisdom is useless. Some say "the four elements are void" (Buddhist teaching that earth, water, fire, and wind compose the material world), but if you hold a burning coal, does it not still hurt? Real understanding comes here—an inch of practice outweighs a foot of theory.

Even with wealth rivaling Tao Zhu (the legendary wealthy merchant Fan Li) or status equal to kings, what can a person truly consume in life? In death, nothing is taken along—only accumulated karma remains. The riches left for descendants cannot absolve your misdeeds. Is this not lamentable?

At the threshold of practice, neither "nature" (xing, heart-mind) nor "life-force" (ming, vital essence) should be neglected. With willpower sharp as a blade, you can leap free from desire's torment, see through life and death, and utterly sever all bonds.

To cultivate the Dao without severing selfish thoughts is as absurd as locking the door after thieves have already entered your home. When practicing the "Heart-Cleansing Method" (a spiritual purification technique), visualize a bright moon within your heart and a clear pond behind you. The moon reflects your face without leaving traces; the pond's emerald waters remain undisturbed while the flawless white moon shines above—what sublime purity! Yet one must never cling to these images. Should distracting thoughts arise—like clouds obscuring the moon or toads leaping into the pond—immediately dispel them to maintain crystalline clarity. Only after a hundred days of such heart-cleansing may one begin seated meditation.

During meditation, endure the full burning time of one incense stick (about half an hour), persisting through physical discomforts. Through sustained practice, the subtleties will naturally reveal themselves. People often claim they lack time for cultivation, but the real obstacle isn't busyness—it's inner restlessness. Achieving mental stability is relatively easy, but attaining true stillness is profoundly difficult. When external sounds no longer register, you'll have transitioned from "stability" into "genuine stillness."

The Chaos Sitting Method (an advanced practice) requires meditation during the four pivotal hours: Zi (11 PM–1 AM), Wu (11 AM–1 PM), Mao (5–7 AM), and You (5–7 PM)—one incense stick's duration each. Whether year, month, day, or hour, maintain dual awareness: engage worldly affairs while observing your original mind without distraction.

Human suffering resembles the Weak Waters (Daoist metaphor for perilous currents), the body is the ferryboat, and the true self (the helmsman) steers. Love-attachment, greed-aversion, wealth-honor, and cunning are leaks in the hull; lawsuits, vexations, wealth-lust, and emotional turbulence are stormy waves. Take diligent practice as your oar, precept-keeping and virtue-accumulation as your rudder, scripture-recitation and merit-building as your sails—only then can you navigate beyond officialdom's vicissitudes, cross desire's treacherous straits, and finally reach Penglai's immortal shores (the Daoist ideal of spiritual attainment). This great path of "using the provisional to cultivate the real" leads all persevering travelers to the destination.

In early practice, even the Buddha's image may become a demonic hindrance; yet at attainment's peak, demon kings transform into benevolent fathers. Cultivation isn't confined to meditation—every word and deed is practice. Employ sincere heart, not cunning mind. Regulate breath to nurture Qi without disturbing the primordial True Qi (life's foundational energy). Heal body and mind through equanimity and forbearance.

When asked about "Heart-Incense" (the mind's true fragrance), the reply comes: Defilements arise with scattered thoughts; when all attachments dissolve, natural fragrance pervades. The Mysterious Pass (the body's sacred portal to cosmic communion) is inherently luminous—people simply don't seek it. Upon realizing the state of "nothing to seek," its spiritual radiance remains pristine as ever.

The extinction of thought is the Golden Elixir (Neidan's ultimate achievement); the condensation of vital energy forms the Great Medicine (refined essence for transcendence). Practitioners should fear only incomplete mental purification, never fret over energy's failure to coalesce.

To achieve success in spiritual cultivation, one must pass through ten trials without retreating. When asked how to avoid regression, the answer is: completely relinquish attachments, and with unwavering faith, one will not turn back.

The human body is formed through postnatal existence; only through the transformative power of innate Qi (Xiantian zhi Qi) can it be refined like base metal into a precious treasure. The most crucial aspect of cultivation is perseverance—just as planting a tree cannot yield fruit the same day, one must not seek quick results, cut corners, or expect instant efficacy. By steadfastly maintaining fundamental practice without obsessing over time, liberation will naturally arrive when conditions ripen. The Mysterious Emperor (Zhenwu Dadi), upon hearing the Primordial Sovereign's (Yuanjun) teaching of "grinding an iron rod into a needle," returned to the mountains and attained the Dao through arduous practice. Like rice cooking when the fire is right, success need not be forced.

Cultivating the mind is like planting white lotuses in pure soil—preserve your innate nature, untainted by dust. Eliminate distracting thoughts (objects by the pond) and dispel delusions (clouded skies). Upholding precepts safeguards the human form; accumulating merit plants the seeds of heavenly ascent. Through continuous practice and liberating sentient beings, illuminating the mind and realizing one's true nature leads to the supreme Dao.

During practice, take heed: avoid impatience, loud voices, anger, hasty speech, or frantic movements. The key lies in calming the mind, nurturing Qi, restraining external impulses, and harmonizing the internal. The slightest agitation disperses true Qi (Zhenqi). Maintain right mindfulness at all times, ensuring a clear conscience even in solitude.

For seated meditation, a state of mild hunger is ideal. When drowsiness arises, rub the face repeatedly, gather saliva, and swallow it—this naturally dispels sluggish energy. Ginkgo seeds stabilize Jing (essence), green olives uplift Shen (spirit), walnuts nourish the kidneys, and lotus seeds strengthen the spleen—these may be consumed regularly.

Even when speaking or moving with eyes open, maintain inner observation. This naturally quiets the mind and steadies Qi. Restlessness and scattered energy absolutely obstruct the Dao. Only when the body resembles withered wood and the mind like cold ashes will vitality emerge. If asked how to control rekindled desires, employ the "Heart-Cleansing Method," also known as the "Backward-Restraint Method."

Practitioners must remember: never relieve oneself facing the Three Luminaries (sun, moon, stars), especially not toward the north—this constitutes grave disrespect. Daoist study requires endorsement from the Three Officials (Tianguan, Diguan, Shuiguan), all under the jurisdiction of the Big Dipper Sovereign (Beidou Xingjun). Moreover, the Dipper Mother (Doumu Yuanjun) vowed to liberate all beings, making ancestral reverence paramount for cultivators. Unfilial descendants cannot hope for immortality. Diligently practice sacrificial refinement rituals (Jilian zhi Fa)—through ceremonial deliverance, ancestors ascend to heaven and karmic debts from past and present lives dissolve. Over 80% of realized immortals throughout history achieved this through such means. Whether through Dharma offerings or material charity, all merits count, yet liberating sentient beings bears the most sublime virtue.

This passage elucidates the core principles and practical methods of Daoist cultivation. The bright moon atop the mountain appears luminous yet contains yin softness, while the crimson sun in the deep pool seems fiery yet conceals yang strength—demonstrating how all things embody both yin and yang aspects.

In practice, movements should be unhurried, for when Qi stirs, it affects the mind. Improper conduct before higher deities (Shangzhen) invites retribution. One must seek true sincerity from the heart's depths, yet excessive indulgence makes genuine sincerity elusive. Finding this equilibrium reveals how ordinary consciousness is fundamentally no different from original nature.

Time waits for no one—delaying practice until old age when Jing (essence) and Qi are depleted is too late. Cultivation should flow as naturally as clouds and water. When walking, each step should span two floor tiles, heels barely touching ground, moving soundlessly. With inward vision fixed on the Dantian (energy center), one dispels drowsiness while perfecting movement techniques.

The great Dao is hard to attain, enlightened teachers rare, but rarer still is perseverance and single-minded focus. Only with a purified, undistracted mind can one enter meditative absorption. The crux lies in a single thought—maintaining mental clarity while regulating Jing, Qi, and Shen (spirit) to establish firm foundations.

Those with sincere hearts ascend; the frivolous inevitably sink. Just as maggots transform into cicadas and mosquitoes revert to larvae, humans must awaken themselves. Regarding breath regulation (Fuqi), this advanced practice begins with mind observation—its subtleties resemble fish in water or dragons concealed in earth.

Cultivation emphasizes gradual progress and patience. When monkeys attain the Dao, their movements slow; enlightened apes remain unmoved even when struck by stones—should humans prove inferior to beasts?

In spring's burgeoning growth, recline leisurely by the north window with mind clear as water, reflecting the moon. The seeming cauldron's boil (symbolizing desires) is fundamentally pure as a lotus pond.

The Dao permeates all—walking, standing, sitting, and lying must accord with its rhythms. Certain mysteries defy ordinary explanation, like white lotuses blooming in fierce flames (symbolizing purity attained amidst passions).

Regarding virtue accumulation (Jide), merit (Gong) differs from virtuous action (Xing), as goodness (Shan) differs from De (virtue/power). Merit manifests in deeds; virtue resides in the heart. Practice selfless service, endure humiliations, create opportunities for others, and accumulate hidden virtue. As ancients taught: "Of hundred virtues, filial piety comes first"—the root of all cultivation.

When parents are alive, serve them wholeheartedly and accumulate blessings through frugality. Patriarch Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals) said: Focusing solely on external merit without cultivating inner virtue is like having no feet; possessing virtue without accumulating merit makes progress difficult. Only by cultivating both merit and virtue can one qualify for immortality—who says ordinary people cannot become immortals?

Correcting faults requires lifelong commitment, not momentary enthusiasm. Cultivation is like walking: each step must be steady, with corresponding realizations at every stage. Stumbling midway may cost both your spiritual nature (Xing) and physical life (Ming). When unable to completely avoid mistakes, begin with sincere repentance; when the mind remains unsettled, start by rectifying behavior. Ultimately, all teachings point to perfecting the Taiji (returning to one's primordial nature).

The human mind is like a balance scale: it tilts when committing evil and balances when doing good. Just as a scale's beam rises or falls with silver's weight, here the "tray" represents the righteous path while the "weight" symbolizes demonic obstacles. When accumulated good deeds exceed ten taels (symbolizing substantial merit), the weight of karmic obstacles falls away, freeing one from rebirth. Cultivating only merit or virtue alone is like weighing ten taels of gold with twelve taels of feathers—true equilibrium remains elusive.

Fragrance scatters in the wind; the primordial spirit (Shen) disperses with mental agitation. Truly virtuous people appear ordinary—eloquence pales beside careful speech and conduct. When asked how to prevent fragrance from scattering, the answer is: Without fire there's no smoke; without desire or delusion, external circumstances cannot disturb the true mind.

At life's final hour (symbolized by Lunar New Year's Eve), if one's true nature shines with perfect clarity, the mortal body instantly transforms into the Dao's embodiment. Even without formal meditation, progress occurs simply by abstaining from deluded thoughts.

Goodness belongs to Yang energy, evil to Yin. Luminous realms are heavens; dark winding paths are hells. A single selfish thought among ten thousand signifies lingering Yin. Only through loyalty to ruler and country, filial piety, and maintaining pure good thoughts, deeds, and speech—while constantly nurturing Yang energy—can one attain the realm of the Pure Yang True Being.

Unresolved karmic debts from past lives must be repaid even after achieving cultivation. Rejoice in this present life—during festivals (symbolizing cultivation opportunities) repent misdeeds as washing away stains toward purity. Isn't this supreme fortune? Ancient sages warned: Losing human form takes eons to recover; they also urged: Liberate this very body in this lifetime. Practitioners must never squander time.

Laughable how people miss the truth—let me clarify: The essence of cultivation lies neither in Shen (spirit), Qi (energy), nor Jing (essence)—the Three Treasures. Face-to-face, I'll teach you to harmonize true mercury and lead (heart-kidney, Yin-Yang). Your luminous innate nature can encompass mountains, rivers, and the great earth. Realization isn't hard—the challenge lies in sustained nurturing through patient practice.

After years of cultivation, I've come to realize that true practice isn't measured by time. Some attain enlightenment after just one year, others grasp the Zen essence in a single month, while some require decades to receive the true transmission of the supreme Golden Elixir (the highest realm of Daoist practice). The key lies in not misunderstanding the essence of cultivation, and never carelessly revealing celestial secrets. The greatest fear is comprehending the principles yet failing to embody them.

In practice, remember: when distracted thoughts arise wildly, employ "martial fire" (intense mental focus) to subdue them; when the mind grows calm, use "civil fire" (gentle mindful observation) to nurture it. Beginners benefit more from martial fire. What is martial fire? It's unwavering determination that prevents the leakage of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). What is civil fire? It's maintaining awareness without forced effort—neither forgetting nor artificially stimulating. What is refinement (a Neidan/internal alchemy term)? It's never departing from the heart of benevolence, maintaining this state even amid haste or exhaustion.

Neidan cultivation requires understanding Yin-Yang harmony: the kidney water (Kan trigram) and heart fire (Li trigram) intersect like husband and wife uniting; the flow of primordial Qi resembles mother and child nurturing each other. One must subdue the wandering mind (dragon) and tame desires (tiger) through the method of Five Phases inversion (a cultivation term referring to reversing ordinary physiological functions), using kidney water to replenish heart fire, thereby transforming the mortal body into an immortal vessel.

Special caution: during the first five days (1st-5th), middle five days (11th-15th), and last five days (21st-25th) of each lunar month—when heaven and earth's Yin-Yang energies interact—strict celibacy is mandatory. Violators will suffer shortened lifespans, chronic illness, and permanent loss of immortal attainment. Additionally, practitioners must avoid male-female contact on four critical dates: February 9th, June 1st, September 6th, and December 2nd.

When the elixir (energy produced through Neidan) first forms, strictly guard the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen): eyes shouldn't gaze randomly, mouth shouldn't speak carelessly, and most challenging—ears shouldn't listen indiscriminately. Only by closing these sensory gates can one enter the primal chaos of cultivation, allowing the true Yang (infant) and true Yin (maiden) within to unite naturally.

The mysteries of black lead (true Yang in kidneys) and numinous essence (true Yin in heart) remain incompletely understood even by many adepts. The foundational principle is mental stillness—when the mind quiets, innate wisdom arises spontaneously. Each increment of wisdom deepens enlightenment, forming the personal microcosmic Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). When wisdom fills one's being, the Dao becomes self-evident without deliberate understanding—this is the macrocosmic Taiji state of Dao-realization. Achieving this condition of "following desire without transgressing boundaries," all selfish cravings vanish instantly. Cultivation resembles sharp carving—success comes in the present moment; with incorrect methods, a century yields no progress. Maintain stillness constantly—moving yet still, still yet moving—ultimately returning to Taiji's original substance.

Worldly people fear death, yet terminally ill patients often wish for swift release, and those in crisis beg for quick demise to escape suffering. Reflecting on this paradox can shatter the illusion of life and death.

The true dragon (symbolizing yang energy) originates from the Li Palace (heart region), while the true tiger (symbolizing yin energy) emerges from the Kan position (kidney area). At the convergence point of dragon and tiger, different manifestations of water and fire coexist. The "water" mentioned here is not ordinary water, and the "fire" is categorized into three types: sovereign fire (dominant heart fire), minister fire (supportive spleen fire), and common fire (foundational kidney fire). These energies all stem from primordial yang (innate yang qi), forming the true qi within the human body. When true qi is abundant, one remains free from illness; its dissipation leads to physical discomfort. When true qi completely disperses, primordial yang leaks away, and the original spirit (innate consciousness) separates from the body, death occurs and the person transforms into a ghost.

In cultivation practice, one must return the mind to the state of primordial chaos. During seated meditation, begin by counting breaths to regulate qi, gradually reaching a state where deliberate breathing becomes unnecessary, allowing the body to resemble the undifferentiated chaos before the division of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). At this stage, even if Mount Tai collapsed before one's eyes, immediate composure would be possible—ideally without even a momentary startle. If distracting thoughts aren't fully severed, one's intrinsic nature cannot attain perfection; if breathing isn't completely stabilized, the dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) cannot be secured. The key lies in making mind and breath interdependent, forgetting thought within thought itself, with nature cultivation requiring slow patience. The oral teaching states: "No need to deliberately guard the alchemical furnace or observe fire phases—simply settle the spirit and let it be." Only when breathing fully ceases and the body becomes deathly still does one realize that visualization practices are merely preliminary tools. This attainment renders one undisturbed by external sounds.

When progress occurs in cultivation, avoid delight—joy causes true qi to float, leading to attachment. The inner pleasure felt during meditation signals the blossoming of the heart-flower, when nurturing stillness is most wondrous. Those asking how to recognize the zi hour (optimal cultivation time) will understand naturally after ten months of practice. During sitting, press the tongue against the palate to connect the Conception and Governing vessels, keep the mouth closed to prevent qi leakage, slightly open the eyes to avoid drowsiness, align the head and straighten the spine, with the gaze turned inward to guard the vital passes (dantian).

To prevent lethargy, uplift the shen (spirit); to curb random thoughts, anchor each mental impulse to the breath—like a magistrate maintaining order, demons naturally retreat. This world shares the same essence with the universe contained within a grain of rice. Quiet cultivation progresses through phases: initial dullness and wandering thoughts give way to equanimity without weariness, followed by sensations of reclining in gilded comfort, culminating in death-like stillness yielding rebirth—a realm where bright moons and gentle breezes move freely. Visions of "paying homage to the Golden Mother (Queen Mother of the West) and saluting the Wooden Lord (Eastern King)" represent out-of-body experiences of the original spirit. The palaces, music, and feminine charms witnessed during celestial official selections are all demonic tests (mokao)—taking them as real plunges one into yin realms (demonic states).

The oral teaching cautions: "If golden elixir (jindan) could be forged through mere imagination, women would conceive without husbands." It further states: "Without the true seed (primordial qi), it's like boiling an empty pot—no true elixir can ever be obtained."

This passage explains the key points and taboos of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Let me break it down section by section:

When practicing alchemical refinement, improper fire control is like burning an empty pot—it can easily cause physical problems. The true foundation of cultivation (zhen zhongzi, "true seed") is none other than the body's innate primordial Qi (zhen qi). By obtaining this fundamental essence, one can transcend the ordinary and attain sagehood. Forming the internal elixir is relatively easy, but preserving it is most difficult—anger, desire, selfish thoughts, or the leakage of essential Jing can all damage the elixir embryo and dissipate primordial energy.

Practitioners must observe nine major prohibitions: no seminal emission, no anger, no excessive physical exertion, no excessive talking, no exposure to cold, regular dietary habits, no bathing at improper times, no mental overexertion, and avoidance of gas-producing foods like cooked chestnuts.

The cultivation pathway runs directly from the perineum (youmen, "hidden gate") up to the crown of the head (niwan gong, "mud pellet palace"), passing through the middle Dantian ("earth cauldron") and throat (chonglou, "heavy tower"). This circulatory route constitutes the "reverse flow of the Yellow River" technique. The "yellow family house" refers to the Dantian—this crucial area belongs to no worldly surname.

Regarding the "bathing" fire phase: fire energy peaks during the yin hour (3-5 AM), while water energy peaks during the shen hour (3-5 PM). At the peak of these cycles, one must cease activity and cleanse both heart and thoughts—failure to do so will damage the internal elixir.

The foundation of practice lies in comprehending the laws of Yin-Yang (qian-kun). Though the Five Phases' rotation may appear inverted, there exists a direct path leading to Kunlun (the crown). The so-called "extracting lead and adding mercury" (a Neidan term for balancing Yin-Yang) essentially means replenishing essence and energy. Only when distracting thoughts cease ("the heart dies") can one perceive their original mind—the Daoist state of "no-mind" constitutes the true Dao.

Specific methods include: gathering solar and lunar essences, obtaining innate upright Qi, accumulating the three yang's true fire, and refining oral fluids (yu ye, "jade liquor"). Through the celestial cycle circulation (heche, "river chariot"), one first refines nature in stillness (jade liquor stage), then cultivates life through movement (golden liquor stage). Yang energy generates at the zi hour (midnight), while yin energy peaks at the hai hour (9-11 PM)—replenish primordial energy during yang periods ("adding lead") and regulate essential Qi during yin periods ("extracting mercury").

The winter solstice, when yang energy first emerges, is ideal for refining essence into Qi. Incorrect methods will instead fuel desire (excessive yang energy). During meditation, one must elevate primordial Qi—the slightest distraction can undo all progress. What to do when sudden desires arise? The key lies in calming the mind, as tranquility naturally extinguishes desire-fire.

When the reed ash (ancient calendar instrument) first stirs, it signals the optimal time for practice—one should enter retreat. During the full moon's brilliance each month, redouble cultivation efforts. While material resources ("wealth to adorn the house") are necessary for Daoist practice, the ultimate goal is achieving extreme emptiness and tranquility.

To cultivate the activation of true Yang (primordial Qi), the key lies in grasping the "living midnight hour" (the moment when Yang energy first stirs within the body). Practitioners must constantly observe their inner state, maintaining a serene and empty awareness while turning their gaze inward. Over time, this leads to a state of luminous clarity free from all doubt. When stillness reaches its utmost depth, the light of wisdom naturally manifests. The hallmark of perfected heart-mind refinement is achieving a state akin to drunken ecstasy, where self-awareness dissolves completely—it is in this fleeting moment that the Golden Elixir (the supreme accomplishment of Neidan practice) crystallizes, seizing a rare opportunity that may not recur for a thousand kalpas.

However, without thorough heart-mind refinement, one cannot truly inherit the Great Dao. The gateway to accessing the true heart lies in the state of profound obscurity (chaotic emptiness). Forcing the movement of inner fire (activating Qi) at this stage would only fuel aberrant energies. During the second and eighth lunar months, as well as daily during the mao (5-7 AM) and you (5-7 PM) hours, practitioners must suspend practice for ritual purification (regulating breath and nurturing stillness).

Dao cultivators must attain "thoughtlessness within the heart"—only in this depth of no-mind can the true heart be found. Only after completing heart-mind refinement can one begin Qi cultivation (refining primordial energy), enabling the reversal of heaven and earth and the rotation of the Five Phases. Note that the liver and lungs don't literally correspond to dragon and tiger, nor do the Kan (water) and Li (fire) trigrams represent ruler-minister relationships—these metaphors remain obscure to ordinary people, accessible only to those who have realized the Dao and reached the Kunlun summit (symbolizing the highest spiritual attainment).

Regarding methods to eliminate the Three Corpses (three malevolent spirits within the body), the essential practice is maintaining daily faultlessness. Keep a merit-and-fault ledger by your bedside: record daily conduct, examine it thoroughly at night, and on every Gengshen day (when the Three Corpses ascend to heaven to report human transgressions), burn the records as an offering to the deities. Through sustained practice where merits outweigh faults, the Three Corpses will vanish naturally without requiring talismanic rituals.

There exists a sudden awakening method for heart-mind refinement: maintaining seven days and nights of unbroken mental stillness causes wandering thoughts (symbolized as mercury) to dissipate spontaneously—though this proves extremely challenging. When Yang energy activates, employ the inhalation method: practice embryonic respiration (deep abdominal breathing) during the six Yang hours (zi, chou, yin, mao, chen, si), followed by massaging the chest and eyes 49 times each. For Yin energy activation, use the exhalation method: during the six Yin hours (wu, wei, shen, you, xu, hai), inhale through the nose and exhale through the mouth—particularly at noon, inhale pure Qi through the nose and expel turbid Qi through the mouth 36 times. This embodies the oral formula: "Advancing fire in stillness, gathering fire in movement."

Only when the heart-mind becomes utterly empty can Qi cultivation begin. At the pinnacle of stillness, various phenomena may manifest: knowledge of past lives, insight into others' thoughts, precognition, or visions of immortals and buddhas. Recognize these appearances as illusory—even if celestial beings manifest, avoid attachment lest one fall into demonic states. Practitioners aspiring to celestial immortality (the highest of the five Daoist immortal ranks: ghost, human, terrestrial, divine, and celestial) should progress gradually, much like Confucians advancing through stages of sagehood. These five immortal grades mirror the Confucian progression from aspiring to virtue, to sagehood, and finally to heaven.

When essence and Qi unite, Qi appears as ○ (formless primordiality) while essence manifests as 丶 (formed substantiality)—their fusion creates the mixed primordial state [○@丶]. When spirit merges with emptiness, it becomes ○, termed "the Supreme Unity containing truth." While easily described, these principles prove difficult to practice. The Benxing Jing encapsulates all essential Golden Elixir teachings. The "Yellow Matron" (true intention) isn't ordinary consciousness but the mediator that unites the heart's fire (Li trigram) with the kidneys' water (Kan trigram).

When asked how to achieve the state of "sitting until hearing becomes unhearing," this occurs when stillness reaches its apex—the heart-mind remains undisturbed by auditory stimuli, perceiving sounds without discrimination.

Hearing yet not hearing—this is the state attained through cultivation. When asked how to maintain practice in daily life, consider how Quanzhen (Complete Perfection) practitioners walk under scorching sun in midsummer without summer robes, sweating yet undisturbed. This stems from achieving stability of Qi (vital energy) and Shen (spirit). The same principle applies whether walking, standing, sitting in stillness, or reclining.

The essence of cultivation lies in transforming Jing (essence) into Qi (here referring to primordial energy, written as "炁"), where Qi is ultimately another expression of Shen. The ultimate return is to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) origin—the void of utmost emptiness. Though Daoist practice begins with regulating Qi, its consummation resides solely in the character "Shen." Just as earth crumbles and heaven cracks, only diamond-like Shen remains indestructible. This Shen traverses vast cosmic realms yet penetrates the finest dust particles.

Timing matters in practice: the most potent hours are midnight and 3-5 AM on the first day of the first lunar month, 9-11 AM on the first of the fourth month, 3-5 PM on the first of the seventh month, and 9-11 PM on the first of the eleventh month. The midnight-noon hours of the fifth day of the fifth month and the equinoxes hold equal importance. Avoid bathing during the second and eighth lunar months. Before seated meditation, exhale six breaths of turbid Qi, inhale thirty-six of clear Qi, and rub the kidney area thirty-six times. During sitting, visualize the Mysterious Pass (Dantian). If drowsy, rub the face vigorously or drink longan tea. For seminal leakage, consume ginkgo nuts. Sleep like a brooding hen—knees drawn up, hands cradling the external kidneys, rubbing the lower abdomen thirty-six times. For foot pain, massage the Yongquan (Bubbling Spring) acupoint thirty-six times.

When distracting thoughts vanish completely, seize this ripe moment for practice. The body's four elements (earth, water, fire, wind) empty out, the mind clear as moonlight in an ice vase. Those seeking longevity must transcend mere "returning essence to nourish the brain"—that merely guards the corporeal shell as a ghostly immortal, not the pure Yang of true transcendence. The Great Dao demands gradual cultivation.

Impatience stirs the heart's fire (sovereign fire); excessive fire desiccates kidney water (nature's water), causing essence leakage and Yang depletion—the very loss of cultivation's foundation. Interrupted focus leads to inadequate fire-timing; scattered thoughts dissipate the fire-timing. Few truly master this alchemical secret. Breathing mirrors heaven-earth's root: for healing, inhale more than exhale; for longevity, let Qi ascend backward and descend forward. The Golden Elixir path extends beyond—draw near Yang energy to nurture vitality: internally cultivate serene Jing accumulation; externally practice Thunder Methods or the Lying Dipper technique (Daoist ritual practices). Approaching Yin energy yields opposite effects.

(Note: "Thunder Methods" refer to Daoist wind-and-rain summoning arts; "Lying Dipper" involves postures mimicking the Big Dipper; "Mysterious Pass" denotes the Dantian or ancestral aperture; "returning essence to nourish the brain" is a seminal retention technique.)

This passage elucidates several core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation:

For practitioners of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path, their being resembles true gold within water—from this state, even heaven and earth can be born, so how could there be any birth or destruction? The fundamental primordial Qi (Xiantian Yiqi) is inherently formless; there's no need to deliberately pursue subtle material forms. When the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan) opens, the divine water within the body becomes abundant, and even formless substances return to their formless origin.

During the noon hour (11 AM - 1 PM) on the Dragon Boat Festival, when Yin and Yang energies unite between heaven and earth, the efficacy of cultivation increases tenfold. However, indulging in lust will shorten one's lifespan. The crucial practice occurs during the Yin hour (3-5 AM) when regulating the breath (Yinxi). Yang energy begins emerging at the Zi hour (11 PM - 1 AM), reaching its peak at Yin hour. "Circulating" is like driving a chariot—the three spiritual creatures (representing Jing, Qi, and Shen) must be transported to the crown of the head (Niwan), using Yang to supplement Yin. By noon, though the circulation continues, moving an empty chariot without the three creatures wastes effort. At this time, one should practice quiet breathing (Xiwu), expel turbid Qi, calm the spirit, and transition to drawing Yin to supplement Yang. The Zi hour represents the root of Yang, while the Wu hour signifies the sprout of Yin—this mutual drawing and supplementing mirrors the cosmic dance of Yin-Yang.

When the Celestial Stem star (Tiangang, the handle of the Big Dipper) points to the Yin position, there exists a secret method for gathering Qi and cultivating celestial energy. The mystery preceding the Pojun star should not be lightly revealed. The heart resembles the Dipper's handle, the kidneys its bowl, and the Tiangang Qi resembles the nascent yellow sprout (a Neidan term for the budding primordial Qi)—containing all creation's essence yet remaining utterly untainted. Like the unmoving sky with its moving stars, the stars represent that single trace. The口诀 (mnemonic verse) states: "When the bright moon dominates the sky, stars grow scarce; when the sun emerges, all stars vanish." The moon shines by absorbing solar essence (Rihun), and when the sun fully manifests (three Yang energies complete), all Yin energies dissipate.

The heart is originally unmoving—what moves is postnatal consciousness. Returning consciousness to primordial Qi resembles the bright moon hanging in the sky. Achieving the undifferentiated Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) state becomes indistinguishable from the sun's radiance. The key lies in maintaining absolute purity of mind through continuous cultivation, never departing from the heart of humaneness (Ren).

Forming the elixir might take but a moment, yet losing it (Danqi dissipation) can happen in an instant. Impetuous temperaments most easily fall into the trap of "emptiness"—here meaning heretical views. Only step-by-step grounded practice avoids this emptiness; understanding emptiness's true nature without clinging to it constitutes genuine liberation.

When asked how to restrain anger, the answer lies in using "martial fire" (intense focused intention) for control. The entire cultivation art resides within the "○" (symbolizing perfection). The reckless courage of commoners represents deviant fire, while Buddhist rigid meditation constitutes dead fire. Confucianism emphasizes progress, Buddhism advocates meditation, and Daoism cultivates sincerity—yet all three traditions share the same essential truth.

The "○" within the body is the supreme method of purity and single-minded focus. Fists and kicks have no place in the natural Dao. During the fifth watch (3-5 AM), when true fire ascends, one must first experience the harmonious interaction of Kan (Water ☵) and Li (Fire ☲)—representing the perfect balance of water and fire—before finally achieving the perfected "○." Patience forms the elixir; courage becomes the sword.

A rigid and unyielding temperament is like fire—it must be tempered amidst worldly affairs. Only by dwelling in the mundane without being tainted can its true wondrous function be revealed.

For those currently cultivating the state of emptiness, take note: during the day, focus your Shen (spirit) at the top of the head (the Qian crown), and while sleeping, gather it at the navel (the Kun center). When sitting in meditation, sweating occurs in two scenarios: sweat from agitation is transformed from the heart’s fluids, while sweat in stillness is the expulsion of pathogenic fire.

The Daoist path requires the application of subtle mental techniques—through contemplation, enter stillness; from stillness, enter emptiness; from emptiness, generate clarity; from clarity, manifest illumination; and from illumination, connect with the divine, ultimately reaching the realm of true spirituality. These transformations all occur within the heart-mind, no larger than a square inch. Like climbing a ladder, no height is insurmountable; like a steel needle piercing through, no hardness is impenetrable. To transcend the ordinary and attain sagehood, the key lies in nurturing the heart-mind like water—and the foundation of all this is the principle of "stillness."

Time passes swiftly, like a white steed glimpsed through a crack. Those with the will to cultivate must seize the moment—neither procrastinating nor lapsing into hollow emptiness.

In truth, one’s original nature was never lost; what we call "loss" is merely illusion born of attachment. Enlightenment was never needed; releasing illusion is awakening. The suffering of sentient beings arises entirely from discriminating thoughts in response to external conditions, giving rise to delusions. Like clouds obscuring the sun, these mental disturbances (like mist) veil our innate nature (like clear skies), leading to karmic misdeeds and sinking into the sea of suffering. This is why the great Dao is so difficult for the world to comprehend.

Yet if one can devote themselves wholeheartedly to the Dao, repeatedly reflecting on these words and persisting without cease, they will ultimately achieve the Golden Immortal (the highest fruition of cultivation).

These profound principles I speak of must be studied alongside the Neidan (internal alchemy) classics, yet one should not cling to the literal text. Instead, grasp the essence of the heart-mind, and progress in cultivation will come naturally.

What is the "ninefold refinement of gold"? Nine is the completion number of metal. What is the "sevenfold return of fire"? Seven is the completion number of fire. Gold represents original nature; fire represents the heart-mind. Terms like "refinement," "return," and "reversion" all point to the same truth: gathering scattered thoughts to return to the original spirit, severing desires to return to innate nature. Though the practice is exquisitely subtle, its core can be distilled into these few words.

Only when the Three Flowers (Jing, Qi, and Shen) gather at the crown is there genuine attainment; only when the Five Qi (of the five organs) return to the Dantian (energy center) is there true completion. Inwardly, one must subdue the "mind-monkey" (scattered thoughts) and "will-tiger" (desires); outwardly, one must aid the world and deliver beings. Taming the will-tiger is relatively easier, but subduing the mind-monkey is far harder—this demands special attention.

Anger is the greatest obstacle on the Daoist path, while forbearance is the strongest fortress protecting it. Pretending deafness and muteness is relatively simple, but true stillness of heart is far more challenging. If today you endure one degree, tomorrow endure two—cultivate until you see without seeing, hear without hearing. Only then is your gold truly fire-tested. If provoked to anger at the slightest stimulus, it is like mercury (symbolizing the heart-mind) lacking lead (symbolizing stability)—when exposed to heat, it scatters, and the foundation of alchemy is ruined.

The mistakes of the past are indeed numerous, but where do they reside now? Indulging in desires and seeking comfort only harms oneself. Too much time has already been lost, and future opportunities may never come again. There is barely enough time to make amends—how could there be room for the slightest negligence?

The path to becoming an immortal (cultivating to transcendence) has three levels:

The first is the "Golden Elixir of Wuwei (non-action)." This method takes the heart as the alchemical cauldron and intention as the firing process. Every moment—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—is a realm of practice; joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are all opportunities to regulate the fire. Benevolence, righteousness, loyalty, and integrity are the refined essences gathered, while the changing seasons provide the rhythm of adjustment. One’s innate nature and emotions serve as the medicinal ingredients. This Golden Elixir can be comprehended in a day, cultivated in a month, and perfected within a year, bringing lifelong benefit. Once achieved, one transcends the Nine Heavens, moving freely between existence and non-existence—this is the supreme method of the True Immortal. When all ten thousand practices are complete, the mind becomes clear and empty, reaching profound and ever-deepening mystery, uniting with the primordial ancestors of Heaven and Earth. If one’s merit benefits all beings and virtue aligns with creation, one merges with the origin of Heaven and Earth. Even if merit is incomplete but compassion is vast, or virtue is not yet perfected but mystery profound, one may still become an auxiliary to Heaven and Earth. This is the first level.

The second is the "Golden Elixir of Divine Powers." This method takes Heaven and Earth as the cauldron, the sun and moon as the medicinal ingredients, and Shen (spirit), Qi (vital energy), and Jing (essence) as the materials to be gathered. Breathing serves as the means of regulation, and the circulation of internal Qi governs the firing process. This is the path of divine immortals, difficult to achieve: comprehension takes a month, cultivation a year, and success ten years, with lifelong benefits. Once perfected, one transcends the Three Realms, sharing the longevity of Heaven. The highest achievement is becoming a world-transcending immortal with three thousand merits fulfilled; the middle level is an eight-hundred-merit flying immortal who saves the world; the lowest is a celestial immortal who gathers herbs to aid others, uplifting entire households.

The third is the "Golden Elixir of Guarding the One." This method takes sincerity as the cauldron, upright conduct as the medicinal ingredients, benevolence and righteousness as the firing process, and classical texts as the gathered materials, with speech and action serving as the means of regulation. This is the path of lower immortals—easy to practice but difficult to master. Comprehension takes a day, cultivation ten years, and success a hundred years. The highest among them, selfless and impartial, become celestial officials in the heavenly bureaucracy. The middle level, benefiting sentient beings, become celestial clerks. The lowest, consuming elixirs for longevity, become terrestrial immortals. This is the least refined of the three tiers.

Those who achieve the first level move freely between existence and non-existence, unfathomable to gods and immortals, unbound by life and death. The second-level adept can transform, shed the mortal body (feigned death to escape), preserve the original essence, project the Yang spirit, wear jade talismans, and ascend with their household—living yet beyond death. The third level requires arduous accumulation of merit, achieving immortality only after death; even if longevity is attained, it lasts no more than five hundred years. These are the standards of the three levels of cultivation.

This Anthology of Discourses primarily elucidates the cultivation of mind and nature. It begins with the minutiae of daily practice, expounding profound principles through concrete, ordinary matters. While ostensibly discussing mental refinement, it reveals that the foundation of alchemical practice (Neidan) lies precisely in refining the heart-mind—particularly during critical stages of cultivation, where mental discipline becomes paramount.

Contemporary Daoist practitioners often indulge in lofty discussions of abstruse principles upon gaining slight insights, yet neglect earnest practice in daily life and fundamental human relationships—the very areas demanding diligent effort. They fail to realize that the true path of Dao cultivation manifests in ordinary existence, and the most profound methods must begin from tangible practice. Those who chase insubstantial realms without grounding themselves may occasionally glimpse spiritual flashes, but these prove as illusory and useless as cakes drawn in daylight.

The Sovereign of Fuyou (Lü Dongbin) concretely pointed out the essentials of dual cultivation of nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) at the crucial junctures of bodily and mental refinement. Through persistent and unrelenting practice, practitioners naturally achieve harmony of Yin-Yang within (the intercourse of Kan and Li, the regulation of water and fire), the spontaneous maturation of the infant-principle (a Neidan term denoting the cultivated Yang-energy body), and the natural manifestation of the Yang-spirit (the elevated Shen achieved through advanced practice). The ultimate state of transcendental perfection arises precisely from such down-to-earth, heaven-human unity practice. May later readers contemplate these teachings with serene hearts, uphold them reverently, and never slacken in their efforts.

Disciple Huijue of Guanghua respectfully records this.

The Baotu Spring Discourses preserve Lüzu's (Lü Dongbin) teachings: Practicing the Golden Elixir resembles burning ashes—if even a spark of wakeful Qi (xingqi) remains in the embers, one can preserve this lucidity without losing it. Just as cold ashes may reignite, so too does internal alchemy operate. These seemingly simple words contain the essential keys for beginners and represent the orthodox methods of immortal cultivation.

When this altar was first established, Lüzu initially transmitted four lines of oral instructions, hoping disciples would memorize and practice them. Otherwise, as the primordial Qi (Xiantian qi) dissipates and vitality daily declines, what remains of the Dao to cultivate? Zhu Xi's dictum—"Maintain this mind's vigilance throughout the day"—hits the mark perfectly, meaning not a single defilement should stain it, nor a single deluded thought arise. The Book of Documents states: "He who restrains his delusions becomes a sage"—is this not the same principle?

The reason you sought me as teacher and I accepted you as disciples stems from our shared roots of spiritual wisdom from past lives, which time inevitably reveals. Having performed the master-disciple rites, we should uphold each other through orthodox teachings—not with the exaggerated frivolity of worldly alliances. Only by mutual encouragement in achieving the Dao can we honor this profound commitment.

This teaching outlines the fundamental principles practitioners should follow. It first emphasizes taking "heavenly principle and human heart" (the Dao's laws and one's original nature) as the foundational standard—one must first cultivate ordinary human virtues before aspiring to become a noble person, a sage, or even an immortal. Whether in poverty or prosperity, maintaining one's original heart without violating the sages' path can lead to becoming a living immortal in this very life. As for specific cultivation methods like seated meditation or refining Qi (Neidan terminology referring to breath and spirit regulation), these are actually secondary.

The text then critiques disciples' behavior in the Daoist sanctuary (a place for cultivation): Initially, they entered without proper decorum, but since no clear standards existed then, no excessive blame was assigned. Recently, though clothing and etiquette have slightly improved, they still lack solemnity. More seriously, disciples frequently engage in frivolous teasing and roughhousing in private, showing insufficient reverence. As the Analects state, "Without dignity, the noble person lacks authority"—if one cannot even maintain self-respect, how can one establish oneself?

The questions disciples bring to the sanctuary are equally superficial—concerning family finances, fortune/misfortune, or inquiries on behalf of relatives—showing no engagement with the essential teachings of cultivation. Having entered the master's lineage, they should understand the fundamental purpose of practice. As their master, I first warn and discipline those with improper conduct; serious offenders face expulsion, while the most egregious may incur heavenly retribution. Fortunately, no such extreme cases currently exist in our sanctuary, but we must nip problems in the bud.

Finally, disciples are instructed to carefully contemplate these teachings, discussing and inquiring about anything unclear. As humans—not sages—who can avoid faults? What matters is correcting errors, never glossing over mistakes. Whether in major or minor matters, sincerity must prevail, for this constitutes the root of cultivation.

All actions and affairs follow their inherent principles. One must constantly discipline oneself, progressing from conscious effort to natural habit. Fulfilling one's fundamental human duties without deficiency—this is the foundation for attaining immortality and entering the Dao. Fame, rank, wealth, and honor are all decreed by heaven; they cannot be forcibly obtained.

Disciples, the path through the mundane world is long. Simply follow my teachings, and even if you later enter government service to work for the people, you will become upright officials. What ultimate benefit do corrupt officials and treacherous ministers bring to themselves and their families? Cultivating human character and cultivating the Dao are fundamentally the same. Those who align their daily conduct with righteousness surpass practitioners who only know seated meditation and Qi circulation techniques. This is the true path to the Great Dao.

However, attaining immortality does have essential secrets. Simply maintaining a clear and unobscured mind already encompasses eighty to ninety percent of the true practice. When your cultivation bears fruit, I shall impart deeper methods. For now, these teachings are most crucial—you must remember them well.

Regarding altar protocols (the sacred space for Daoist rituals): After paying homage, stand east when required to face east, west when required to face west—never move about arbitrarily. I'm having you rehearse this now so you'll understand the wisdom of these instructions later. Most importantly, never stand directly facing the altar.

None of today's proposed interpretations satisfy me. First, your daily conduct has been too unrestrained. Second, the Ten Precepts (ethical guidelines for Daoist practitioners) were established too recently for full comprehension. Take the first precept against lust—does observing this single prohibition excuse neglecting others? Some never violate the lust prohibition yet harbor extreme greed and malice—can such people truly claim to uphold the foremost precept?

Earlier, Tilai's (likely a disciple's name) remark about "mindfulness in all matters" contained profound truth. Though seemingly ordinary, few genuinely achieve this—revealing how little attention you ordinarily devote. Tichuan (another disciple) has recently been restless in temperament; his improper remarks may be pardoned. When his mind settles, we'll discuss the principles in detail.

Ordinary people must examine every action constantly—even then they fear transgressions, let alone indulging unchecked. Remember this: Dao cultivation values genuine practice over empty reputation, concrete action over hollow talk. Every word spoken now must later be verified through actual cultivation.

If one attempts cultivation without laying proper foundations, there will never be a day of true progress—this mindset must be utterly abandoned. Merely praising my words without actual practice is insufficient. One must be as grounded as the earth itself, just like these ten precepts (referring to fundamental Daoist cultivation disciplines) that require constant vigilance and genuine implementation in action, not empty words.

Every aspect of daily life demands mindful cultivation. For instance, while abstaining from lustful thoughts, temptations inevitably arise; while overcoming arrogance, greed, and harshness, opportunities for indulgence persist. The practice of these ten precepts never truly ends—the key lies in maintaining a clear conscience. Even without deliberate vigilance, gradual and steady effort will naturally uphold these disciplines.

Set your cultivation goals high—aiming for the highest standard may yield moderate achievement, while settling for mediocrity will likely result in inferior attainment. Therefore, maintain an expansive heart and practice with unrelenting diligence. Do not chase after results; they will manifest naturally. These ten precepts may appear plain, yet their meaning runs deep. Mastering them constitutes the learning of sages; achieving sagehood leads to the realm of immortals.

When people hear of immortality cultivation, they crave mystical methods while dismissing these admonitions as ordinary principles—this is profoundly mistaken. With grounded practice, what cannot be accomplished? Implementing each precept while contemplating their depths demonstrates true learning. Confucius said, "Shun evil as if avoiding scalding water"—this succinctly captures the essence of the ten precepts. Avoid overreaching; progress step by step, and boundless benefits will naturally follow.

Only when you reach this stage of cultivation will you believe my words and regret not having understood them sooner. My expectations for you run deep! Disciples need not deliberately seek efficacy in every word and deed—simply avoiding faults constitutes good practice. Without faults, virtue (De) naturally accumulates; with virtue, results naturally follow. But never harbor utilitarian motives beforehand. Observe how Ti Zhen (likely a practitioner's name) cultivates...

The meaning of this passage is:

Your suggestions are not without merit, but cultivation must begin from the most fundamental and immediate practices. There are now Ten Precepts to follow—if you can uphold them completely, your insights will naturally be encompassed within them. There is no need to devise new methods or add excessive complications, as doing so would only lead to greater confusion. Still, compared to others, you at least show genuine effort—it is merely that your current understanding remains shallow, hence this tendency toward excessive elaboration.

When cultivation reaches a profound state, the Ten Precepts may be seen as one precept, one precept as a single phrase, and a single phrase as but a single word. One can expand their contemplation to encompass heaven and earth or withdraw it deep within the heart. This is the bearing of sages who walk the path with ease and the realm of immortals who undergo spiritual transformation. The middle way of harmony is open for all to tread freely.

Listen carefully to these teachings, particularly the Ten Precepts and other guidelines. Reflect on them earnestly and practice them diligently, maintaining a clear and unwavering mind in alignment with heavenly principle and human virtue, leaving no room for regret. Then every word spoken today will bear fruit. But if you rely solely on innate gifts without diligent effort, even after multiple rebirths, you will remain unchanged—not only failing to progress but deepening your karmic burdens until you are utterly forsaken. All this depends on your own choices.

Some may dismiss these words as baseless, yet if you examine your own causes and conditions, the truth will be evident. Alas, worldly people remain entangled in mundane affairs, believing that attaining immortality means abandoning all earthly responsibilities. In truth, the methods of immortals and the teachings of sages are not in conflict. If sages instruct people in filial piety and fraternal duty, could there possibly be rebellious sons or treacherous ministers among those who attain the Dao? Simply fulfill your duties, uphold the Ten Precepts, practice the Ten Virtues, and fulfill your human path—then the way to immortality will naturally unfold.

Paths to immortality vary—some are granted by innate destiny, others achieved through cultivation. If any among you rely solely on innate gifts without cultivation, how then do you differ from ordinary mortals?

This scripture elucidates that the foundation of Daoist cultivation lies in daily practice rather than the pursuit of miraculous arts. It states that the "Ten Precepts" (basic Daoist ethical codes) represent the discipline of self-restraint, while the "Ten Virtuous Practices" embody the study of restoring heavenly principle. If one can restrain oneself and follow cosmic harmony, why worry about failing to attain sagehood? True sages and immortals are simply those who can harmonize with heaven and earth through the natural Dao (the Way). By upholding the Ten Precepts and practicing the Ten Virtuous Deeds, purifying body and mind while consolidating one's Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) – this itself constitutes the realm of immortality.

Those who pursue daylight ascension, alchemical elixirs (Golden Elixir), breath cultivation, or seated meditation are actually focusing on secondary matters. The essence lies in abstaining from what should be avoided and practicing what should be cultivated – with this approach, what difficulty exists in entering the Dao? The text particularly reminds disciples that spiritual cultivation doesn't conflict with worldly life. The author recounts having studied for civil examinations, managed household affairs, and engaged in social interactions before encountering an extraordinary master who offered to teach the art of transmutation (legendary Daoist alchemy). However, realizing the gold would revert to its original form after five centuries and harm others, he declined. It was precisely this ordinary mind free from greed that ultimately facilitated his immortal path.

True practice means fulfilling one's duties with a clear conscience. Maintaining original clarity of mind without dissipating one's Shen naturally leads to mental lucidity and physical vitality. Acting with integrity in accordance with natural principles, with steadfast intention, one cannot go astray. The human heart is originally empty yet spiritually responsive (Xuling), capable of embracing all things without forcing artificial alignment with the Dao. What matters is maintaining equanimity when encountering external circumstances – this centered, peaceful state represents the most practical path of cultivation.

The human heart originally has no fixed form, yet it governs both innate nature and emotions. What we call innate nature refers to the Heaven-endowed virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom—these inborn good qualities. The pursuit of sensual pleasures and material gains stems from the Qi-blood nature. Though both are innate to humans, they cannot coexist; one must make a choice between them. Confucius, Mencius, and the Song Dynasty Confucian scholars have explained this with utmost clarity—you should study their teachings carefully.

Regarding emotions, before they manifest, one should maintain balance and impartiality; when they do manifest, they should follow their natural course to achieve harmony. This is as clearly stated in the opening of The Doctrine of the Mean. Some say it is enough to simply hold fast to the original heart, but if one does not work on refining nature and emotions, how can the original heart be maintained? If one cannot distinguish between the virtues of propriety and righteousness, the Qi-blood nature, and the seven emotions, how can one even begin to work on nature and emotions?

To keep the mind clear and unobscured, one must examine oneself when nature and emotions arise naturally, ensuring there are no flaws. Therefore, when allowing nature and emotions to flow freely, utmost caution is required—not the slightest error should occur. If a person can remain blameless in nature and emotions, they will have a clear conscience. Maintaining this clear conscience naturally leads to a luminous mind. It is like walking through darkness while holding an unextinguished lantern—wherever you go, the path is illuminated. But this lantern can easily go out and requires constant tending.

Cunning and harshness obscure the light of the heart, while moral corruption shakes its foundation. Observing precepts and practicing good deeds are methods to remove these obscurations and stabilize the foundation. In this way, the heart's light grows ever brighter, and even when faced with storms, it will not be extinguished, eventually becoming an eternal luminous pearl. With this, why fear not attaining the Dao?

All of you possess bright futures and spiritual roots—whatever you achieve, whether great or small, is meaningful. The Heavenly Principle (Tianli) is always present within us, often revealed through selfless and upright nature and emotions. If one can embody selflessness and uprightness, the Heavenly Principle remains whole and unbroken. This clear and luminous nature comes entirely from Heaven—if fully preserved, with worldly impurities removed, reaching a state of pure emptiness, how far can immortality truly be?

This scripture passage emphasizes that the key to Daoist cultivation lies in grounded, daily practice accumulated over time. The author laments how many people discussing the Dao (the Way) and its methods often indulge in empty, abstract talk—like explaining dreams to a fool. The truly effective approach is this: engage earnestly with daily tasks, reflect each evening on what was done correctly and what went wrong, and persist in this practice day after day. Through such steadfastness, spiritual wisdom naturally develops. Only when one's skill matures should profound principles be discussed—then understanding will flow effortlessly.

The author expresses willingness to teach disciples, but finds listeners either bewildered or pretending to comprehend while spouting nonsense, thereby misleading beginners. In truth, though "principle" (cosmic law) and "Qi" (vital energy) are intangible, they possess subtle, wondrous functions. These can only be truly grasped through personal practice that reaches the corresponding state. Cultivation cannot be rushed—every ounce of effort yields its own measure of progress.

The text employs the imagery of "boundless seas and clear skies, birds singing and blossoms falling" to symbolize the natural manifestation of the Dao's workings. Those who truly understand the Dao can both transcend material appearances and penetrate deeply into them, neither confined by surface perceptions nor obstructing spiritual operation. What makes us human is precisely this spiritual capacity for "principle" and "Qi"—the foundation of cultivation.

Verification comes through observing the dawn hours—when human Qi is most pure, untainted by selfish thoughts. This supremely clear Qi is supremely spiritual Qi; those awake during this time best perceive their innate radiance. Yet ordinary people struggle to maintain this state, soon clouded again by desires, fundamentally because they neglect precepts and consistent practice. Even occasional moments of clarity go unnoticed, dismissed as mundane.

In truth, every day brings its dawn, and every person possesses this luminous nature. The difference between immortal and mortal is no profound mystery—immortals simply maintain that "dawn-like" clarity of mind continuously. Some people sustain it for days, others mere moments; some glimpse understanding only to lose it immediately. Through diligent cultivation, one verifies how long this clarity can endure. Thus the greatest pitfall is interrupted practice—whether rich or poor, nothing should shake the cultivator's unwavering commitment to the Dao.

This scripture expounds how Daoist practitioners should cultivate their mind-nature and advance in spiritual practice. It begins by stating that even when physically exhausted or facing adversity, one must remain steadfast in purpose—this is the attitude to maintain at all times. Whether interacting with others or in solitude, in public or private settings, one should uphold consistent moral integrity as the fundamental principle of conduct. While achieving this is commendable, it still falls short of the sublime state.

The true realm of cultivation should manifest thus: when encountering external phenomena, one responds naturally like water pouring effortlessly from a jar; when phenomena fade, the mind remains crystal clear, as transparent as a barrel whose bottom has dropped away. Even during sleep, the clear Qi (vital energy) flows spontaneously, with every breath filled with luminous purity—transcending distinctions between day and night, movement and stillness, or temporal measurements. Only this approaches the ideal state.

The author admonishes disciples: take cosmic principles (heavenly order) and the moral heart-mind as overarching guidelines, while observing the Ten Precepts and Ten Practices (fundamental Daoist ethical codes) as concrete standards. Spiritual progress must follow gradual steps without interruption or regression. Engage in constant self-reflection, correcting faults immediately, comparing past and present conduct to identify gaps, and planning future cultivation directions. Maintaining this attitude of vigilant humility can prevent most transgressions.

A concluding metaphor warns: like fish in a pot, birds in nets, caged cranes, or tigers in traps—what ordinary people perceive as lifeless situations—practitioners should understand that as long as spiritual nature (primordial Dao-nature) persists, one must never abandon hope. Though innate capacities vary, the path of cultivation universally progresses from shallow to deep, coarse to refined. Those who presume superior aptitude often hinder their progress, while genuine learners maintain humility and redouble their efforts—this paradoxical approach more readily leads to success.

This passage uses the metaphor of fish to elucidate the principles of Daoist cultivation. The question of where fish come from before entering the pot and where they go afterward illustrates the universal law of transformation from "being" to "non-being." Though humans are considered the most spiritual among all creatures, without cultivation practice, they ultimately cannot escape the cycle of life and death. Just as fish may transform into dragons, humans may attain immortality—the key lies in maintaining precepts and diligently cultivating virtue (De).

Between heaven and earth exist three states of being: the upper realm is the domain of divine spirits, the lower realm belongs to the netherworld, while humans dwell in between. Those who transcend the boundaries between light and darkness become immortals (xian). Immortals are of two kinds: celestial immortals (shenxian, who possess innate immortal bones and require no cultivation) and human immortals (renxian, who attain the Dao through acquired practice). Ordinary people, though endowed with innate spirituality, remain trapped in worldly dust due to ignorance of cultivation methods.

The scripture emphasizes that "being human" is more fundamental than "seeking immortality." The so-called "human immortal" means first perfecting one's humanity, which naturally encompasses the path to immortality. The character for "immortal" (仙 xian) contains the radical for "human" (人 ren), showing that attaining immortality must be grounded in perfecting humanity. Within seemingly ordinary principles of human conduct lie profound cultivation truths. By earnestly observing precepts and persevering steadfastly, one may first become a sage before realizing the immortal path.

The essential method of cultivation lies in truly comprehending the meaning of being "human." If one thoroughly understands the principles of human conduct, the greater part of cultivation is already accomplished. As for the state of immortality, it naturally follows the perfection of one's character.

This passage discusses how the essence of Daoist cultivation lies in being down-to-earth rather than chasing lofty illusions. The author explains that everyday household cultivation methods are actually more practical than seemingly profound precepts—just as the Ten Precepts (basic Daoist ethical guidelines) share the same essence with various cultivation techniques, there's no need to abandon tangible practice in pursuit of empty fantasies.

What truly matters is reviewing known principles while gaining new insights. When one comprehends profound meanings others cannot grasp and accomplishes what others cannot achieve—thus advancing both knowledge and practice—their skill naturally surpasses others. Such a person is essentially an immortal among humans. And what Daoist practitioners seek is simply to become ordinary people among immortals. Since the principles of yin and yang realms interconnect, immortals and mortals ultimately share the same origin. By fulfilling one's human duties completely, one naturally attains the realm of immortals.

The author gives an example: A certain Daoist master passed away centuries ago, yet people remember him as if he were still present. He possessed no miraculous powers—he simply did what needed to be done without using supernatural abilities to court attention. Now, these essential cultivation methods used by ancient masters are being plainly shared. If one practices what is taught, how could there be any reason not to attain immortality?

Some people delight in listening to abstract, empty theories without realizing that emptiness must be grounded in substance. Without working diligently on what's close at hand, how could those lofty, challenging realms ever be reached? Disdaining fundamentals while hoping to ascend to the heavens in one step only exhausts the spirit, leaving one with nothing in old age. The author reflects that during his own cave retreat, his words and deeds were utterly ordinary. Centuries later, people revered him as a patriarch, immortal, and even a sovereign—yet this only resulted from fulfilling his basic duties. Who could have anticipated such veneration a thousand years later?

Modern people discussing the ancients often find them incomprehensible, but one must understand: only by applying such effort can one reach such realms and taste such realizations. These are not experiences that dabblers can fathom. Moreover, if you currently lack results yet refuse to heed these practical teachings—instead rushing straight to Qi cultivation and Shen refinement (Neidan practices)—it's like trying to craft square and round vessels without compasses or straightedges (metaphor for fundamental principles). A true master always begins with basics: though rules cannot make one skillful, skill cannot exist without rules. Proficiency comes naturally through practice—demanding results without putting in the work violates the first precept of cultivation. Guard your mind against such thoughts.

This scripture reveals that the key to cultivating the Dao and attaining immortality lies in consistent daily practice and maintaining a clear original mind. The text mentions that even disciples like Sweeping Moon, White Cloud, and Clear Emptiness (all followers of Lü Dongbin) who didn't deliberately cultivate could still achieve immortality due to their karmic connections from past lives. The author admonishes disciples: as long as you preserve inner clarity, strictly observe precepts, never violate fundamental principles, and progress step by step through earnest practice, who's to say you cannot reach the same state as Sweeping Moon and Clear Emptiness?

The passage then uses the movement of sun and moon as metaphor for life's fluctuations: just as the moon waxes and wanes, human relationships gather and scatter—this is the natural order. What matters is understanding that while gatherings and separations are impermanent, the luminous essence remains ever-present. The human mind inherently possesses the spiritual capacity to penetrate all things and the wisdom to perceive all truths. The reason people become lost is entirely due to inconsistent cultivation—wavering in commitment and practicing intermittently.

The author concludes with poignant regret: "Though I've exhaustively taught with bitter words until my lips grow parched and tongue weary, scarcely one in a hundred makes genuine progress. Fortunately, most still preserve their original mind, but for those repeatedly unrepentant, even the severest punishments prove futile." This passage emphasizes that cultivation values perseverance above all—the greatest danger lies in abandoning the path midway.

The sun possesses essential brilliance, the moon bears radiant light—these are condensations of the dual qi of Yin and Yang. Since antiquity, the sun and moon have never lost their illumination. How can this be? Because their radiance universally illuminates all things, leaving no place unencompassed—this is the selfless manifestation of heaven and earth. The nine provinces and four seas all dwell under the sun and moon's radiance; even wind, rain, frost, and snow cannot obscure their light, for the sun and moon hang high in the celestial vault, presiding over all things. The wind blows, the rain moistens, frost and snow descend—all these actually assist the sun and moon in their movements, jointly stimulating the growth of all beings: sprouting in spring, bearing fruit in autumn. Wind, rain, frost, and snow each fulfill their own roles, while the sun and moon remain constant through the four seasons.

Heaven and earth operate according to their inherent patterns: gathering and dispersing, closing and generating. Wind, rain, frost, and snow appear according to their seasons. Though the sun and moon wax and wane through spring, summer, autumn, and winter, their phases never violate the seasonal order; their fluctuations always remain within proper bounds. This is the natural rhythm of climatic qi—how can one say there is no governing principle? The Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) generates the Two Modes (Yin-Yang) from emptiness, which in turn transform into the Four Symbols (Lesser Yang, Greater Yang, Lesser Yin, Greater Yin). All things depend on heaven and earth, sharing the same beginning and end. Only by combining "qi" with "principle" can the Dao's truth become clear; when further illuminated through "number" (cosmic patterns), the principle becomes complete. The ancient sages who investigated heaven and earth's mysteries could ultimately only sigh that "the Dao of heaven operates profoundly without end." Before the myriad things manifest forms, what language could describe them? It is merely a state of emptiness. Yet within emptiness resides numinous awareness—this is where essential brilliance gathers.

All people possess this essential brilliance, yet lack the "numinous abode" (a cultivated body-mind) to contain it. Thus it gradually dissipates, unable to cycle eternally like the sun and moon. The sun and moon never lose their luminous essence even during lunar obscurations, whereas the human heart, once agitated, struggles to regain tranquility. This shows that essential brilliance resides uniquely in the sun and moon—not that the human heart lacks it, but rather that it is dissipated by external things. "Qi," "number," and "principle" originally have no hierarchy of importance, only sequence: qi precedes principle, number follows principle, while principle integrates both. Ordinary people cannot fully embody all three; only the Dao of heaven is complete, thus able to condense essential brilliance into the sun and moon. Common perception cannot discern this capacity—only the deathless realized ones can comprehend it. As for the crucial point of cultivation practice? Setting aside qi and number for now, let us first discuss "principle": though principle has no form or appearance, when thoroughly understood, it naturally manifests as the great Dao of human relations—filial piety in children and loyalty in ministers.

Loyalty manifests in perceptible ways, discernible even in the subtlest details. Who can say that sincere devotion will not ultimately lead to luminous enlightenment? From the human perspective, this constitutes pure humanity; from the netherworld's viewpoint, it becomes a righteous spirit (referring to an upright soul). The reason such a being cannot yet be called an immortal is because their cultivation remains insufficiently refined, their foundation not yet thoroughly perfected. Yet by maintaining this fundamental heart-mind and continuing cultivation through self-reflection, one approaches that state.

The Dao appears empty yet contains reality; Qi carries the principles of the Dao in motion, while humans take form through the aggregation of Qi. People possess innate Qi—if guided by principle rather than dominated by impulsive vitality, their speech won't deviate nor their actions become erratic. With slight guidance, they naturally observe precepts, maintaining clarity without confusion, often manifesting spiritual brightness without obstruction. Progressing step by step through such practice, none will fail to attain accomplishment.

The celestial Dao operates through inherent patterns, while the human heart-mind is originally endowed with unclouded spiritual awareness. Heaven and humanity were never separate—if people cannot maintain constancy, is this due to differences in innate nature or temperament that create distinctions between sages and ordinary folk? The key lies in the character "灵" (ling, spiritual awareness) that permeates everything, never becoming obscured. Though the gap between sage and commoner seems vast as heaven and earth, some suspect their natures fundamentally differ. Without cultivation, merely claiming this as natural endowment is simplistic. Sages and ordinary people begin the same but end differently—this refers to outcomes, not grounds for self-abandonment.

Spiritual awareness is heaven's gift, but its preservation depends on human effort. The heart-mind is originally supremely empty, and through emptiness comes spiritual clarity. The terms "empty" and "spiritual" may seem sequential but aren't necessarily so—what matters is recognizing their relative importance. Spiritual awareness is emptiness, yet emptiness doesn't guarantee spiritual awareness. If the heart remains empty yet incapable of transforming all phenomena, its existence becomes as nothingness, instead creating obstructions within the mind's apertures. The Supreme Void (cosmic origin), though nameless and formless, governs the seasons' rotation, the moon's waxing and waning, stars' appearances, and mountains' permanence—demonstrating complete freedom from obstruction. Such operation is possible precisely through spiritual awareness.

The celestial Dao's luminous manifestation operates through this principle. Humans receive both Yin and Yang Qi, completely equipped with all potentials—expressed through the five viscera and four limbs, eyes and ears, hands and feet as sensory organs, and the five sense organs with their hundred bones (various bodily functions).

This scripture elucidates that the essence of spiritual cultivation lies in refining the "heart-mind" (心) and "spiritual awareness" (灵). The text explains that all human actions and activities are governed by the heart-mind, while the pivotal aspect of the heart-mind resides in "spiritual awareness." This awareness is divided into innate spiritual awareness (先天之灵, the original awakened state) and cultivated spiritual awareness (后天之灵, the awakened state that requires diligent effort to maintain).

Cultivation must focus on working with the heart-mind through practical methods: in stillness, one nurtures the original heart-mind; in activity, one remains mindful of the self. It involves upholding the Ten Precepts (十戒) and practicing the Ten Virtues (十善). Even in solitude, one should conduct oneself as if in the presence of a revered guest, maintaining reverence in every action—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down. The author criticizes those who discuss Jing (精, essence), Qi (炁, vital energy), and Shen (神, spirit) without grounding their practice in the heart-mind, viewing this as neglecting the root for the branches. True cultivation requires direct effort on the foundation of the heart-mind; only then can Jing, Qi, and Shen naturally stabilize and flourish.

The text emphasizes that cultivation should be genuine and practical, avoiding the pursuit of esoteric or novel theories. Simply maintaining a clear and awakened heart-mind, untainted by worldly distractions, naturally leads to a state of serene clarity and spiritual vitality. Finally, it points out that the Dao (道) is present in everyday life. Those who are adept at learning can perceive the Great Dao in all circumstances, without needing to seek it afar.

(Note: The "Ten Precepts" refer to fundamental Daoist ethical guidelines; the "Ten Virtues" signify ten meritorious practices in cultivation; "惺惺不昧" means maintaining wakefulness without dullness; "暗室屋漏" refers to the discipline of self-vigilance in solitude.)

Confucius said that when three people walk together, there must be one among them who can be my teacher. Where is the teacher? Right among these three. Though the number is small, as long as they are upright in conduct, they can serve as models for learning. If one fails to draw lessons from others, what meaning is there even when facing thousands of people?

Just as the divination board (an ancient tool for fortune-telling) takes the form symbolizing earth, and the original circle carries the meaning of heaven, their movements produce intricate changes, much like the cycle of birth and decline in all things. You people observe the tables and mats (referring to daily life scenes) every day, yet remain oblivious in your daze. In truth, by constantly observing the patterns of things, comprehending the eternal Dao (the Way) from change, and discerning great principles in small matters—all these are inseparable from the ordinary actions of daily life, within which lies profound and subtle learning. If careless, even the most profound truths will be dismissed as worthless.

Those skilled in gathering wisdom differ. Wherever the principle lies, whether mundane or extraordinary, they investigate with earnestness. Like walking, each step contains the symbolism of long journeys and lofty ascents—progressing gradually, accumulating day by day without realizing it. The practice of cultivation cannot be pursued superficially; it requires the unity of body and mind, unwavering diligence from start to finish. Where is not a source of wisdom? Must one study Daoist scriptures or learn esoteric methods to be considered diligent?

Of course, books must be read—reading is meant to understand principles. Daoist scriptures are not without truth, but they are profound and abstruse, difficult to grasp thoroughly. If one does not start from the shallow and near, how can they reach the deep and distant? If one does not begin with the concrete, how can they arrive at the mysterious? Therefore, one’s resolve must be firm, and one’s standards must be lofty. Judging by your current knowledge, these profound teachings may seem incomprehensible, yet if the effort is applied—progressing from the coarse to the refined, from the shallow to the deep—there will come a time when understanding dawns at a glance, without the need to flip through books. Abandoning practical work at hand to chase distant goals, rushing through life until white-haired and exhausted, directing the mind to useless pursuits—this only fosters increasing cleverness while innate spirituality fades away. Not only is this unhelpful, it is even sinful.

Merely possessing human form—how much difference is there from beasts? And who knows how long this slight distinction can be preserved? What is this distinction? It is the state of remaining clear-headed and not confused. Humans stand between heaven and earth: those who draw near to what is above approach the Dao of heaven, while those who draw near to what is below approach the Dao of earth. Those who approach the Dao of heaven may attain immortality and realize the Dao, ranking as the highest; those who approach the Dao of earth become ordinary mortals, ranking as the lowest.

This passage expounds the essential principles of Daoist cultivation. Between Heaven and Earth, the difference between ascending to sagehood or descending into degeneration often lies in a single thought—is this not profoundly sobering? In truth, every person possesses the capacity for understanding and practice. As the saying goes, "All men's hearts for goodness are much alike"—how could you lack the courage to advance unwaveringly? If one muddles through each day in confusion, content to keep company with mediocrity, I fear it would be a betrayal of one's innate spiritual endowment. I earnestly hope you will exert diligent effort and not disappoint these teachings.

The transmission of Daoist learning has endured since ancient times, with various schools emphasizing different aspects: some focus on "Xing" (original nature), others on "Ming" (heavenly endowment), and still others on the "Three Treasures" of Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Yet ultimately, all converge upon "Li" (the principle of the Dao). Though Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism differ in name, they all fundamentally investigate the Great Dao. When viewed holistically, concepts like Xing-Ming, Jing-Qi-Shen, and the Five Phases all elucidate different dimensions of the Dao, while "Li" governs all five aspects. To pursue trivial details without understanding cultivation methods would be a grave mistake.

Where should one begin Daoist practice? Both Xing-Ming and Jing-Qi-Shen reside within the human body. Why distinguish between them? This is crucial—one must comprehend clearly and articulate precisely, for the slightest deviation leads far astray. Heavenly principle exists within the human form, originating from the Dao of Heaven. Before the formation of Xing-Ming, this principle already existed—it hangs suspended between Heaven and Earth, awaiting human realization. Only by grasping this fundamental truth can the work of fulfilling one's nature and understanding destiny find solid ground. On the practical level, Jing-Qi-Shen represent the three manifestations after Xing-Ming takes form.

The so-called Dao is the natural developmental pattern of original nature. It permeates all things at all times—this description is most accurate. Thus the Dao itself has no sectarian divisions; Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism each follow their paths without contradiction. The key is to genuinely grasp the two characters "Xing-Ming"—this foundation concerns everyone, for all must act in accordance with heavenly principle. In truth, Confucianism also discusses Jing-Qi-Shen, but Dao practitioners require clearer conceptual distinctions and more complete understanding of "Li"—this precisely distinguishes Confucianism from Buddhism and Daoism.

If one merely discusses purity, Wuwei (non-action), or health cultivation without practical application, beginners most easily stray into error. For you, "accumulating righteousness" (performing virtuous deeds) constitutes the most concrete foundational practice. To accumulate righteousness means aligning every action with heavenly principle—this is how one fulfills one's nature and understands destiny in daily life.

(Note: "Accumulating righteousness" refers to the Confucian cultivation method of nurturing one's nature through sustained moral conduct. "Jing-Qi-Shen" are core Daoist concepts representing life's essential substances—essence, energy, and spirit—whose harmonious coordination forms the basis of cultivation.)

This scripture primarily discusses the relationship between cultivating one's nature and life (i.e., physical-spiritual cultivation) and the Three Treasures of Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)—the three fundamental elements of human life—as well as how to attain the realm of Daoist immortality through "accumulating righteous deeds" (performing good actions, comprehending principles, and cultivating virtue).

It first points out that after understanding the laws of life, one must pay attention to harmonizing Jing, Qi, and Shen. By accumulating good deeds, one can align with heavenly principles; by comprehending these principles, one can penetrate the profound Dao. The three—Jing, Qi, and Shen—are interdependent: Jing relies on Qi, and Qi flows through Shen. When Qi is vigorous, Jing becomes strong; when Qi is abundant, Shen becomes stable—all of which stem from continuously performing good deeds and accumulating virtue.

Using trees as a metaphor: when the roots (heavenly principles) are flourishing, the branches and leaves (Jing-Qi-Shen) will naturally thrive. For those seeking immortality through self-cultivation, the key lies in "transformation"—the elevation of spiritual awareness. True spirituality has no obstructions of attachment and remains transparent from momentary awareness to eternal enlightenment. However, cultivation must be grounded in reality; otherwise, it becomes like a castle in the air without foundation, and Jing-Qi-Shen will turn into useless dregs.

Practitioners must strengthen their resolve and persevere. The innate Qi (the pure energy one is born with) is originally clear and transparent, but after birth, it gradually diminishes due to worldly influences and must be replenished through cultivation. Reuniting Jing, Qi, and Shen to restore one's innate nature to its original state is the highest form of cultivation.

For ordinary people, gradual progress is achieved through restraining desires and harmonizing with natural cycles in postnatal cultivation. As virtue accumulates, spiritual awareness naturally grows, and Jing-Qi-Shen will naturally become abundant, eventually reaching a state no different from the innate condition. This process of attaining natural ease through diligent effort is called "progressing from exertion to ease" in cultivation.

Finally, using birds as a metaphor: though the sky is vast and birds fly freely, both ascent and descent must conform to natural laws. The utmost sincerity returns to "no falsehood" (the realm of absolute truth), a state born from stillness and stability. When one can maintain inner tranquility, external matters cannot disturb them. The "eye of wisdom" can perceive the truth of life's origin, just as one clearly sees the foundation of a house.

This passage primarily discusses the importance of "stillness" in spiritual practice and the relationship between humans, the Dao, and numerical principles.

It first emphasizes that "stillness" is the foremost essential method in cultivation. Practitioners often fail to maintain inner tranquility, harboring deluded thoughts in advance, which naturally makes it difficult to perceive the true Dao. Quieting the mind for self-nourishment is the fundamental approach for beginners—this principle should not be doubted.

Next, it explains the connection between numbers and the Dao. From one to three, numbers accumulate into multiplicity. These numerical patterns interconnect with the Great Dao, which in turn links to the Heavenly Dao. Humans, as vessels containing the Great Dao, can simultaneously understand the relationships between humanity, numbers, and the Dao by thoroughly investigating numerical origins. Mathematics is challenging to comprehend, while the study of Dao is even more profound. Yet abandoning the pursuit due to fear of difficulty means one will never attain enlightenment.

Spiritual practice must begin with "utmost sincerity"—only by maintaining clarity and avoiding confusion can one's true nature manifest. The Golden Elixir (referring to the achievement of Neidan/internal alchemy) truly resides within oneself and need not be sought externally.

The discussion then turns to the operational principles of heaven, earth, and the four directions. East, west, south, and north form the fixed cardinal directions, while spring, summer, autumn, and winter cycle as the four seasons. Heaven above and earth below create a framework where seasonal transitions appear chaotic yet follow order, and directional positions seem fixed yet contain movement. By observing these phenomena, one can investigate their underlying numerical laws.

Truly wise individuals can study the principles of seasonal cycles and examine the patterns of directional changes, discovering immutable laws within apparent disorder. Integrating the four directions with the four seasons allows comprehension of how heaven and earth interconnect, forming insights that transcend ancient wisdom. Only by perfectly unifying Daoist principles with numerical laws can one reach the highest realm.

Finally, it mentions that the Ten Precepts and Ten Practices form the foundational work of cultivation, equivalent to Confucianism's "restraining oneself and returning to propriety." Completing these cultivation practices thoroughly enables attainment of sagehood, progressing further into immortal realms. This passage embodies compassionate guidance for practitioners, pointing out that those who merely admire Chan mysteries without genuine practice will find attainment difficult.

This passage primarily discusses two aspects: first, the origins and textual history of the Jade Commentary Discourses (Yuquan Yulu), and second, the essential meditation techniques transmitted by Lü Dongbin (the Divine Lord Fu You).

Regarding the origins of Jade Commentary Discourses: This scripture was compiled by Peng Dingqiu from Tianxin Lane in Suzhou, containing teachings originally revealed by the Heavenly Worthy of Universal Jade Radiance. During the Kangxi reign period, Lü Dongbin descended to transmit fifteen precious instructions, which Shao Zhilin later expanded to sixteen—though he erroneously titled it Jade Clarity Discourses (Yuqing Yulu). According to the preface by the Imperial Lord of Culture (Wenchang Dijun), the correct title should be Jade Commentary Discourses, as it encompasses both celestial gifts ("jade regulations, jade texts, and jade standards") and human cultivation methods ("dharma commentaries, scripture commentaries, and mystery commentaries"). Later, the Zhao family edition from Songjiang produced another text titled Jade Clarity Discourses, creating confusion. To clarify, this edition reverts to the original title Jade Commentary Discourses.

Lü Dongbin's meditation method emphasizes "the interdependence of mind and breath" (xinxi xiangyi)—harmonizing intention with respiration while concentrating the spirit (shen) at the energy cavity (qixue, the dantian). Many practitioners struggle to grasp this foundational approach. The specific method involves: First, "purifying the heart and withdrawing into stillness" (xi xin tui cang) to eliminate distractions and nourish innate qi. Breath is the pivot of life cultivation (xingming): during exhalation, yang qi ascends; during inhalation, yin qi gathers inward. The breath should be subtle and silent, guiding qi from the crown point (dingmen) down the spine (jiaji) to settle in the dantian (the subtle cavity within the navel). This naturally pacifies the heart-fire (xin huo), completing a full breath cycle. Consistent predawn practice (3-5 AM) is essential, supplemented by sustained awareness throughout the day. Only after unbroken practice for one hundred days can genuine qi (the "medicine" or yaowu) emerge. Many contemporary claims of "yang qi activation" merely reflect empty fire (xu huo), not authentic primordial energy.

In essence, this is a Daoist cultivation scripture recording Lü Dongbin's seated meditation and breathing methods, emphasizing persistent practice for genuine results. The compiler specifically clarifies the text's title and editions to prevent future confusion.

This passage offers essential guidance for Daoist cultivation, focusing on how to recover one's innate spiritual authenticity (primordial nature). Master Yuxu advises Mr. Peng Nanyun that the path to the Dao does not require external elixirs—the key lies in gathering one's Shen (spirit).

Every person is born with this spiritual authenticity, as complete as the "Celestial Root" (primordial origin). Yet worldly attachments clog this purity, turning the true heart-mind into delusion. Cultivating the Dao should bring unimpeded clarity, but when sought with a polluted mind, it breeds fixation; when explored through false perceptions, everything becomes illusion.

The "Earthly Root" (acquired habits) traps people in illusions, while the Celestial Root is the true home. Throughout history, those who attained immortality simply excelled at preserving their spiritual authenticity. The current grand altar's teachings (referring to Daoist ritual transmission) aim to help people learn this preservation. Sadly, many squander their innate brilliance, refusing to quietly contemplate their true self (original mind).

Through introspection, spiritual vitality grows daily until supernatural capacities manifest; when the true heart appears, sagely wisdom becomes complete. Even if physical transcendence remains distant, at life's end, the true self will dwell eternally in the celestial realms.

The text highlights Peng Nanyun (styled Dingqiu, top candidate in the 1676 imperial exams) as predestined for the Dao. Yuxu cautions: spiritual authenticity cannot be described—it must be personally realized. Each insight brings tangible progress; forcing attainment is like grasping for sacred pearls in the Crimson River (symbolizing futility). People neglect inner cultivation because they waste their inherent radiance.

The light of wisdom (prajna-illumination) is humanity's virtuous root—used properly, it reveals one's true nature. But when cleverness becomes cunning, it's like casting a luminous pearl (symbolizing the original mind) into murky waters, obscuring wisdom. Thus, Daoist practice values steadfast sincerity over squandering one's gifts.

This passage mainly discusses the obstacle of a competitive, self-exalting mind that can arise during spiritual cultivation, and the importance of favorable conditions and connections.

When people are always comparing themselves with others and thinking, “I am better than they are,” they gradually come to believe that everyone else is beneath them. This drive to outdo others becomes a major obstacle to cultivation. Even when they hear the teachings of sages, they cannot take them in; even when they encounter precious scriptures, they struggle to understand them. The obstacle may seem small, yet it can leave a person’s spiritual nature (lingzhen) a thousand miles from the Dao. This is called “wisdom cast away in vain”: possessing wisdom but putting it to the wrong use.

The Great Dao of cultivation is profound and subtle, yet its essence is plain and simple. It is boundless and expansive, yet one must begin with the small things close at hand. If people pursue only what is lofty and vast, they may lose touch with their original nature and find it difficult to restore their spiritual nature.

Cultivating the Dao requires favorable conditions and connections (yuan), which are bestowed by Heaven. Those who attained the Dao in ancient times all received help through wholesome connections. Someone without the spiritual roots to recognize them may fail to notice a wholesome connection when it appears and may instead stray into an unwholesome one.

Wholesome connections often begin with hardship, which brings people to their senses; unwholesome connections often begin with ease, which draws them into complacency. Those who wish to cultivate the Dao should therefore first set their hearts aright (zhengxin) so they can receive the right connections. To set the heart aright means casting aside outward show, remaining indifferent to fame and profit, valuing substance, returning to the roots, and speaking less while doing more. This keeps the “Perfected One of the Crimson Palace”—a reference to the spirit of the heart—clear and undisturbed, neither deceived by favorable circumstances nor distressed by adversity.

Every circumstance can help one cultivate the Dao. A rare opportunity such as a grand ritual altar (datan) is all the more precious. The saying “connections are bestowed by Heaven” means that once cultivators have set their hearts aright, they must also understand that all the opportunities and connections in the world are arranged by Heaven and cannot be forced by human effort. They should remain mindful and reverent, let go of selfishness and attachment to the ego, and put aside arrogance. In this way, their fundamental spiritual nature can resonate with the Way of Heaven.

Yet one must take care in every word and deed, acting sincerely and striving for goodness. This helps prevent wrongdoing and accumulate merit. Then the opportunities bestowed by Heaven will grow more numerous, and one can ultimately realize the Great Dao. Without understanding this principle, even if one exhausts oneself studying mysterious doctrines, it will still be difficult to refine the Golden Elixir—the highest attainment of cultivation.

The cultivation of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) cannot succeed without divine assistance, yet such divine resonance must be grounded in virtuous merit. Most harmful are those who merely engage in empty discussions of alchemical terminology (such as mercury and lead, dragon and tiger—symbols of internal Yin-Yang dynamics) while neglecting the accumulation of merit and the practice of good deeds. Even if such individuals can suspend breath and abstain from food, it is merely a false imitation of embryonic respiration (Taixi) and grain avoidance (Bigu)—how could this be considered the true Dao?

The core principle of our lineage is this: Regarding the foundation of alchemy, the ultimate source of the elixir lies in clarifying the original mind. As for the work of cultivation, the inexhaustible marvel is the refinement of one's nature and heart-mind. In saving and delivering others, one must rely on the innate true spirit (Xiantian Zhenling) as the natural ferry. All these must be realized through the state of unity between heaven and humanity—far beyond the reach of shallow intellect. Precisely because of this, the Great Dao (Dadao) remains so precious and rare.

The boundless Dharma of the Dao is, in truth, fully present within the radiance of our original mind. All sentient beings reside within my heart, and the profound mystery of the Great Dao is such that I can attain its vast realm. Yet if the mind deviates even slightly, evil thoughts become difficult to restrain. Countless beings in this world drown in suffering, unable to free themselves. To save them from calamity is no easy task—forced assistance only becomes a shackle.

On the path of cultivation, five common pitfalls arise: Beginners with sincere faith are ultimately trapped by doubt; those with inherent virtuous roots falter due to timidity; those endowed with spiritual potential are weighed down by familial ties; those who recognize their errors yet repeat them; the cautious who uphold precepts but lack resolve; and the fiercely diligent who stray into heterodox paths. These lost beings will all sink into the sea of suffering. To return to one's original truth, one must seize the critical moments of "Three Nines" (key junctures in cultivation)—otherwise, when the great limit arrives, life and vitality vanish in an instant.

The marvel of the Mysterious Work (Xuangong, referring to cultivation practice) is beyond words: It operates silently like the heavens, turning unseen like the moon; it stands immovable as Mount Sumeru (the legendary Buddhist mountain) and vast as the firmament, beyond reach. Yet this wondrous state is actually within the heart—countless merits, like the sands of the Ganges, are contained here. To obtain this pearl of the original mind, one must strictly uphold precepts; to maintain a clear and serene heart-mind, one must fully submit to the Mandate of Heaven (Tianming).

Those who submit to the Mandate of Heaven need not contrive action—they simply abide in heavenly principle and find natural peace. Such true cultivators, who understand and rejoice in their destiny, are the ones I wish to deliver from calamity. When heaven and earth divided, the light and pure Qi ascended to form the heavens, while the heavy and turbid Qi descended to form the earth. Humans, endowed with both Yin and Yang Qi, can forge the alchemical platform (Dantai, the foundation of cultivation). The original mind is inherently empty and luminous, yet once attached to spouse, children, and worldly pursuits, countless desires arise; fixated on bodily pleasures, all manner of demonic obstacles appear. Little do they realize this physical form will decay—it is not the luminous true nature. How can the eternal true self be burdened by this fleeting shell?

The most precious treasure of a human being is the original mind—even the physical body is secondary, let alone external possessions. The Great Dao (the Way) actually resides within every person's heart; there's no need to seek it outwardly. Wine, lust, wealth, and anger (qi, referring to negative emotions) are not inherently obstacles, but when one loses their true nature, these four demons arise together.

Once these four demons gather, it becomes difficult to restore one's innate conscience. It's like when the master leaves home, and the guests seize control: wine clouds the spirit (shen), lust depletes the vital essence (jing), wealth ensnares the will for life, and anger follows closely. These great demons each display their power, harming both self and others—wine damages the spirit, lust exhausts the essence, wealth deludes the mind, and anger destroys the body. Ultimately, this leads to personal ruin, shaming ancestors above and harming family below. Such a person lives without dignity and dies without honor before heaven—what a pitiful and lamentable fate!

Yet if one can courageously expel these four demons and maintain inner purity, they will achieve this state: a clear mind leads to smooth qi (vital energy), smooth qi leads to abundant essence (jing), and abundant essence leads to vigorous spirit (shen). With these Three Treasures (the foundational elements of Daoist cultivation) complete, one will never again lose their way. Internally, they can refine the Mysterious Palace (the body's inner cultivation); externally, they can aid and uplift others. When merit and virtue are perfected, heaven will naturally reward and elevate them—ascension to immortality is no empty promise.

Some are naturally close to the Great Dao from birth, never encountering these obstacles, and thus effortlessly become celestial immortals. Others, of middling capacity, may have been repeatedly ensnared by wine, lust, wealth, and anger, indulging in worldly desires until their misdeeds nearly overflow. Yet if they sincerely repent, confess with genuine remorse, recite scriptures (jing), perform purification rituals (zhaijiao), and take refuge in the Supreme Truth (the highest divine), they can both save others and themselves, benefiting all. When their merits are fulfilled, their innate spiritual roots will be recognized by the Southern Dipper (the stellar deity governing lifespan), and they too may ascend to immortality.

The Great Dao is inherently broad and level—it is people who distance themselves from it, not the Dao that abandons them. As long as one clings to superficial glamour, they stray from the Dao. As for those of lesser capacity, though they may not understand Daoist methods or the principle of illuminating the mind to see true nature (enlightenment), if they refrain from arrogance and grave misdeeds, they may still accumulate virtue and good deeds to enjoy abundant blessings. If their merits run deep, heaven will not forsake them; after death, they may cultivate in the Southern Palace (a Daoist paradise), shed their mortal form, and become terrestrial immortals (a rank below celestial immortals).

Human nature is originally pure—the key lies in maintaining emptiness and stillness. The Great Dao is formless by nature—its value lies in relinquishing attachment. Since none of you disciples are sages born with innate wisdom, nor have you yet mastered the practice of restoring your original nature...

This scripture discusses the return to one's original nature (复性, returning to innate nature). Restoring one's true nature isn't achieved through occasional thoughts but requires constant reflection on the source; nor is it accomplished by dealing with any single matter, but by recognizing the root in all things.

True nature is neither attachment to substantial phenomena (concrete things) nor fixation on emptiness (void). Clinging to substance loses spiritual vitality, while clinging to emptiness leads to lifeless stagnation. To attain spiritual awareness, one must first raise right mindfulness; raising right mindfulness requires eliminating desires; eliminating desires demands resolving doubts; resolving doubts needs meditative stability; achieving stability requires wisdom; and wisdom comes from studying the teachings of the Luanbird (鸾训, the revealed teachings through spirit-writing) and putting them into practice.

The Luanbird's teachings are subtle and profound, comprehensible only with an empty, luminous mind. One must first achieve inner and outer clarity—only then will truth manifest distinctly and spiritual awareness perceive directly. This not only aids in understanding the Luan teachings but also helps one attain the Dao. Because the great Dao is formless, only emptiness can merge with it; the Dao has no fixed direction, only awakening can penetrate it. Ordinary people fail to realize the Dao not because it's distant, but because delusions block their innate emptiness and desires obscure their spiritual light, leading to confused consciousness and lifelong bewilderment.

To comprehend the great Dao, one must recognize the original mind (本心). Once the original mind is transparent, all dharmas naturally converge. Yet the term "original mind" is most elusive—it cannot be explained through words but must be personally realized through practice. But practice itself is hard to grasp: intellectual understanding is useless, and one must rely on cultivation methods to investigate. Even with methods, few find stable footing, as talismans (符箓) and scriptures remain external forms. Thus, those who truly understand the original mind are exceedingly rare—discussions abound like hairs on an ox, but genuine realization is as scarce as phoenix feathers.

Therefore, the Jade Emperor (玉皇天尊, the supreme deity in Daoism), moved by great compassion, decreed the establishment of sacred altars (宗坛) to liberate people from worldly distractions, guiding all to the realm of Dao, preserving the original mind, and wandering freely in the homeland of true Dao. This is the fundamental purpose of opening altars for teaching. The resonance between heaven and humanity is entrusted to the Luanbird's teachings—the rise and fall of the teaching depend on the mind, the flourishing and decline of the great Dao hinge on a single thought. If one wishes the heavenly Dao to endure, the teachings to spread widely, and the Dao's methods to prosper, one must begin from the original mind.

The fundamental principle of cultivation lies in returning to the "original mind." This original mind refers to the pure, unadulterated, empty, and tranquil state that exists naturally within heaven and earth. Before the universe took form, when chaos had yet to divide, there already existed a seed of spiritual awareness—present even before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) and merging with Wuji (the ultimate state of the Dao). This is our original mind.

Later, as humans developed acquired consciousness and distinctions arose between Yin-Yang and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the once-unified original mind fragmented, leading to the separation of heaven and humanity. The more people strive to seek the Dao, the further they stray from it. The method of cultivation is simple: one must constantly reflect on where the mind resided before birth and where the original mind originates. Through prolonged observation, one realizes that while the physical body will perish, the original mind never ceases to exist.

Now, the Celestial Venerable (Tianshi) opens the altar to aid the world, with the ultimate purpose of helping all beings rediscover their original mind and return to the source. All talismans (Fulu), ritual practices, and meditation techniques ultimately serve this goal. Cultivation must progress step by step—returning to the source, eliminating delusions, so that the true nature naturally reveals itself.

Those with innate wisdom who can directly recognize their original face may attain realization instantly. The key lies in restraining scattered thoughts and nurturing Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). The left eye is like the sun, the right eye like the moon—guarding the root of spiritual awareness. The dragon drinks water, the tiger roars in the clouds, achieving a state where body and mind transcend the mundane. At this stage, one's being surpasses the ordinary: able to roam the heavens in the morning to bring rain and descend to the underworld at night to liberate the deceased, brimming with vital energy, sharing the longevity of heaven and earth.

The secret of cultivation lies in harmonizing body, mind, and spirit, allowing primordial Qi to condense into the Primordial Radiance (the original breath of the Dao). This single point of Primordial Radiance can differentiate into the Nine Palaces and Bagua (Eight Trigrams), while preserving the central spark of true Yang. Discovering this source leads to the attainment of immortality.

Cultivation requires perseverance—daily refinement of Jing and Qi. The radiance of the moon arises from Jing, the grain of rice forms through Qi (a metaphor for the transformation of essence into energy in Neidan practice). Maintain resolve, safeguard the primordial Shen (spirit), and avoid being misled by external distractions. Turn the gaze inward, secure the vital gateways, and let the Celestial Jing (primordial Qi) soar like a dragon. Regulate the body, deepen the breath, and remain unmoved by desires. Seek the True Mother (primordial Qi), guard the Mysterious Chamber (Dantian), and unify the three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) into a single, undivided whole. This is true cultivation.

This passage expounds the core principles of Daoist cultivation, focusing primarily on the refinement of Qi (vital energy). Through breath regulation and Qi nourishment, practitioners can attain transcendent states.

The crux of cultivation lies in preserving one's innate primordial Qi (the original energy received at birth). This Qi existed before the formation of Heaven and Earth, serving as the source from which Yin-Yang differentiation emerges. To attain the Dao, one must sever acquired desires and return to the pristine state of primordial purity. The five essential techniques are: maintaining proper posture, focused concentration, tranquil stillness, visualization, and eliminating distracting thoughts.

Specific cultivation methods include: maintaining silence to nourish Qi, regulating breathing rhythms, teeth-tapping to dispel pathogenic influences, and consuming light, simple foods. When the body's true Qi (vital life force) coalesces into a "pearl of authenticity" (the internal elixir or Neidan) suspended in the Purple Chamber (upper Dantian, the brow region), one achieves communion with Heaven and Earth. At this stage, the practitioner must carefully guard the Dantian with the same reverence as serving a sovereign.

While maintaining strict self-discipline in daily practice, adepts need not deliberately withdraw from worldly affairs. True cultivation doesn't seek supernatural powers but rather steadfast application of these five-character techniques. By maintaining equanimity and progressing step by step, one naturally attains the realm of sagehood.

The scripture particularly emphasizes that many practitioners fail to achieve spiritual awakening precisely because they neglect these foundational practices. There are no shortcuts in cultivation—it requires persistent, daily accumulation of effort over time.

This scripture elucidates several essential principles for cultivating the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path:

The first is "Rectitude" (Zheng, the correct path). Practitioners must choose the illuminated great way, avoiding heretical shortcuts. Like driving a carriage along familiar main roads, progress comes naturally when the direction is true.

The second is "Focus" (Zhuan, concentration). During practice, one must relinquish distractions and devote attention to studying Daoist scriptures (Xuanquan). Even comprehending a single character can eradicate eons of karmic burdens. When focus reaches its zenith, moonlike wisdom will illuminate the entire Great Canopy Heaven (Daluo Tian). The key lies in unwavering persistence.

The third is "Stillness" (Jing, tranquility). Breath and consciousness must be gathered into the Dantian (the square-inch field). When mental fluctuations arise, immediately guard the Mysterious Pass (Xuanguan) and see through illusions. True stillness isn't isolation from the world, but responding to circumstances without attachment.

The fourth is "Nourishment" (Cun, preservation). Maintain the true mind like a luminous pearl—fluid yet complete, containing creation's mysteries within movement and stillness. Let the seven emotions sink into azure seas, allowing the moonlike true nature to shine forth. The greatest obstacle is stubborn personal views.

The fifth is "Severance" (Zhan, cutting). When refining the Great Medicine (Danyao), one must eliminate the Three Corpses (San Peng, three malevolent spirits within the body). Only by severing worldly ties can ascension occur. This doesn't mean abandoning family bonds, but reducing desires and attachments. The "severance" practice is most demanding—requiring the determination of breaking cauldrons and sinking boats, like amputating a hand bitten by a venomous snake. Surmounting this hurdle leads directly to true realization.

Later passages illustrate mind-cultivation through metaphors: controlling wandering thoughts like restraining tidal waves; ceasing mechanical actions to reveal true light; nourishing the spirit (Shen) by guarding the Kunlun point atop the head; repaying kindness by cherishing the physical form given by parents; awakening wisdom requires discarding distractions. Finally, it emphasizes that the Golden Elixir path isn't inherently difficult—the crucial point is recognizing the true way, where even appreciating flowers and birds becomes spiritual practice.

This scripture addresses common pitfalls and correct methods in Daoist cultivation. If one's cultivation direction is incorrect, even sitting in meditation all day will be futile effort—like the practitioner Shizi who became bound by mental afflictions.

The key lies in mental attitude: clinging to the notion of "attaining the Dao" actually obstructs genuine practice. The true Dao is the unity of the Three Treasures—Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Here, Jing forms the foundation (governing stillness and storing Shen), Qi is the root (governing establishment), and Shen manifests outwardly (governing movement). Neidan (internal alchemy) practice fundamentally cultivates stillness, for only in stillness can one perceive celestial mechanisms—because Jing is the source of heaven.

In refining the Golden Elixir (Jindan), nourishing Jing is paramount: only when Jing is stable can Qi be nurtured, and only when Qi is tranquil can Shen flourish. The method of preserving Jing lies in natural concealment—it requires neither forced breath regulation (like the Huanglu method that worries about internal disturbances) nor deliberate visualization (like the Zhuguang Kunlun technique concerned with external manifestations). Simply maintain non-attachment to every thought, and each step will naturally be correct. Especially for the elderly whose Jing-Qi is nearly depleted, reckless action must be avoided—focus solely on nourishing Jing. When Jing becomes abundant, Qi will naturally gather; when Qi is sufficient, Shen will naturally flourish.

When asked about Shen-nourishing methods, the answer is: align daily activities with natural rhythms, regulate temperature appropriately, and maintain proper diet. It should be as effortless as quietly appreciating plum blossoms or watching incense smoke rise while playing the qin.

When Shizi Jin recently reported his cultivation progress—saying he aspired to practice but lacked spiritual vigor—his master countered: "Since you recognize your Shen's decline, why not directly nourish it?" Shizi Jin spoke of wanting to transmit ritual methods (daojiao keyi) as medical heritage for descendants. The master pointed out this would further deplete Shen—too many ambitions multiply tasks, which further weakens vitality. As the Great Perfected Ones taught: "When ambitions exceed spiritual capacity, the Dao path darkens daily; when spirit surpasses ambitions, the Dao path refines daily." What you consider as 'unweakened ambition with declined Shen' is actually Shen declining precisely because of excessive ambitions.

The Chan Buddhists say "abandon everything—don't even aspire to be Buddha," then sit upright in meditation (indicating focused practice). Comprehend this principle: empty the mind and Zhengqi (upright Qi) endures; stabilize the heart and true Jing overflows—why fear lacking spiritual vigor?

Finally, the profound meaning of "Treasure Moon" is explained: during Taiji's initial division, the moon (representing primordial Jing) preceded the sun (representing primordial Qi). The moon's essence is subtle and rarely full, its glow crystalline yet not glaring, manifesting three perfection states from crescent to full (likely referencing new moon, full moon, and quarter phases). This lunar imagery symbolizes the accumulation and transformation of Jing-Qi during cultivation.

This scripture elucidates the core principles of Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy) practice. Using the "moon" as a metaphor for the innate Jing-Qi (essence-energy) within the human body, it points out how people often chase after the external moon (symbolizing worldly pursuits) while neglecting the "moon" that inherently exists within themselves (the prenatal vital energy). This blindness stems from being obscured by mundane distractions (symbolized as "dust-laden clouds and mist").

The key to cultivation lies in "focusing the spirit inward for illumination" — concentrating one's awareness to observe internally. When Jing-Qi becomes abundant, "moonlight" (the sign of vital energy's plenitude) manifests within the body; when the Shen (spirit) reaches completion, essential radiance emerges. The alchemical process follows the progression from One to Three, and from Three to Nine — the foundational pattern of the Golden Elixir (Jindan) path.

The text explains:

• "One" represents the primordial Yuanjing (original essence), the root of cultivation
• "Three" and "Nine" are yang numbers, symbolizing the moon's full phase (Nine being the ultimate yang number)
• The moon (yin in nature) contains solar (yang) qualities, just as water (minor yang) inherently carries vital potential

Essential cultivation methods include:

1. Maintaining mental clarity ("sagely light shining brightly") to let vital dynamics flow naturally

2. Emulating heaven and earth ("embodying Qian and modeling Kun") to attain pure yang state

3. Eliminating selfish desires, anger, and delusions to return to original simplicity

4. Refining the two supreme "medicinals" (alchemical materials) — the Ling (spiritual consciousness) and Zhen (true essence) — within the body's "furnace and cauldron":

• Using Yuanqi (original energy) as the cauldron
• Yuanjing (original essence) as the cooking vessel
• Breath as the fire
• Shen (spirit) as the fuel

5. Restraining the three key portals (mouth, ears, eyes) and harmonizing the five natures (corresponding to the Five Phases)

Successful cultivation manifests through:

• Jade light (soft white radiance) descending from the crown (Kunlun)
• Golden light rising from the abdomen (Huangting)
• The convergence of these lights generating the immortal embryo

This process transcends intellectual understanding ("not measured by knowledge"), revealing profound truth spontaneously upon reaching the state of emptiness. Ultimately, the practitioner undergoes complete transformation to achieve the Golden Elixir.

The scripture concludes that the celestial immortals' secret lies in the union of sun and moon (yin-yang harmony), with the primordial Tianzun's transmitted truth shining like a luminous pearl. This state is neither purely substantial nor completely void — only genuine practitioners can truly comprehend it through direct experience.

This scripture primarily discusses two key aspects:

The first part elucidates the essential principles of Golden Elixir (Jindan) cultivation. Patriarch Zhengyang (Zhongli Quan, a revered Daoist master) once explained that the alchemical process resembles lunar phases - from the new moon to the crescent and then to the first quarter moon, symbolizing three stages of practice. When one achieves the state of "nine luminances fully restored" (jiuying quanfu), the Great Medicine (Danei, internal elixir) becomes perfectly refined within. These are secret teachings from celestial scriptures that shouldn't be treated as ordinary words to be casually read.

The second part contains teachings from Ancestor Lü (Lü Dongbin). He instructed disciples that one must first cultivate filial piety toward parents and fraternal love among siblings before pursuing worldly success. Genuine filial devotion and brotherly affection must stem from sincere hearts, not mere superficial reputation. Though human life is fleeting, one's moral integrity and virtuous conduct can endure eternally.

Ancestor Lü further explained: What we call "immortals" (xian) are those who comprehend cosmic principles and follow the true Dao; "buddhas" manifest compassion to aid all beings; while ordinary humans dwell between good and evil - capable of ascending to immortal or buddha realms, yet equally prone to degradation. To awaken to the Dao and attain immortality, one must perceive the ultimate truths within daily life.

The text concludes by addressing a popular saying: "First comes destiny, then fortune, followed by geomancy, accumulating hidden virtues, and finally study." Ancestor Lü clarifies that "destiny" (ming) refers to heavenly principles, often misunderstood as mere fate determined by birth dates. True celestial mandate, however, encompasses far more profound meanings.

This scripture discusses the relationship between self-cultivation and destiny in human life.

A scholar should aspire to become a sage, striving to be someone indispensable in this world—only then is one worthy of being a disciple of the sages. To believe that gains and losses are entirely predestined and therefore not worth striving for is the narrow view of the unenlightened, hardly befitting a true gentleman. The saying "put destiny first" is mistaken. Consider history: Pei Du rose to become prime minister after returning a lost jade belt to its owner, while Li Deng had his official rank stripped due to misconduct. How can we fully trust claims about fate?

As for geomancy (fengshui), while not entirely unimportant, what did the ancients mean when they said "a kind heart surpasses good burial grounds"? Zhu Xi once ruled on a dispute over a burial site, stating: "If this land doesn't manifest spiritual power, it proves geomancy false; if it does, it proves Heaven's principle unjust." This shows geomancy must align with cosmic principles. Virtuous deeds (De) accumulate through personal effort: an inch of goodness brings an inch of blessing, a foot of goodness brings a foot of blessing. Haven't we seen cases of impoverished people—those fortune-tellers claimed were destined to starve, buried in unremarkable graves—who attained high office and prosperity through persistently accumulating three thousand good deeds?

Studying to understand principles is the path of sages, but letting the unvirtuous study is like having tyrants Jie and Zhou interpret the words of sage-kings Yao and Shun—how could this be right? Thus we need not further discuss destiny.

The human body mirrors the cosmos, with its seasonal changes and waxing-waning of Yin-Yang. In spring's vitality, one feels clear-minded; in summer's abundance, expansive-hearted; in autumn's decline, gradually chilled; in winter's austerity, muscles tense. Human life follows this rhythm: the Yin hour (3-5 AM) resembles spring for planning; the Wu hour (11 AM-1 PM) like summer when plans mature; the Shen hour (3-5 PM) as autumn for completing tasks; the Xu hour (7-9 PM) like winter when all is settled. Therefore, one should practice frugality in youth, first rectifying mind and cultivating virtue (De); in adulthood, act with filial piety, fraternal love, and trustworthy friendship—only then can undertakings succeed. With these foundations of self-cultivation and family harmony secured, by old age—whether in wealth or poverty, as monk or Daoist—one's life achievements will be determined. Those reaching old age with nothing accomplished are fated to remain poor and lowly, forever barred from glory. Thus, one cannot afford to ignore the principles of celestial timing.

This scripture discusses the vicissitudes of human life and essential cultivation methods:

A person's fortunes in life—wealth or poverty, nobility or lowliness—are ever-changing. One may prosper first then decline, or rise from humble beginnings. These fluctuations all stem from personal conduct. As a transmitter of the Dao, I often contemplate enlightening people, but how many truly comprehend? You who cultivate the Dao must remember: when encountering fellow believers, impart these truths to them, that they may spread them among neighbors and awaken more souls.

Time flies—spring and summer swiftly turn to late autumn. How can we not sigh at life's fleeting nature as old age approaches? Those with aspiration must awaken in time, lest they lament in vain when time has slipped away. The foundation of cultivation lies in refining the heart-mind—it must be capable of both expansion and containment. When expanded, trivial matters cannot disturb it; when contained, the mind won't scatter. When the mind settles peacefully within the body, with every thought anchored in practice, one gradually attains a state of constant serenity, day and night. Then the luminous pearl of one's true nature manifests, illuminating heaven and earth. What special techniques exist for attaining immortality? If the human mind resembles the turbid Yellow River laden with silt, how can it become clear and still? How then can its radiance appear? To remain mired in confusion throughout life—is this not lamentable?

Secondly, one must diligently perform virtuous deeds: refrain from evil actions, malicious thoughts, and harmful speech. Treat others with the same loyalty as you would yourself—care for orphans and widows, respect the elderly, and show compassion to the poor. Only thus can merit (De) accumulate. Most crucial is aiding those in distress—helping bury the dead when possible, assisting in marriages—these create the greatest merit. Merely printing moral exhortations that ultimately become superficial, perhaps even used by the indifferent to cover pickle jars, cancels out merit with fault. Far better to perform tangible good deeds.

Modern people grow conceited after minor good deeds, complaining of unrewarded efforts. Remember the ancient sages taught us: "accumulating virtue," "accumulating merit," and "accumulating goodness" require lifelong commitment.

This passage from Yulu Daguang (Comprehensive Collection of Sayings) expounds on the principles of accumulating virtue through good deeds and self-cultivation.

Worldly blessings are not attained through one or two isolated acts of kindness. Those who appear to receive abundant rewards from a single good deed are actually benefiting from the accumulated virtue (De) of their ancestors over generations. Of course, there are exceptions—great acts like saving a life naturally carry extraordinary merit. Throughout one's life, one should courageously embrace goodness when encountering it. As the ancients said, "Do not refrain from small acts of kindness, nor commit minor wrongdoings"—these two phrases encapsulate the essential truth. Accumulating virtue is like digging a well: each foot of depth brings corresponding blessings to descendants, for such is the natural retribution of the Dao (the Way).

The text then presents the "Eight Treasures for Posterity" as guiding principles: filial piety and fraternal love form the foundation; one's heart should maintain loyalty and trustworthiness; personal conduct requires diligence and frugality; treat others with generosity; forbearance dissolves calamities; nurturing life strengthens the body; approach others with benevolence; contentment preserves one's original nature. There are no other secrets to proper conduct—a harmonious countenance naturally attracts people, while excessive sharpness invites misfortune. One must particularly guard against harsh words that wound others and shallow, shortsighted thoughts, as these most severely deplete one's hidden virtue.

Finally, the text discusses humanity's inherently good nature. People become corrupted through the seduction of desires and the influence of bad habits. Indulging desires ultimately leads to rejection by Heaven. The method of seeking the Dao (the Way) lies in fulfilling human affairs while aligning with heavenly principles—this "Heaven" refers not to the blue sky but to the innate virtues within the human heart: loyalty, filial piety, moral integrity, and righteousness. By practicing the "Eight Treasures for Posterity," one encompasses the path to becoming a sage, an immortal (Xian), or a Buddha.

The Great Dao originally exists within heaven and earth and within human beings—it is people themselves who deviate from and distance themselves from it. This explains why worldly seekers fail to grasp the true essence despite daily striving.

Day after day, people aspire to cultivate the Dao and attain immortality, yet fail to constantly restrain wandering thoughts and return to their original nature. How can such an approach ever harmonize with the Dao? Daoist practice emphasizes the profound mystery (referring to deep spiritual states), requiring the dual cultivation of nature and life (xing and ming, meaning both mind-nature and vital energy). Confucianism stresses sincerity (cheng), yet similarly attends to both aspects of cultivation. In truth, Confucianism and Daoism share the same origin—their principles are fundamentally aligned.

When Confucius (the Master) avoided discussing profound mysteries while focusing solely on sincerity, he feared people might fall into delusion or be misled by heterodox teachings. Thus he emphasized sincerity without delving into esoteric matters. Consider how The Doctrine of the Mean speaks of "absolute sincerity without duality"—isn't this precisely the most profound mystical state?

Achieving undivided focus leads to sincerity, and sincerity transforms all things. Any interruption violates the Dao, making it impossible to mirror heaven and earth's ceaseless rotation or the sun and moon's eternal cycles. Through perfect sincerity, the dull-witted gain wisdom, the weak become strong, and at its ultimate stage, one may even foresee events—isn't this the manifestation of the "mystery beyond mystery" (the profoundest depth)? Such mystical truth transcends language; Confucius' state of "sincere unity without duality" likewise defies description. Only through daily practice, upon reaching the unity of sincerity and mystery, will one inwardly realize subtleties beyond others' comprehension.

Human beings are but condensed essence of heaven and earth. Heavenly principle (tianli) endows human nature, and celestial mandate (tianming) resides in the physical form. Human principle is heavenly principle; human nature is celestial nature—heaven and humanity were originally one. Yet with acquired knowledge, people change according to habitual tendencies, causing the separation of heaven and humanity. The profound method of the Dao aims to reunite them. Ask yourself: what belongs to heaven? What belongs to humanity?

The secret of Daoist cultivation lies nowhere but in purifying the heart-mind. When the mind becomes clear as a mirror, free from distracting thoughts and selfish desires—like the spotless moon untainted by dust—the Dao-body spontaneously manifests. Sadly, worldly people bustle about incessantly, never allowing their minds a moment of stillness. Such hearts have long withered—how could they attain immortality or realize the Dao? Remember: this physical body is ultimately decaying bones; only the original spirit (shen, the spiritual essence) endures. The spirit relies on vital essence (jing, life energy)—when essence is exhausted, how can the spirit persist? Recognizing this reveals the preciousness of essence. How wasteful to squander it recklessly!

Since you have already taken refuge in the Daoist path, you should begin cultivation without delay—starting now is already late enough, let alone while you're still in the prime of your physical strength. How can you resign yourselves to self-abandonment? Time lost never returns, and a person's Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) will gradually decline, becoming difficult to restore. If you indulge in comfort and idleness, by the time you grow old and weak, you will find yourself trapped in the impermanence of suffering.

Speaking of cultivation, not everyone must leave home and renounce the world. Simply live your daily life with a clear conscience, remain vigilant at all times, and prevent the Daoist heart from being lost. There’s no need to deliberately pursue techniques like "extracting lead and adding mercury" (a Neidan/internal alchemy term referring to balancing Yin-Yang within the body). The key lies in: not depleting your primordial Qi, not harming your Shen (spirit), not confusing your Jing (essence), not shaking your fundamental heart, not disturbing your innate nature, not clinging to personal opinions, and not overexerting your body. Maintain stillness to nurture, steadfastness to uphold, and rectitude to protect—such householder practice is no different from monastic cultivation.

Cultivation progresses through ten stages: realizing the innate true nature, attaining the origin of life, gathering the spiritual essence of all things, preserving the refined energy of the Five Phases, discarding worldly turbidity, safeguarding the primordial Shen (spirit), comprehending the principles of Yin-Yang, returning to the source of the Dao, finding the true path, and ultimately achieving the body of chaos (a state of returning to pristine simplicity). This is the sequence of cultivation described in the Scripture of Forming the Chaos Embryo.

Cultivating the mind and nature should be like water: the heart should resemble a still lake without ripples, while the innate nature remains serene—yet thoughts may still move. As long as thoughts move in harmony with the nature, one attains a state that appears restrained yet is truly free. Like the vast ocean, seemingly boundless yet with defined limits, the same holds true when reaching profound states in Daoist practice—when body and mind reside at the "center of the great ocean" (a metaphor for the highest stage of cultivation), the heart holds no distracting thoughts, only pure awareness of life. Persisting in this way, the innate nature naturally becomes vibrant, and delusions fade of their own accord.

Human nature is inherently free from attachment—it is delusion that creates fixation. Simply refrain from following deluded thoughts, and the mind-nature will remain clear, naturally understanding truth. Acting in accordance with truth, delusions vanish on their own. This is the method of "clarifying the heart and purifying thoughts."

The Dao must not be spoken of lightly, and cultivation must not be treated as child’s play. Self-cultivation begins with oneself, and guarding primordial Qi should be as firm as a mountain. Heaven’s Qi is metallic and cold in nature, while Earth’s Qi is fiery and warm—yet one must first understand the method of harmonizing Yin-Yang. Just as Yang energy ascends in winter and Earth’s energy rises in spring—when true Yang lies dormant, cold prevails; when true Yin descends, warmth arises. This season is precisely the state of pure Yin.

At the moment of Yang Qi's initial emergence (Daoist practice emphasizes the birth of Yang energy during the midnight hour), one must guide the heart fire (the energy of Shen) downward to the lower Dantian (the Water Palace of Kan), then draw up the true fire from the Yongquan acupoint at the soles of the feet to unite with it. The specific method is as follows: at midnight, close the heart's aperture and all bodily pores, allowing the true fire to rise naturally. Then massage the Tianmen acupoint at the crown of the head and rub the soles of the feet until warm. After completing these steps, Yang Qi will naturally flourish throughout the body, bringing mental clarity and physical vitality—one will then grasp the profound subtlety of this practice. At this moment, the mind should be as clear and open as the newly formed heavens and earth, maintaining a state of no-knowledge and no-sensation. This is the precious moment when the primordial Shen manifests. If one persists in this cultivation, body and mind will renew daily like the vitality of spring.

Though the heart-mind cannot be seen or touched, if left unchecked to chase external things, our senses become enslaved by material desires. The key to gathering a scattered mind lies in the character "stillness." Yet true stillness is not about thinking nothing or doing nothing—it must be cultivated daily. If one maintains inner focus in ordinary life and upholds the Dao's principles, neither beauty nor sensual temptations can disturb the mind. This state appears as if the mind moves yet remains unmoved. Conversely, without inner mastery, one will panic when facing challenges, and even in solitude, distracting thoughts will invade like being trapped in an army of millions—peace becomes impossible.

(This passage contains precious instructions from the Yunyi Hall at Digang, Huzhou. The area gathers numinous Qi, where divine manifestations frequently bless the people, teaching loyalty and filial piety—its miraculous deeds have been passed down for generations.) The hidden Neidan cultivation secrets within are difficult for those without spiritual roots to comprehend, and only the clear-sighted can perceive their depths. The original text contained fifteen sections, yet most circulated versions preserve only two. In truth, these fifteen sections amount to less than one percent of Yunyi Hall's original manuscript. We now publish according to the common version, hoping future destined individuals may recover the complete original—like restoring flawless jade to its wholeness.

(Additional context: Yunyi Hall was an important Daoist cultivation site; "precious instructions" refer to essential teachings left by accomplished masters. Terms like "Water Palace (Kan)," "Yongquan," and "Tianmen" denote key acupoints in Daoist practice, while the midnight hour marks the critical transition between Yin and Yang. These terms embody the Daoist cultivation principle of "correspondence between heaven and human.")

This passage records the teachings of Lüzu (Lü Dongbin, one of the Daoist Eight Immortals) on cultivation and the path of virtuous living, presenting several core principles:

The profound significance of releasing life (a form of mercy) lies in how saving a single being generates countless opportunities for life. The liberated creature not only escapes slaughter but may eventually reincarnate as a human through the rebirth cycle of scaled creatures. Upon obtaining human form, one gains the opportunity for spiritual awakening—whether through the Daoist path to immortality, the Buddhist path, or Confucian sagehood, all fundamentally begin with compassion for living beings.

Regarding the practice of observing Gengshen days (Daoist fasting periods), Lüzu particularly emphasizes that this is not merely formal abstinence but a crucial opportunity for mind cultivation. On Gengshen days, one should rigorously examine merits and faults, correcting behavior with reverent awe. Over time, this cultivates extraordinary character. Though immediate effects may not be visible, such accumulated practice reveals its worth during life's great trials.

The foundation of virtuous living has three levels: foremost is filial piety and fraternal love, followed by loyalty and trustworthiness, and third is the continuous accumulation of good deeds. Lüzu observes that true cultivation manifests in daily conduct—those who perfectly embody human virtue are never far from becoming immortals (xian), Buddhas, or sages. The key lies in persistently refining one's nature, maintaining a pure and undistracted state, thereby naturally harmonizing with the Dao (the Way).

The text highlights the importance of the "ledger of merits and faults" (gongguoge), a practical tool for recording good and bad deeds in cultivation practice. Through daily recording and reflection, practitioners tangibly perceive their progress, thus strengthening their commitment to the Dao. When the mind achieves true stability, even advanced practices like "worshipping the Dipper" (a Daoist ritual venerating the Northern Star) will unfold naturally. Lüzu concludes: the principles of virtuous living, the path to immortality or Buddhahood, and Confucian sage teachings are ultimately one and the same.

This scripture expounds the foundation of cultivating immortality and the awakening of human consciousness. The celestial registers record countless living beings, yet only one in a hundred passes the examination conducted every one hundred twenty days to descend to earth. This reveals that all people possess the roots of immortality (Xian gen), though few recognize this within themselves. Even worldly individuals who merely know a few characters, harbor a bit of kindness, or perform occasional good deeds inherently carry the potential for immortal cultivation.

Those who attain wealth and honor—whether great or small—do so because their roots of immortality bring them blessings, though the depth of these roots varies, resulting in differing levels of achievement. People live in dreams without realizing it; only through awakening can wisdom arise. When the light of wisdom illuminates the inner self, one comprehends their origin and the path that led them to the present. If awakened, diligent practice can guide them back to the source, just as hearing the oriole's song reminds one of fallen leaves returning to their roots.

The unawakened believe life is simply as it appears, squandering time in delusion and fantasy while imagining they enjoy life's pleasures. Unaware, they deplete their blessings like felling a tree until its roots are damaged. Exhausting blessings in this life while accumulating misdeeds creates future karmic debts—when will liberation come? Sinking deeper into samsara is like being trapped in mire, increasingly difficult to escape.

A final admonition to disciples of the Three Teachings: Confucian scholars should truly embody the essence of Confucius and Mencius' teachings on establishing one's life purpose, not superficially posturing while harboring greed like the ancient robber Zhi. Daoist cultivators must grasp Laozi's true intent of transcending worldly attachments through spiritual refinement, not merely wearing robes and holding horsetail whisks while craving fame and wealth. Buddhist practitioners should realize the state of liberation, not just carrying alms bowls and donning robes while clinging to wine, lust, and deceit. Those who understand these awakening teachings and become enlightened are the true seeds of the Three Teachings, destined to attain the ranks of immortals, buddhas, and sages.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principles of cultivation across the Three Teachings (Confucianism, Daoism, and Buddhism) and the retribution of good and evil. The text points out that those who rashly denigrate any of these three traditions are actually the "black sheep" within them, destined to fall into hell without hope of liberation—a warning to all.

The path of cultivation lies in accumulating merit (De) and eliminating transgressions. Just as numerous small beads are strung together to form a necklace, virtuous deeds must be accumulated bit by bit. The author mentions having performed rituals at Daoist altars to absolve disciples' karmic burdens, hoping they may renew themselves, liberate their ancestors, and become truly filial children. He emphasizes that while being human is difficult, spiritual cultivation is even harder—yet by never abandoning one's fundamental human duties and persisting in lifelong practice, one can gradually erase faults and accumulate merit.

Several cautionary examples are given: thieves who steal, those who complain that virtuous acts bear no fruit, and skeptics who doubt their master's spiritual power. The author reflects on his own initial confusion when beginning cultivation, fortunately resolved through the guidance of his master Zhongli Quan (one of the Eight Immortals). Now he seeks to mentor disciples as his teacher once did him, though he wonders whether they might abandon the path midway.

Finally, through a question-and-answer format, the text clarifies truths about longevity and the realms of heaven and hell: The elixir of immortality (Jindan) truly exists, enabling one to unite with the Dao like King Wen of Zhou, attaining indestructible perfection. Regarding heaven and hell, the author explains these as natural laws governing the Three Realms (heaven, earth, and humanity). The virtuous, with radiant hearts aligned with Yang Qi, ascend to celestial realms, while the wicked, shrouded in darkness attuned to Yin Qi, descend into the underworld. Hell operates like a worldly magistrate's court, meticulously examining human transgressions and rewarding good deeds.

This scripture describes how the suffering of illness mirrors the torments of hell, with each affliction corresponding to a specific infernal punishment:

When a person lies bedridden in sickness, they endure trials akin to hell. The ulceration of heart and belly resembles the Knife-Mountain Hell; the rotting of the throat is like the Plow-Tilling Hell; the scorching heat of the body evokes the Fire-Pit Hell; the agony of being scalded by boiling liquids mirrors the Cauldron Hell.

Sores on the head feel as if one is roasted over a brazier; abscesses on the waist are like being crushed by hidden stones; the torment of pus and blood covering the body is none other than the Knife-Forest Hell; convulsions and unbearable pain replicate the Torture-Pole Hell. The heaviness of the body, making movement difficult, mirrors the Grindstone Hell; the pain of broken bones resembles the Mortar Hell.

A body covered in sores with no intact skin reflects the Flaying Hell; stabbing pains throughout the body feel like the Sawing Hell; smelling food but being unable to swallow it is the Hunger-Ghost Hell; seeing beloved objects but failing to discern them clearly is the Darkness Hell. Vomiting blood endlessly or excreting blood by the bucketful—is this not the Blood-Lake Hell? Pain here like a snake bite, there like a hedgehog’s prick—does this not mirror the Village-of-Malicious-Dogs Hell?

Alternating chills and fever, thick clothes failing to warm, boiling water feeling cold—such suffering resembles the Ice-Mountain Hell. Being unable to eat, barely clothed, bedridden for so long that sunlight is forgotten, or being shackled and whipped—it is as if one has fallen into the Avīci Hell (the deepest hell in Buddhism). These are all clear proofs that human illness corresponds to the punishments of hell.

In contrast, those who ride in grand carriages drawn by fine horses, surrounded by attendants, draped in gold and purple, feasting on delicacies, obtaining whatever they desire, living freely and without care—such people might as well dwell in paradise.

Finally, the author recalls a time before attaining the Dao, when he traveled to the region of Sishui in Shandong disguised as a village schoolteacher. There he met a nobleman named Ji Sizhou, who was devoted to the study of xingming (the Daoist cultivation of nature and life). His three sons all studied the Yijing (Book of Changes). The author discussed with them the principles of the "prior heaven" and "posterior heaven" (Daoist theories on the origin and evolution of the cosmos), and Sizhou, delighted, invited the author to instruct his children—the eldest named Tong, the second named Da.

Ji Zi, a modest and virtuous scholar, paid his respects to me with the solemnity of a disciple. Among those who accompanied me in my scholarly travels were like-minded companions such as Shen Yuan, Kong Da Zhou, Yi Jingbai, Liang Gong, Sun Yu, Chen Kun, Wang Zixian, Wang Zizong, Meng Ji, Kong Yinzhe, Kong Cheng, and Kong Ji. These individuals all possessed the capacity to transcend worldly concerns and apprehend the great Dao, much like the disciples who once gathered around Confucius. However, among them, only Lu Shao, Ji Wang, and Zongsheng, though gifted with literary brilliance, displayed coarse and irreverent behavior.

One day, while expounding upon the Analects passage that states, "Even with the talents and virtue of the Duke of Zhou, if one is arrogant and miserly, all other qualities become worthless," I elaborated further: The Duke of Zhou, endowed with heavenly gifts, diligently cultivated himself day and night, embodying the virtues of the sage-kings of the Three Dynasties and implementing numerous benevolent policies. As regent, he quelled rumors to stabilize the Zhou court, pacified rebellions in the eastern campaigns, presided over grand sacrificial rites, and established far-reaching state policies. His abilities were indeed consummate, yet he remained humble enough to honor worthies beneath his station and practice sympathetic consideration. He would interrupt his meal to receive visiting shepherds, pause while washing his hair to heed craftsmen's advice—never complacent, but tirelessly pursuing perfection in hopes that all under heaven and future generations might attain genuine wisdom. This represents the true talent and virtue of the Duke of Zhou, worthy of eternal praise.

Had the Duke flaunted his abilities and guarded his virtues jealously, fearing others might surpass him, then his talents would have been mere trivialities and his virtue empty reputation—utterly unworthy of regard. If even someone of the Duke's stature could not afford arrogance and miserliness, how much less those of lesser ability with but a single skill? The higher one's position, the graver the consequences of such faults: the Son of Heaven would lose his mandate, feudal lords their states, ministers their households, and commoners their very selves. So profound are the harms of arrogance and miserliness! As you study the Way of the sages—destined to assist rulers, govern nations, fulfill your potentials, honor your ancestors, and become paragons in this world—how can you fail to guard against these faults?

This scripture primarily expounds on the importance of De (Virtue/Power) and the principles of sympathetic resonance between human hearts and the unity of heaven and humanity.

Lüzu (Lü Dongbin) instructed his disciples thus: When people recognize their faults, they must correct them; even without faults, they should still cultivate self-discipline. Upon hearing this teaching, two disciples blushed with shame and perspired in reverence as they humbly accepted the instruction. Within less than a season, their confusions melted away like ice and snow, transforming them into more humble and yielding individuals.

The scripture employs the metaphor of "a crane singing beneath the tree shade while its fledgling harmonizes" to illustrate how all things in creation respond to their own kind and seek their corresponding Qi (vital energy). Just as tastes, sounds, and sights naturally attract their affinities, so too do human hearts share common inclinations. What all hearts collectively recognize as noble is precisely De—the most precious quality bestowed by heaven and the true aspiration of the human spirit.

Those who possess complete De naturally receive "heavenly nobility" (celestial rank) and people's reverence. All who preserve their innate goodness will spontaneously feel the desire to follow such virtue, regardless of geography, age, or social status. What delights one will delight others equally; what inspires admiration in one will inspire the same in all.

The cyclical patterns of growth and withdrawal in heaven and earth, as well as the foundation for human stability and livelihood, all reside in this De. By maintaining pristine virtue, one transcends chaotic desires and attains a state of profound serenity. Thus harmonized with the cosmos, one resonates with all creation as naturally as the crane and its fledgling singing in harmony.

The concluding section reveals: Heaven and earth form a vast labyrinth, while past and present constitute an intricate puzzle. The hells and heavens, the six paths of rebirth, resemble winding trails in this maze; wealth and poverty, longevity and premature death, all appear as deluded thoughts within this illusory realm. Without awakened beings in this world, who could possibly see through these fundamental delusions?

Note: The "Jade Pure" mentioned refers to one of the Three Pure Realms (Sanqing) in Daoism. "Fu You Supreme Sovereign Chunyang Lüzu" refers to Lü Dongbin of the Eight Immortals, revered as a patriarch in Daoism. "Heavenly nobility" denotes the noble status conferred by heaven, in contrast to worldly titles.

Ordinary people often mistake east for west and confuse south with north, yet loudly proclaim to guide others. The Awakened Buddha (Mahāvīra), compassionate toward the delusion of sentient beings, manifested in the Western Pure Land (Sukhavati) and preached in the Southern Continent (Jambudvīpa), hoping all could break free from the prison of confusion and find the right path. Yet truly few transcend the Five Turbidities (kalpa-turbidity, view-turbidity, affliction-turbidity, sentient-being-turbidity, lifespan-turbidity) and escape the Three Realms (Desire Realm, Form Realm, Formless Realm) through self-realization.

Alas! Humans remain inverted by delusory thoughts, cycle after kalpa. To suddenly expect them to perceive emptiness, dissolve the Five Skandhas (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness), and transform the Eight Consciousnesses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind, manas, ālaya) into the Four Wisdoms (mirror-like wisdom, equality wisdom, discerning wisdom, accomplishing wisdom)—how could this be easy? Better to guide them toward stability within delusion, using joyful teachings for awakening. Thus, exhortations to pursue blessings and avoid calamity must spread swiftly; the principles of karmic retribution demand urgent explanation.

What fixed standard defines blessings? In general: beings fallen into the Three Wretched Paths (hell, hungry ghosts, animals) consider human rebirth a blessing; humans dream of celestial ascent as blessing; celestial beings see liberation from samsara as true blessing. Clearly, blessings have no absolute measure. Specifically: the poor deem wealth a blessing, the wealthy crave power, while the powerful yearn for serene non-action (Wuwei). Delving deeper: the cold and hungry prize warmth and fullness, the satiated chase delicacies, yet the glutted rediscover plain tea and simple fare as blessings.

Though conceptions of blessing evolve, upward aspiration prevents degradation. Telling others, "Follow me to transcend fortune and misfortune," invites rejection; saying, "Learn with me to avoid calamity and gain blessings," draws earnest listeners. Guiding through human nature—though expedient—aligns with fundamental truth.

Pure Yang Master (Lü Dongbin's Daoist name) long contemplated Zen Master Huanglong's teachings. Though transcending worldly dust, his heart remains bound to sentient beings. Pitiable are those lost in lifelong delusion; hopeful is their persistent pursuit of virtue. Thus he descended through planchette, expounding karmic cause and effect for scholars east of Lake Ge, titling this "Guide to Blessed Retribution"—for through its practice, upward liberation is assured.

This passage elucidates the wisdom of how to properly approach fortune and misfortune, movement and stillness, as well as internal and external merits during Daoist cultivation.

Lü Dongbin (the Pure Yang Master) points out: those who can transform calamity into blessing never deliberately seek to avoid misfortune or pursue good fortune. Just as a compass needle naturally points south, if cultivators can persevere with such natural diligence, ultimately breaking through illusory emptiness, transcending the bonds of the Five Aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, and consciousness), and transforming the Eight Consciousnesses (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, mind, manas, and alaya) into the Four Wisdoms (Great Mirror Wisdom, Equality Wisdom, Observing Wisdom, and Accomplishing Wisdom), this achievement is not truly difficult.

Regarding stillness meditation practice, Patriarch Lü emphasizes: genuine stillness work doesn't lie in forcibly pursuing a motionless state. If one suppresses thoughts during seated meditation, the mind will become even more chaotic when active. One should cultivate awareness during daily activities so that both movement and stillness can maintain tranquility. If the human mind cannot reach the state of thoughtless awareness, it will struggle to commune with the Dao of Heaven. Because the Heavenly Dao operates naturally without thought, a mind clinging to attachments cannot master destiny but will instead be bound by it.

Cultivation requires balanced development of both internal and external aspects without neglecting either. For every step of progress in internal work (mind-nature cultivation), external conduct naturally improves accordingly; when tenfold good deeds accumulate, the heart-mind necessarily grows tenfold. Those of superior capacity may begin with internal cultivation, while ordinary people should start with accumulating virtuous deeds. Laozi emphasizes accumulating "one thousand three hundred virtues" rather than "one thousand three hundred merits," because "merits" refer to forced individual good acts, while "virtues" stem from innate lifelong cultivation.

When accumulating virtuous deeds, one must remember: never act for fame or profit, but regard it as one's fundamental duty. If calculations of gain and loss remain in the heart, the merit becomes incomplete and cannot yield true blessings. The ancients spoke of "thoroughly reforming past wrongs," meaning to uproot bad habits completely rather than making superficial corrections. Practitioners should constantly bear these principles in mind.

This scripture elucidates two essential aspects of spiritual cultivation:

First, it emphasizes the necessity of rigorous practice. The author recounts his personal journey—whenever recognizing a fault, he would vow never to repeat it. Should the mistake recur, he would punish himself by burning incense on his scalp. Over three years, he endured this 683 times until his virtue (De) became complete, whereupon the Patriarch transmitted the Great Elixir (a supreme Neidan practice), enabling his attainment of the Dao. He admonishes future practitioners that to achieve enlightenment, one must either undertake such severe self-discipline or at minimum engage in Buddhist-style repentance rituals like "kneeling incense" (a practice of penitence while kneeling before burning incense), as earnest austerity is indispensable for accomplishment.

Next, it reveals the mental approach to cultivation: walk slowly to avoid stumbling, rest peacefully to remain untroubled. Practitioners must first cultivate patience and broad-mindedness, then develop absolute determination (complete detachment). Neither dwell on the past nor fret about the future. Obsessing over past errors perpetuates ingrained habits, while worrying about tomorrow makes the path seem endless. Instead, relax the mind, focus on the present, and abide in one's true nature. Every virtuous act accumulates merit, whereas impatience breeds ulterior motives that adulterate practice, making it impure and prone to abandonment.

Later, Huang Jianji raises a question about karmic causality across three lifetimes: If evil seeds were planted in past incarnations, must one inevitably suffer in this life? Just as a peach pit can only grow a peach tree, how could it possibly bear plums? The Patriarch explains through grafting metaphor: Though the tree's roots remain peach, if the trunk is cut and plum branches grafted, plums will grow. Similarly, though one may be born with marks of poverty or low status, thoroughly reforming one's faults and turning toward goodness can alter destiny. As Master Yungu (a renowned Ming Dynasty Chan Buddhist master) taught: "All past deeds belong to yesterday's death—the crucial transformation happens now."

(Note: "Great Elixir" refers to advanced Neidan practice; "kneeling incense" denotes Buddhist repentance rituals; "Yungu" refers to the eminent Chan master Yungu of the Ming Dynasty)

This passage uses the metaphor of tree grafting to illustrate the principle of practitioners transforming their habitual tendencies. Just as when grafting plum and apricot trees, if the original buds (suckers) are retained, true transformation becomes difficult. Similarly, if a person retains even the slightest trace of old habits, it will be hard to change their Qi (vital energy) constitution and attain the appearance of nobility and prosperity. This is because ingrained tendencies grow most easily, while the bad habits of the old self are the hardest to eradicate. Even after successful transformation, one must remain vigilant against the resurgence of old habits—just as grafted trees will wither if new shoots regrow, the slightest revival of old tendencies will diminish the nobility and prosperity already attained.

Regarding the question of why exemplary figures like Yan Hui (Confucius' virtuous disciple) died young while notorious bandits like Dao Zhi (legendary robber) lived long lives, the Patriarch explains that all karmic retribution originates from mental states. The Buddha taught that "when the mind arises, all phenomena arise; when the mind ceases, all phenomena cease." Did Yan Hui, who practiced self-restraint and returned to propriety, engaging in Xinzhai (heart-fasting) and Zuowang (sitting in forgetfulness—Daoist meditation methods), do so to seek wealth and status? Since he sought no such worldly rewards, the conditions for them naturally didn't manifest. His pursuit was perfecting human virtue to become a sage, thus establishing an eternal model of sageliness. Meanwhile, Dao Zhi indulged in violence, sowing seeds that inevitably bore bitter fruit. The workings of karma are complex—there's no need to fixate on particular phenomena that seem contradictory.

Worldly people often consider wealth, longevity, and numerous descendants as blessings, but enlightened individuals view wealth as a burden, longevity as fleeting as a white steed's shadow, and many children as encumbrances. Fortune and misfortune are inherently impermanent—everything depends on one's perspective. Deeper blessings transcend worldly prosperity: when practitioners accumulate sufficient merit, earthly rewards become inadequate recompense, and they ascend to enjoy celestial blessings. The prosperity of heavenly realms far surpasses human standards—all earthly riches combined cannot compare to celestial blessings. Just as Huang Sheng's doubts should be resolved, the key lies in the purity of one's mental state and the depth of spiritual cultivation.

The worldly riches and honors of human life cannot compare to even one-thousandth of the blessings in the celestial realms. While human lifespan barely reaches a hundred years, celestial beings measure their existence in kalpas (a Buddhist time unit equivalent to approximately 4.32 billion human years) — even a single day in heaven surpasses earthly longevity. Moreover, the blessings of rebirth in the Pure Land (Buddhist Sukhāvatī) exceed celestial merits by hundreds, thousands, even billions of times. Only those with profound virtue and deep cultivation, whose merits cannot be repaid by heavenly rewards alone, ultimately attain rebirth in the Land of Ultimate Bliss. Know this: all immortals and buddhas embody such immeasurable blessings that words cannot describe them — how could ordinary people ever belittle such attainment?

The cultivation practices of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism all emphasize mind refinement. When one's heart turns sincerely toward goodness, the mind naturally stabilizes. The Confucian teaching that "knowing where to stop brings stability" and the Buddhist principle that "precepts give rise to meditative concentration" both express this truth. Even without deliberate practice of Tu'na (Daoist breathing techniques) or seated meditation, a mind free from restless thoughts already surpasses forced cultivation. Yet genuine transformation requires earnest repentance — without true remorse, spiritual progress remains impossible. Like painting on pristine white canvas that reveals vibrant colors, cultivation fails when the "canvas" of one's heart remains stained, no matter how many techniques are applied.

Ordinary minds, having not yet perceived their true nature, remain obscured by countless worldly thoughts that cling to external phenomena like glue. Compounded by ingrained habits, random thoughts arise and vanish without cause, appearing and disappearing countless times daily. Even those who vigorously suppress these thoughts fail to recognize that suppression itself constitutes deluded thinking — creating more agitation without real benefit. Only those who perceive their mind's true essence can let authentic awareness preside, causing all delusions to vanish like snowflakes on a red-hot stove. Using deluded thoughts to suppress delusions resembles sending thieves to arrest thieves — merely overcrowding the prison without solving the root problem.

In cultivating the "reverent focus" practice (maintaining respectful concentration), the crucial work lies in handling emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure. Beginners must first refrain from anticipating future joys or dwelling on past pleasures, maintaining a mind vast as empty space, untainted by dust. Even when encountering delightful circumstances, one should merely observe without indulgence. Through sustained practice... [text continues]

This scripture elucidates three essential aspects of spiritual cultivation:

The first section discusses maintaining a mind as steady as a clear mirror. The heart-mind should resemble a stage-hung mirror that reflects all theatrical roles—the heroic, the virtuous, the painted-face, and the clown—while remaining utterly unmoved. Practitioners must observe their inner state amidst activity and stillness, immediately dissolving any emerging emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, or pleasure upon detection. This constitutes the foundational practice for beginners.

The second section reveals the connection between filial piety and celestial principles. Just as Heaven nurtures all beings, our parents give us life. A filial child comprehends parental intentions through "seeing the formless and hearing the soundless"—an approach identical to perceiving heavenly will. Those who bring genuine joy to their parents will never be forsaken by Heaven, and such individuals are destined to achieve celestial immortality.

The third section details Neidan (internal alchemy) practices that share the same essence with Zen meditation—both require mastering the six sense roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind). Specific methods include: pressing the tongue against the palate to control the tongue root, practicing internal breathing to regulate the nose root, lowering the gaze inward to govern the eye root, reversing auditory attention to master the ear root, forgetting physical form while preserving Qi to discipline the body root, and maintaining unwavering centeredness to command the mind root. The mind root is paramount—authentic "centered preservation" doesn't refer to any physical location but a mental state free from dullness or distraction. Fixation on specific bodily positions leads to heterodox paths.

The conclusion emphasizes that rebirth in pure lands requires accumulated virtuous deeds. The scripture explicitly states that minimal merit or virtue proves insufficient for attaining the Buddha-realms.

This scripture elucidates that the foundation of cultivating immortality or Buddhahood lies in accumulating virtuous deeds and inner cultivation. The text emphasizes that observing the Ten Virtues (refraining from killing, stealing, and other fundamental moral precepts) constitutes the basic requirement for rebirth in the Pure Land or achieving Daoist transcendence. Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan) taught that while Dao cultivation depends both on personal effort and heavenly decree, those who commit evil deeds can never attain immortality or Buddhahood. Laozi (the Supreme Venerable Sovereign) similarly stressed that aspiring celestial immortals must accumulate 1,300 virtuous acts.

True sages and immortals always benefit all beings. Those who chant Buddha's name seeking rebirth in the Pure Land must cultivate compassion and altruism, otherwise they can never achieve resonance with the Buddha's nature. The same principle applies to Daoist cultivation. The essence of Buddha-recitation lies in single-minded concentration rather than attachment to form. Like medicine that must be ingested to cure illness—merely looking at or smelling the remedy brings no healing—it's equally absurd to obsess over counting recitations while neglecting mind cultivation.

Genuine practice requires both internal and external cultivation: chanting serves as medicine to eliminate distracting thoughts, while virtuous deeds function as nourishing tonics. Authentic "dual cultivation of nature and life" (xingming shuangxiu, where 'nature' refers to spiritual essence and 'life' to physical vitality) combines inner mind refinement with outward virtuous conduct. Mental cultivation must reach the state of non-attachment and thoughtless awareness, as the Buddha taught: "All conditioned phenomena are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, or shadows." Ordinary people often cling to superficial forms, tragically mistaking the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself.

The text concludes by emphasizing that medicine must be swallowed to take effect, just as Buddha-recitation requires heartfelt engagement. As medicine is drunk sip by sip, sacred invocations must arise from the depths of one's being. This constitutes the true path of cultivation.

This is the method for cultivating true settled mind. Here, "mind" does not refer to the physical heart but to the conscious mind that generates thoughts. This conscious mind has no fixed location—some seek to anchor it using Buddhist concepts, but why then search for the locus of awareness during Buddha-recitation?

To truly comprehend the profound meaning of Buddha-recitation, one must engage in investigative realization. This inquiry requires generating "doubt sensation"—only when this doubt reaches an intensity where one feels neither able to live nor die can the root attachment of consciousness be severed. Practitioner Zhang Qian attempts to locate the next thought through memory, yet no "next thought" exists—this creates genuine doubt sensation. When sustained with sufficient skill, the mind settles, yet this very settling diminishes the urgency for seeking the Dao. How can this not provoke transformation?

Now I tell Zhang Qian: Who exactly is reciting the Buddha's name? Though this appears as a ready-made gongan (Zen investigation topic), without understanding this, ultimate awakening remains impossible. The key to breaking Zhang Qian's accumulated habitual tendencies lies precisely in this word "who"—cherish this opportunity for investigation.

During Buddha-recitation, Zhang Qian's mind maintains relative focus without excessive scattering. Yet when attempting investigative recollection, he still falls into empty states—merely temporarily restraining surface consciousness without truly seeing either the Buddha or his authentic self. This resembles what ancient masters criticized as "pressing grass beneath a stone"—superficial suppression without root severance. In truth, "I am Buddha, Buddha is me"—originally undivided. Thus without seeing true self, one cannot see true Buddha; without seeing true Buddha, one cannot see true self. Authentic realization is essential—empty theorizing won't suffice.

Even temporarily restrained, if inner urgency remains insufficient, how can true mind be discovered? Henceforth when reciting, contemplate: What does this Buddha-name truly represent? Is it me or not-me? Which aspects of myself can become Buddha? Which cannot? Investigate thoroughly this way.

If claiming "every part of you is Buddha"—your eyes aren't Buddha, nor your ears—upon close examination, nowhere seems Buddha. Why? Ordinary eyes see limitedly while Buddha-eyes perceive universally—you cannot see crossroads in dark rooms though possessing eyes, so how claim Buddhahood? Ears likewise fail hearing simultaneous speech. Yet if claiming "no part is Buddha"—what Buddha-eyes see, your eyes see; what Buddha-ears hear, your ears hear—where lies difference? Why claim non-Buddhahood?

Scriptures sometimes teach true mind as Buddha while denying conscious mind's Buddhahood. Are true mind and conscious mind ultimately one or two? If one, why distinguish them?

This scripture explores the cultivation state of realizing the "true self" and the "oneness of all things." It first points out that if one believes two people should have two separate minds, then when one person's body feels pain, both would sense it—this would mean one person has become two, which clearly defies reason. Practitioners should carefully contemplate this principle to perceive the true self and Buddha-nature.

Next, it explains why Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals in Daoism) manifests within one's consciousness. This occurs because people often forget the ultimate truth of "no-self" (wuxiang) and cling to ego-consciousness. When you sit quietly observing your mind, the so-called "you" doesn't truly exist. Since a "you" can emerge in the beginningless and endless universe, a Lü Dongbin can naturally appear as well. This demonstrates that the wondrous luminous true mind (benxin) is not only one with Lü Dongbin but with the entire cosmos—leaving no room for dualistic concepts like "you" and "I."

A water analogy clarifies this: When drawing water from a river into buckets or bottles, though the containers differ, pouring it back makes it impossible to distinguish which drops came from which vessel. Similarly, when humans return to their source, like water rejoining the river, all separation vanishes. Those who attain the Dao merge completely with all beings, while ordinary people—bound by "self-view"—cannot perceive this truth.

The scripture emphasizes that the entire universe and all living beings arise from a single deluded thought. Cultivation requires focusing on one thought alone; two minds cannot coexist. If Zhang Qian (likely the questioner) truly had two minds, he'd manifest two bodies—the logic is self-evident. As for ritualistic practices like altar worship, these often confuse the masses and should be abandoned. Through dedicated practice, no barrier exists between you and Lü Dongbin—why bother with incense offerings? Should a single mistaken thought plunge one into evil rebirths, eternal worship couldn't save them.

This scripture elucidates the core significance of the "One Perfect Circle" (symbolizing the unimpeded state of cultivation) in spiritual practice. If practitioners can completely relinquish worldly distractions, achieving immortality or Buddhahood becomes effortless, rendering petty concerns over merits and faults utterly insignificant.

The true Dao cannot be fully expressed in words—not because we refuse to speak of it, but because any verbal description inevitably distorts it. Thus, the ancients, when compelled to point to this state, used a simple circle as its symbol. Without this circle, Confucianism cannot attain its fulfillment, Daoism cannot achieve its perfection, and Buddhism cannot realize enlightenment. When practitioners quietly contemplate this perfect circle during meditation, they engage in the supreme method of cultivation—the ultimate truth.

Confucius's "acting from the heart without transgressing boundaries," Shakyamuni's "mind encompassing the vast void," and Laozi's "mystery upon mystery" all point to this same perfect circle. Whether it's Zhang Qian seeking "who is reciting the Buddha's name," Huang Jianji aspiring to "establish one's destiny," or Wu Kuan striving to "hold affairs with reverence"—all must devote their efforts within this circle.

When this circle guides the body, the body manifests the Buddha's thirty-two auspicious marks and eighty noble characteristics. When it regulates the mind, all demonic obstacles are eradicated. This mind is the mind that fully encompasses all states of cultivation. Though practitioners may not yet possess the corresponding power, they must not remain ignorant of this principle, for there exists no superior method.

In truth, this perfect circle cannot be spoken of—the moment we describe it, it becomes merely a shadow. Just as Shakyamuni preached for over forty years without ever truly capturing it in words. If forced to explain, we might reference the classics of the Three Teachings: Confucianism's "the state before joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure arise is called equilibrium," Daoism's "the mysterious female gateway is the root of heaven and earth," or Buddhism's "no perception of self, person, beings, or life span." Practitioners may choose corresponding methods to realize this great Dao according to their individual predispositions. Though all approaches begin within this perfect circle, their specific methods differ.

This passage expounds on the importance of cultivating the heart-mind and transcending the cycle of rebirth through serene cultivation.

(Lü Dongbin, the Sovereign of Fuyou) states: The heart-mind is the root of all principles, the sovereign governing the nine orifices of the human body, determining life and death as well as good and evil. Born simultaneously with heaven and earth, it serves as the master of Shen (spirit). The heart-mind has various appellations: it's called "True Lord" (Zhenjun) because it commands the entire body; "True Constancy" (Zhenchang) because it transcends time and space, never decaying; and "True Suchness" (Zhenru) because its essence is quiescent and unmoving. It can expand to fill the cosmos or contract to become imperceptibly small—this is our innate original mind.

Why then do humans remain trapped in the Three Realms (desire realm, form realm, and formless realm), unable to escape the cycle of life and death? It is because deluded thoughts arise within, and the six senses (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) chase external phenomena, inclining toward evil rather than good. Thus emerge the sufferings of heavenly rewards and hellish punishments, karmic retribution, and the six paths of rebirth.

The truly awakened differ. Through purification practices (zhaijie) that cleanse body and mind, they illuminate their De (virtue), maintaining a state of pristine purity wherein calamities naturally dissolve. Laozi said: "In extreme emptiness and stillness, one observes the cyclical return of all things. Though myriad beings flourish, each ultimately returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to one's nature; returning to nature is called constancy; understanding constancy is called wisdom."

The anecdote about Zhang Qian contemplating the word "who" in meditation illustrates how cultivation requires relinquishing the four attachments: selfhood, personhood, sentient beings, and lifespan. When one can refrain from deluded thoughts in stillness and respond with all virtues in activity, one freely operates within this state of perfect harmony. Like Wu Kuan who constantly recognized his original mind before its activation, its natural expression then conforms to proper measure, and the four attachments vanish. The fundamental principles of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism share this common ground.

The conclusion emphasizes: Only when selfish desires are completely eradicated does heavenly principle naturally manifest—this is the shared ultimate goal of all three teachings.

This passage expounds the Daoist cultivation essentials of "knowing the eternal" (zhi chang) and "maintaining unity" (shou yi). The "eternal" refers to the timeless truth transcending past and present, while "delusion" denotes the arising of distracting thoughts. As Zhuangzi observed, once entangled in material desires, returning to one's original purity becomes profoundly difficult. The state of the "great person" mentioned in the Yijing (Book of Changes) precisely teaches us to practice careful speech and conduct, restrain desires, eliminate distractions, maintain inner emptiness and stillness, and return to the source.

The key to cultivation lies in: withdrawing the senses (withdrawing vision and returning to listening) and harmonizing with all things (blending radiance and sharing the dust). The initial arising of distracting thoughts isn't problematic—what's concerning is failing to notice them promptly. Just as we comb our hair daily, we must constantly attend to our physical and spiritual refinement. Whether walking, standing, sitting, or lying down, maintain this awareness. Only thus can one reach the realm of "the land of nonexistence" (wu he you zhi xiang) and "the country of Hua Xu" (the ideal state).

Master Qian Hongzi reflected that despite his advanced age, he remained unskilled in worldly affairs, leading him to contemplate life's essence: wind passes the ears without lingering, flowers enter the eyes without staying—all phenomena transform while nobility and baseness share the same origin. When the human mind becomes overly calculating, it loses its fundamental truth. Only by returning to the "Great Void" (tai xu, cosmic origin) can one realize the emptiness of gain and loss. Maintaining vast and open-heartedness constitutes life's true foundation.

Daoist masters teach that cultivation must take body and mind as its foundation, with the mind as the sovereign. Neither pursue empty fame and superficial writing, nor haggle over petty gains, nor cling to worldly successes, failures, wealth, or poverty. For within our original nature lies genuine nobility, and within the heart resides true attainment. Worldly riches flash like lightning, while the harvest of heart-mind cultivation benefits one throughout life. The crux lies in seeing through life and death, penetrating the principles of reality, and achieving an unobstructed mind. Only then can one truly nourish original nature and attain the state of perfect integration and natural ease.

This scripture primarily expounds the principles of cultivating the heart-mind and nurturing one's nature. It first emphasizes that the key to spiritual practice lies in "retrieving the lost heart-mind," which requires complete self-honesty. The discipline of non-deception is subtle and refined—one must maintain constant vigilance even in solitude. All phenomena can become opportunities for awakening to the Dao (the Way), but the essential point is single-minded concentration.

The text reveals that the awareness of self-deception arises from this very heart-mind, and the desire for authenticity likewise originates here. Simply recognizing deception stops its operation; by earnestly pursuing sincerity, deception naturally ceases. Similarly, the moment one resolves to recover the original heart-mind, mental scattering dissolves. Ordinary people find this difficult because worldly distractions and selfish desires obscure their perception. Removing these obstructions to maintain inner purity yields profound realizations.

Deeper mysteries must be personally realized—they cannot be grasped through speculation or verbal expression. Those still clinging to external phenomena or indulging in futile efforts betray the earnest teachings of Daoist cultivation.

The latter portion employs poetic admonishment: In this fleeting human existence, one shouldn't crave sensory pleasures or material wealth—these are roots of suffering. Riches and power ultimately prove empty, bringing only sorrow when parting from loved ones. Better to pursue serene freedom, liberated from fame and profit. Like immortals wandering between heaven and earth, blend anonymously with fishermen and woodcutters in mountain streams. Though worldly people mock cultivators as impractical, Daoists see mortals chasing vanities as truly foolish. A hundred-year lifespan vanishes instantly; glory and splendor inevitably dissolve. Neither despise simple poverty nor envy powerful wealth—harming others for personal gain only invites calamity and karmic retribution.

The entire passage underscores the importance of heart-mind cultivation and transcending material desires, urging people to see through worldly illusions and pursue inner clarity.

This scripture primarily expounds on the essentials of Daoist cultivation and the philosophy of life.

It first points out how ordinary people often fight over fame and profit, breeding resentment, while those seemingly carefree youths will have to repay various karmic debts in future lives. Daoist practitioners, with compassionate hearts, use wise words to guide those lost in the mundane world to turn back toward the Dao. If one can grasp its true meaning and purify the five viscera and six bowels (a Neidan term referring to internal purification through alchemical practice), they will naturally open the Mysterious Pass (a crucial energy point in cultivation). With sincere practice, when merits are perfected, spiritual communion with the Dao will follow naturally—there is no need to worry about the distant paths to Penglai (the Daoist celestial paradise), for noble guides will appear.

Next, it explains the nature of the Dao: humans are the most precious beings between heaven and earth, and whether one cultivates the Dao depends entirely on personal will. Becoming an immortal or a Buddha, or descending into demonhood, is determined by one's own choices—even heaven cannot interfere. The Dao is nature itself, existing before the cosmos took form. Those with innate gifts may attain the Dao easily, while ordinary people can also realize it through diligent practice—there is no essential difference.

Laozi’s (Taishang) Daode Jing and the scriptures of the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning all point the way for later generations to return to the Primordial Dao (the cosmic origin), though this primordial state cannot be fully described in words. Just as fish swim in water, birds dwell in forests, and flowers bloom in season—all follow their innate nature—humans are born with an inherent sense of good and evil, which arises from this same nature. What Mencius called "expansion" refers to nurturing this nature and returning to the principles of the Great Beginning (the primal state of the universe).

Today, many fail in their cultivation not because the Dao is hard to attain, but because they limit their own understanding. Cultivation should begin with small steps, progressing gradually—at the start, one must tread as carefully as walking along a wall. Even when joy arises and wisdom grows, complacency must be avoided, for this is only the threshold of entry.

When cultivation reaches the pinnacle of the postnatal state (referring to one's condition after birth), one can return to the innate creative state (the original source of life). At this stage, having attained inner realization, one must further eliminate old habitual energies, plan new cultivation directions, review existing practices, and diligently follow the path of cultivation. By preventing external disturbances from invading and maintaining constant inner purity, one approaches the Dao—yet this is still insufficient.

A higher state is to forget gains and losses, neither clinging to what is attained nor dwelling on what is lost. It appears as wuwei (non-action) yet involves doing; it seems formless yet manifests form. Such action arises spontaneously, and such manifestation occurs naturally. This embodies the Dao's natural workings within the human body.

When practitioners tame their mind-nature, they must constantly master their thoughts. Those of superior capacity can "transform circumstances with the mind" (using intention to alter external conditions); those of middling capacity are influenced by their environment; those of inferior capacity are entirely controlled by external circumstances. Those who can "let the mind master circumstances" appear to forget their physical form yet attain the true form, employ emotions without being bound by them, reach lofty states without arrogance, and achieve complete virtue without complacency. They maintain both solid practice and a serene, empty mind, unifying movement and stillness. This is the realm sages call "joy in heaven and knowledge of fate."

Those whose "circumstances master the mind" are enslaved by their emotions, bound by their physical form, and constantly swayed by external conditions without the power to transform them. At times they glimpse achievement, only to lose it again—like a sail in the wind or reins on a horse, entirely subject to external forces. Though such practitioners may have limited mental capacity, their qi remains harmonious; while they cannot attain the great Dao, their efforts are still commendable. As for those whose "circumstances master circumstances," the situation is even more absurd—never settling in one state before coveting another, unable to release the past while stagnating in the present. Such people wander through life without footing, like clouds drifting over mountain forests or duckweed floating on clear water—utterly rootless.

When the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun) expounded the Dharma, he urged people to sever all external attachments and return to the state of fetal breathing (an advanced breathing cultivation method). This "fetal breathing" is not merely about regulating breath—it encompasses the prenatal Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) qi from before one's parents conceived them, as well as the true spiritual nature after birth. The body acquires its form through this qi, and the mind gains its wondrous functions through it. In heaven it serves as the pivot; on earth it acts as the axis—supremely vital. It is called "fetal breathing" because practitioners are meant to achieve a state where stillness has no mark of stillness and movement has no mark of movement, just like a fetus in its mother's womb. This is the foremost method for training the mind. Those who understand this principle can not only transform circumstances with the mind but also refine the mind through circumstances. When mind and circumstances fully merge, one attains the perfect state of "abiding in the mean at all times" (constantly maintaining the middle way).

All people, wise or foolish, yearn for longevity. Yet what ordinary folk call a hundred-year lifespan is actually...

Few in this world live to a hundred years. Why do so many seek longevity, yet so few attain it? This likely stems from people neglecting self-cultivation while vainly hoping for heaven-granted long life, and from investigating life's principles yet blindly believing in predetermined fate.

Consider those delicate flowers and grasses—they too have their own lifespan, measured in days or months. To them, this is a complete lifetime; yet to human eyes, such brevity passes in the blink of an eye. Similarly, whether wise or foolish, humans live for mere decades, which to us seems a full life—yet to immortals and buddhas, it appears vanishingly short.

Different levels of spiritual practice yield different lifespans: Pratyekabuddhas (a Buddhist attainment) live for millennia, divine dragons endure twelve hundred years, second-stage Daoist immortals (a cultivation rank) reach eight hundred, while higher adepts may attain fifteen hundred years. To humans, these are astonishingly long lives, yet to Mahayana Golden Immortals and Eight-Treasure Divine Dragons, they seem as fleeting as flowers do to us.

People often crave transcending their destined span, unaware that true longevity comes only through aligning with the Dao. Those who abandon fundamental cultivation, seeking merely to prolong life, are nothing but obstinate fools. Even if they lived a hundred or a thousand years, what meaning would it hold if their existence harmed none in life yet gained them nothing in death? They would be lesser than wildflowers that bloom anew each year.

I perceive all life as inherently eternal, beginningless and endless, like indestructible vajra spanning eons. So long as heaven and earth endure, this luminous spiritual treasure persists. Speaking of lifespan—we are coeval with the cosmos itself; why fret over mere decades? Modern folk treat birth as life's starting point, counting years from twenty or thirty up to a hundred, but this only tallies the duration of the physical form.

True immortality lies in this: not damaging the body gifted by one's parents, not staining one's loyalty and integrity, not using this vessel to commit atrocities. Those who achieve this become perfected beings between heaven and earth. Even if their earthly years are few, their spirit endures forever. This is the essence of life—transcending form, boundless and inexhaustible.

This passage expounds on the profound principles of "Great Longevity" (a transcendent state beyond life and death) and the "Fire of Ignorance" (delusions and afflictions) ignited by human desires.

It first explains that true longevity isn't measured by physical lifespan, but rather by achieving an eternal state of unity with heaven and earth. This "Great Longevity" transcends bodily limitations, reaching a state of perfect samadhi (meditative absorption) and penetrating insight into ultimate truth—so profound that even the term "longevity" becomes inadequate to describe it. The author humbly admits not having attained this state yet, but expresses deep yearning for it.

Vivid metaphors then illustrate how human desires cause harm: wrath erupts like towering flames, greed spreads as thick black smoke, lust can melt stone, and avarice seems capable of draining oceans. These negative emotions constitute the "Fire of Ignorance," which corrodes the mind, scorches the blood vessels, and depletes the primordial Shen (innate spiritual essence). Their damage far exceeds mere physical stains from sweat. The author remarks that even standing atop the ninth heaven, one can see these desire-fires raging below, their heat nearly singeing one's hair.

Finally, speaking as a Daoist practitioner, the author admonishes: while people fear natural disasters and conflagrations, they forget the more dangerous karmic fires (afflictions arising from unwholesome actions) burning within. The Daoist deliberately endures summer's heat to bring cooling relief through simple means—like offering "Clear Cool Powder" (a traditional heat-clearing remedy). The passage closes with refreshing imagery—night dew on parasol trees, moonlit willows, intermittent cicada songs, rice fragrance wafting through curtains—hinting that true serenity comes through mental cultivation.

Now open your heart and broaden your vision—who says the refreshing breeze of Penglai's immortal isles isn't right before your eyes? It's just that no one truly comprehends it, wasting this genuine realm in vain. Upon reflection, how much more do ordinary people squander in their lifetimes? They possess a pristine original mind yet willingly taint it with filth; they have a smooth and level great path yet insist on taking treacherous byways; they encounter authentic Daoist methods yet play with empty illusions. Illusions arise from foolish attachments, treacherous paths stem from selfish desires, and defilement comes from self-deception. To let the bright and clear, steady and secure, utterly real matters of human life slip away—is this not profoundly lamentable?

When people lose clarity, they descend into hellish visions; when they lose equanimity, they become mired in distinctions of high and low; when they lose authenticity, they summon demonic phantoms. In my youth while studying for the imperial examinations, I mastered the Five Classics by age ten. A classmate once mocked me: "You Tang dynasty Confucian still want to become a Han dynasty erudite? The court now values ornate rhapsodies—why not study the 'Rhapsody of the Three Capitals' or 'Rhapsody of the Two Metropolises' to seek fame and fortune? Those stale Confucian ways are outdated!" I secretly agreed, but my teacher Xu Zhongzhai admonished: "Child, don't be misled. The Six Classics (Poetry, Documents, Rites, Changes, Music, and Spring and Autumn Annals) are the root of learning, like a person's vital organs. Rhapsodies are merely external ornamentation, like clothing. Going without clothes and wearing only straw hats is certainly unseemly, but without internal organs, the body withers and the spirit perishes—where then would you hang those fine garments?" This revelation struck me like lightning, and from then on I abandoned frivolous writings.

At sixteen when sitting for examinations, a classmate from an official family bribed the examiner to obtain the questions and, being friendly with me, wanted to share them. I replied: "Scholarly honors are decreed by fate—they cannot be seized against Heaven's will." Later when the bribery scandal was exposed, all involved met with misfortune while I alone was spared. From then on I vowed never to take crooked paths. Being naturally straightforward, I once dreamed while drunk of a fisherman's treasure, only to be pursued by thunder and fire—awakening drenched in sweat, I never dared deceive myself again. After repeated failures I finally passed the provincial exams, only to encounter great social turmoil. I sighed: "When wealth and honor force themselves upon you, they cannot be refused; when they abandon you, they cannot be sought. The legendary lingzhi mushrooms of Mount Shang's Four Elders (Qin dynasty recluses) and the exquisite jade of Jingxi are still celebrated today—why must one flaunt official robes to impress the world?"

Later I studied ritual with Shi Qingzeng of Lu and calendrics with Fu Liangbi, spending years to grasp their true transmission.

One day I suddenly realized: the human body, mind, and innate nature (what Daoism calls the original, authentic essence of life) already have their own sovereign ruler. Those external things—calendars, numerology, rituals, and literary compositions—are not my true self, and nearly caused me to neglect my father's (referring to the original intent of cultivation) proper affairs. While traveling through famous mountains and rivers across the land, I often encountered extraordinary individuals, but their tricks involving deception, cunning, and illusion—though seemingly profound on the surface—are not recognized by genuine cultivators of the Dao.

On the road to Handan, I met the Great Ancestor (likely a Daoist patriarch), who was gathering disciples to explain the hexagram lines of the Qian (Heaven) trigram from the Yijing. His interpretation was entirely his own wondrous insight, distinct from the stale views of Han and Tang Confucian scholars. Thus, I followed him to study, enduring ten arduous trials while steadfastly upholding the true Dao. The Great Ancestor remarked of me: "You have truly achieved no deception, no cunning, no illusion—just plain, clear, and substantial. Now I shall take you back to the celestial realm (帝乡, the abode of immortals)." This is the true account of my cultivation journey, unlike the fantastical tales told in the mundane world.

Tonight, I tell you this: cultivating the Dao means observing with clarity, practicing with simplicity, and cultivating with steadfastness. Do not let the slightest stain defile the spiritual terrace (灵台, the heart), do not mistake treacherous mountain paths for level roads, and do not take the wild galloping of phantom horses as genuine spiritual attainment. Only then will this life not be lived in vain. This is the essence of my teaching. Those who seek novelty and the extraordinary are, in truth, straying from my Dao.

Not long ago, in a cave, I met an immortal named Danxiazi, who said to me: "The path to immortality requires leisure, not busyness; tranquility, not neglect. The people of the world muddle along unawakened, exhausting and harming themselves in their toil. Why do you labor day and night, tormenting your mind with anxious thoughts? Look—who has truly ascended to the immortal abodes? Who has truly grasped the state of Patriarch Chen Tuan (Master Xiyi)? With all this endless preaching, knowing full well it cannot be done, are you not contradicting the profound and wondrous Dao?"

I replied to him: "Heaven and Earth possess the virtue (De) of nurturing life, and thus the myriad things can grow. In Yin times, there is the moistening of rain and dew; in Yang times, the illumination of sun and moon. Spring brings growth, autumn brings harvest—Heaven and Earth never cease their labor. Even so, there are still untimely deaths and misfortunes, caused by imbalances in the transformations of Qi. What kind of immortal am I? A true immortal emulates the Dao of Heaven. I wish to deliver sentient beings because humans are the most spiritual of the myriad creatures. Human endowments vary just as objects differ in height—the growth of all things depends on the nurturing of Qi's mechanisms, the moistening of wind and dew, the harmonizing of sunlight, and the stirring of thunder and rain."

This passage expounds on human nature and the principles of salvation. Humans are inherently differentiated by their natural endowments—some are wise and virtuous while others foolish and unworthy. Yet people often become deluded by desires, bound by fame and profit, blinded by reputation, and disturbed by passions. Without the principles of karmic retribution—where life and death correspond to one's deeds, and good and evil receive their due rewards—to awaken the human heart, restrain innate tendencies, sever wicked thoughts, and prompt self-reflection, humans would be no different from beasts.

What people hear only serves to bewilder their minds. Accustomed to worldly ways, they lose their original nature, drowning in the river of lust and adrift on the sea of desire. Life after life, they remain trapped in a dark prison, incapable of saving themselves. The author laments: To know these people cannot be saved yet refrain from saving them is like watching the world drown unawares in a flood or burn without escape in a raging fire—this utterly contradicts the innate compassion of Heaven and Earth for living beings.

The immortal responds: Heaven and Earth have always cherished life, allowing all things to fulfill their nature. But when one wishes to save others yet none will receive it—when the pedantic fail to recognize the moment and the ignorant cannot perceive circumstances—it only leads to fruitless exhaustion and unrelieved despair. Better instead to wander freely among mountains and streams, content in one's own joy. Have you not seen those who rush about endlessly without turning back? Those who toil incessantly, never to return?

The author counters: Though Buddhism most exalts the realm of "emptiness," the bodhisattvas still vow with compassionate power to deliver all beings—so long as a single soul remains unliberated, this vow remains unfulfilled. Nor does the Confucian Way delight in toil, yet when it sees people lost in delusion, it instructs them; when it sees them struggling, it supports them. When people hunger and lack shelter, it teaches them to farm for sustenance and build dwellings for stability; it provides clothing against the cold. It establishes rituals to regulate conduct, composes music to guide harmony, promotes filial piety and brotherly devotion to temper character, and prepares arms to defend homes. All these arise from an inability to bear witness to human suffering.

Thus, when floods raged, Yao and Shun arose; when tyrants ruled, Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou emerged; as the Zhou dynasty declined, Confucius rescued through words and Mencius rectified through debate. How then can we who cultivate immortality stand idly by?

This scripture primarily explores the dialectical relationship between spiritual cultivation and worldly life, as well as the path of returning to one's original nature through practice.

It first refutes the notion that "Buddhism is useless," pointing out how ordinary people become trapped by the seven emotions and six desires, drowning in either indulgence or excessive labor—all because they fail to comprehend the principles of birth-death cycles and karmic retribution, gradually losing their innate nature. The author, fully aware of human ignorance, nevertheless chooses to teach, much like the Buddha or sage-kings Yao and Shun, who acted despite knowing the difficulty. Cultivation takes two forms: jointly cultivating virtue with others or solitary self-cultivation—the author opts for the path of enlightening the deluded masses.

For those seeking cultivation, concrete methods are proposed: perseverance and gradual progress. In practice, one should neither force results nor grow lax. Each new realization reveals the superficiality of prior understanding. Visualization techniques prove less effective than quiet sitting; during meditation, one must gather scattered Qi (vital energy) and stabilize wandering Shen (spirit). Like the "infant" (original spirit) and "maiden" (primal energy) mutually perfecting each other through Yin-Yang harmony—neither can be neglected. When one's breath becomes clear as autumn waters and bright moon, while the spirit grows lucid as pine-swept winds and distant thunder, the state of Qi-Shen unity is achieved.

The world's changes are unpredictable—cultivation requires awaiting the right moment. Before distracting thoughts arise, human nature remains connected to heaven and earth; once selfish desires emerge, clouded by joy-anger or greed-delusion, spiritual clarity is lost, reducing one to mundanity. The root cause lies in the distortion of judgment—where discernment loses impartiality and preferences stray from the Dao.

The reason people struggle to maintain a middle way (balanced attitude) toward things they like and dislike is that what modern people call "right" is merely their personal opinion that denies others' views, while what they call "wrong" is simply their subjective judgment that rejects alternative standards. Understand that what you consider right may contain errors, and what you deem wrong may hold truth. Viewed this way, the things we detest may have redeeming qualities, while what we cherish may harbor flaws. True standards of right and wrong should align with universal principles, and our affections and aversions ought to resonate with common human experience.

Humanity's innate true nature (original celestial disposition) can indeed be restored; our primordial spirit (spiritual origin) can indeed be preserved; the root of life can indeed be stabilized. Once this principle is understood, one becomes unobstructedly connected to the undifferentiated source of Heaven and Earth.

People often find virtue difficult to practice yet vice easy to accumulate, accomplishing few merits while amassing many transgressions. Without constant vigilance—cultivating oneself with the caution of treading on thin ice—how can one reduce faults, let alone transcend the mundane to attain sagehood? In this life, if there's even one deed you dare not confess to others, one matter that weighs on your conscience, neither immortals nor buddhas will forgive you—much less Yama (the underworld judge) who will eventually settle accounts. As a Dao cultivator, because my heart harbors no deceit, I gladly endure deception; because my heart holds no resentment, I don't seek retaliation. Spiritual cultivation progresses through three stages: initially knowing only oneself and not others; later knowing others while forgetting oneself; ultimately transcending all distinctions between self and others. Without self-attachment, selfishness dissolves; without calculating others, desires fade. With such purity of heart, one naturally realizes the wondrous Dao (supreme truth)—without necessarily sitting in meditation or chanting scriptures.

Now that you've entered the Daoist path, though you've heard the principles of cultivating mind and nature, and understand the importance of ascetic practice, if knowledge isn't put into action—is this due to insufficient capability? Or is it because external things entangle you—calculating gains and losses, clinging to family and possessions, coveting fame and wealth? You prioritize these external matters over inner cultivation, unaware they have nothing to do with your true self. Even if related, blessings have predetermined measures and destiny has its arrangements—they cannot be forced. Observe those princes and generals in the world—though momentarily glorious, wielding power and influence, ultimately...

This passage speaks of life's impermanence and the importance of cultivating the Dao (the Way). While alive, people busily flatter the powerful and curry favor with others, mistaking others' praise for good fortune. But once buried in the yellow earth after death, those who once flattered you quickly turn to please others—who then would come to sigh before your grave? All worldly enjoyments ultimately melt away like ice and snow, and when suffering in hell's torments, no one comes to your rescue.

Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) see through this truth and thus remain indifferent to fame, wealth, and status. Day and night, they focus on purifying the heart, reducing desires, eliminating selfishness, and engaging in genuine practice to attain clarity. Persisting in cultivation for a hundred years, they awaken the mind to perceive their true nature, comprehending the Heavenly Dao (the Way). In doing so, they join the company of immortals in Penglai, unshackled by hell's chains and unopposed by Ksitigarbha Bodhisattva. You should follow this teaching through personal practice—without haste or impatience—for the Dao (the Way) has its own stages of attainment. Why worry about failing to ascend to the immortal realms?

Time shifts as swiftly as a white steed flashing past. In the blink of an eye, spring's blossoming peach and plum trees give way to autumn's falling maple leaves. The celestial peaches of heaven endure wind and frost because their true Qi (vital energy) is concentrated and their Shen (spirit) profound. Humans, like plants in the world of heaven and earth, differ only in possessing spiritual awareness. If one does not diligently refine and cultivate, allowing Qi (vital energy) to scatter, how can one expect flourishing branches and leaves when the roots are severed?

What Daoist cultivators call "Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit)" are the foundation of a person, much like the roots of a plant. Damaged roots wither the plant; weakened Jing, Qi, and Shen bring ruin to the body. These three are of utmost importance—only by preserving them can one attain clarity of principle and realization of true nature, the key to liberation. Ordinary people often recklessly squander and harm their Jing, Qi, and Shen—how then can their roots remain firm and their branches thrive? Now, to cultivate Jing, Qi, and Shen...

Mencius' teaching of "neither forgetting nor forcing growth" represents the most complete and unobstructed method in spiritual cultivation. "Neither forgetting" refers to maintaining the purity of one's Qi (vital energy), returning to the original state of being, keeping the Shen (spirit) clear and the breath tranquil, so that the innate Jing (essence) and Qi naturally gather inward. "Not forcing growth" means eliminating emotional desires, reducing greed and anger, restraining indulgence, relinquishing restless delusions, and clearing away all obstacles. By preserving one's inherent nature and severing the distracting thoughts acquired through worldly influences, one can maintain the integrity of Jing without depletion, Yuanqi (primordial energy) without dissipation, and Yuanshen (primordial spirit) without confusion.

When both aspects are achieved simultaneously, one attains true meditative stability. In this state, whether encountering gains or losses, hardships or suffering, honor or disgrace—even in moments of sudden confusion—one will not deviate from the Dao-heart for even an instant. This is the true entry into the Dao.

As a Daoist master, when I teach in this world, my purpose is not merely for people to learn rigid practices like fasting and scripture recitation. In eighty years, few have truly understood me, though many have sought my help. Remember: liberation ultimately depends on oneself, just as farming requires proper sowing for a good harvest. If the fields are overgrown with weeds, how can one expect to reap grain? This altar has been intermittently maintained for twenty years. That it now flourishes—clearing weeds and kindling the lamp of the heart in this land—is no accident but the result of accumulated virtuous deeds by devoted followers. I am deeply ashamed that, despite my constant activity, I have failed to encourage you with tangible cultivation achievements—this is my failing. But if you disregard these teachings, the fault will be yours.

The Luan Sha (sacred assembly) cannot remain forever, but its principles must endure. Remember these essentials: First, understand the root—there is no Dao beyond loyalty and filial piety. These are the foundation of the Dao; to lack them is to violate cosmic principles and earthly laws, becoming refuse rejected by both Yin and Yang realms. Second, be content with your lot. Life has its ups and downs; forcing outcomes only breeds suffering, and blaming heaven or others creates karmic obstacles. Third, be diligent. Each day brings its duties—do not idle away time as a worthless being between heaven and earth. Fourth, accumulate De (virtue). Merit lies not in outward display but in single thoughts: do not dwell on others' faults, harm living beings, covet fame or wealth, or flaunt your own strengths.

As disciples of Daoism, it is essential to pay special attention to and adhere to these precepts.

The fifth principle is to understand the Dao (the Way). Mencius once said that the difference between humans and beasts is actually very slight—becoming a sage or a reckless person depends on a single thought. There are many paths in the world, but choosing the right direction is paramount, and study comes first. For refining internal Qi (vital energy) and cultivating one’s nature, there is no better method than learning. Without sufficient knowledge, a person is merely a dull object. Disciples should take this to heart and strive diligently.

The sixth principle is to be cautious in forming friendships. Superficial relationships are like strangers, while deep but indiscriminate bonds are akin to walking through thorns. The quality of one’s friends directly affects one’s own success or failure, especially in times of declining morals. Disciples should use this as a mirror for self-reflection.

These principles may seem ordinary, but they contain genuine teachings that lie at the root of human nature. They are methods both for transcending the mundane (出世) and engaging with the world (入世). Those who follow them will have their merits recorded by the palaces of the sun and moon, and the Northern Dipper will report their deeds to the heavens, securing divine recommendation. Those who violate these teachings, even if they recite scriptures, perform repentance rituals, or make pious offerings, will face judgment from the Great Emperor of the Eastern Peak (who governs the underworld) and the Celestial Worthy of Supreme Unity (a revered Daoist deity). Even I will be unable to help them.

In the past ten years, I have encouraged people to practice charity, hoping they would open their miserly purses; urged them to recite scriptures so they might recognize the Three Jewels (Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha); advised repentance so they might acknowledge their wrongdoings; and preached the law of karma to instill caution. These were merely preliminary methods to guide beginners, not the true essence of the Great Dao. Nowadays, people’s hearts are scattered—they say one thing to your face and another behind your back. Such mediocre individuals may come and go as they please; there is no need to restrain them.

The few dozen disciples who remain include those who are steady and mature in their pursuit of authenticity, Confucian scholars seeking truth, monastics yearning for the true Dao, and repentant individuals striving with diligence. The mature act with stability, the Confucians maintain scholarly cultivation, the monastics see through worldly illusions, and the repentant are firm in their resolve—these are the treasures of our Daoist tradition. How could we abandon them?

In the next ten years, I will discard all the superficial practices I once advocated and focus solely on urging genuine self-cultivation. What is self-cultivation? It is the six precepts I have just laid out. The highest realm appears ordinary; the greatest virtue seems commonplace. Being true to oneself is real substance, and a clear conscience leads to serenity. Many cannot even find peace in their dreams because they carry too much burden in this regard.

To become a sage, the key lies in one's inner cultivation and personal effort. Over the years of my teaching here, I have never instructed you with miscellaneous matters, hoping only that you would follow the example set at Nishan (Confucius' teaching ground). Though we can hardly reach the supreme sagehood of Confucius, we may still learn his methods for nurturing virtuous individuals.

Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) attained the highest spiritual state through practices of "heart-fasting" (mental purification) and "sitting-in-forgetfulness" (meditative self-effacement). Those seeking the foremost level of cultivation may regard Yan Hui as their patriarch. Nan Rong (another disciple) maintained his moral integrity like unblemished jade amidst chaotic times—recluses pursuing spiritual cultivation should take him as their model. Zilu (yet another disciple) hated evil passionately yet harbored no jealousy; those seeking moral perfection may emulate his path of cultivation.

My own method for attaining Daoist immortality contains nothing extraordinary—it merely synthesizes the strengths of these ancient sages, supplemented with hermitic cultivation practices. Though people call me an "immortal," in my heart I remain a disciple of Confucius. Lü Dongbin (the Pure Yang Perfected Being), revered through the ages as an extraordinary figure, was ultimately but an aged disciple from Confucius' Nishan school.

This Guide to Blessings and Retribution was compiled by the Peng family of Suzhou based on orthodox teachings, taking eighty years to complete through the "Dust-Free Altar" (a Daoist purification space). The more plainly and straightforwardly the text explains its principles, the more profound they become. Together with the previous volumes of recorded sayings, it truly serves as a beacon illuminating the world—a work of remarkable depth and breadth. Respectfully recorded by disciple Huijue.